Sometimes I wish that I could hang a "Do Not Disturb" sign around my neck and wear it at places where it is socially acceptable to be intrusive. I'd wear it at church, during the "shake hands with each other," time. I'm not so great at sharing the peace. I'd prefer to keep my peace to myself.
I'd also wear it on train rides, where it is openly acceptable to talk politics or religion or anything else one considers personal.
Tonight, I want to hold the sign up at a diner.
"Is that homework?" a man asks.
"Yes, it's part of my Pencils in Society class."
"Oh, I see. Is that part of your master's degree?" the guy asks.
"Yes, it is," I add avoiding eye contact.
"Seems like a silly degree to me," he continues.
"I beg your pardon," I finally look up.
"Well, it's just that pencil advocates always complain about not being included in the conversations about education. Yet, they have their own pencil conferences and pencil degrees and pencil plogs. I mean, last time I checked, there was an entire category on the 1896 Eduplogger Awards dedicated to pencil plogs. Don't get me wrong, I use pencils. I should state that outright. I use pencils everyday in my job. Love them. I carry one around with me in my pocket. On a bad day, I worry that it might puncture my scrotum, but on most days, they become a part of daily life."
"I'm not sure where you're going with this," I add.
"Well, we don't have a separate world in the workforce that's all about pencils. If I go to a leadership conference, we use pencils. If I go to a workplace productivity conference, we use pencils. But I would never feel the need to get a whole degree in Pencil Business or attend a Business Pencils Conference."
"I see your point. But these venues are necessary as long as we are shut out of the dialogue on curriculum and instruction."
"As long as educational technology and education remain separate entities, both will exist in a fantasy world of tech-denial or technophilia. See, we'll have all these people gushing about new gadgets in our Brave New Industrial World. We'll hear about connectivity of the telegraph and the global community and all of that and if we're not careful, we'll miss the reality that there are some dark sides to industrialization. Meanwhile, we'll have a separate faction advocating a 'back-to-basics' approach that plays on fear and nostalgia. I'm guessing you're of the technophilia camp, right?"
"I love technology, but I'm no technocrat. My students use paper and pencil, but they also criticize the role of industrialization, the loss of community with technology and the dangers of developing a vapor-self when moving toward a text-based personna."
"I'm glad. We need people who use technology to be focussed on the human element first. But here's the thing: wouldn't you be better off introducing technology to people involved in leadership and curriculum and policy?"
I'm wishing for my Do Not Disturbed sign. Right now I am definitely disturbed.
from acceptable to ethical
Paul the Pre-Industrial Poet and his wife Gloria invite us over for dinner. I take a copy of the Acceptable Use Agreement with me so that I can grill Paul on his approach.
"Paul, do your students sign a Acceptable Use Agreement?"
"They do. I pass it out on the first day."
I hand him mine and ask him for his thoughts. "I don't like it much, I admit. It's not like we have a Acceptable Use agreement for math class. Yet, we hand out protractors that can quickly turn into shanks."
My wife adds, "And we lie to kids about language arts. We're not teaching them the art of language. It's all science the way it's taught. Why isn't there an Acceptable Use Agreement on the dangerous dark art of words? Last time I checked, nations still go to war over words. Couples still fight over words. Sticks and stones will break bones, but words can crush a soul."
Gloria points out, "Kids in your school mix chemicals in science. Which is more dangerous: a pencil or chemicals that could potentially be fatal?"
I turn to Paul and ask him why he bothers. "Look, I'm not against the Acceptable Use Agreement, per se. I'd love to have a Acceptable Use Philosophy that covers all classes. Let's be honest, don't we want kids to use the resources effectively?"
"Yeah, I guess. But it should go without saying."
"You use that word 'should' but reality is reality. People 'should' avoid adding raisins to desserts and salads, but they do. All the time. So, you have to work around it."
"What is your approach?"
"Oh, I just pull the raisins out of the cookie or the carrot cake."
"No, I mean, what's your approach to the Acceptable Use Agreement?"
"My students have their parents sign the Acceptable Use Agreement and then we develop our own agreement. The first part is a guarantee of academic freedom. It spells out their rights and it includes aspects that connect with pencils. The second is a Code of Ethics that they promise to adhere to as they approach learning. We create a new document each year and we sign it collectively as a reminder of both the individual and social responsibility."
"Do kids understand that it applies to pencils?" my wife asks.
"They realize that it applies to all learning and to all learning tools. So, they can't snap a pencil and they can't stab someone with a protractor and they can't use words to tear a student down."
"What do you do with the Acceptable Use Agreement?" I ask him.
"I turn them in to the district where they remain in a file folder. Students forget about it, but often we go back and visit our rights and Bill of Rights and Code of Ethics."
"Paul, do your students sign a Acceptable Use Agreement?"
"They do. I pass it out on the first day."
I hand him mine and ask him for his thoughts. "I don't like it much, I admit. It's not like we have a Acceptable Use agreement for math class. Yet, we hand out protractors that can quickly turn into shanks."
My wife adds, "And we lie to kids about language arts. We're not teaching them the art of language. It's all science the way it's taught. Why isn't there an Acceptable Use Agreement on the dangerous dark art of words? Last time I checked, nations still go to war over words. Couples still fight over words. Sticks and stones will break bones, but words can crush a soul."
Gloria points out, "Kids in your school mix chemicals in science. Which is more dangerous: a pencil or chemicals that could potentially be fatal?"
I turn to Paul and ask him why he bothers. "Look, I'm not against the Acceptable Use Agreement, per se. I'd love to have a Acceptable Use Philosophy that covers all classes. Let's be honest, don't we want kids to use the resources effectively?"
"Yeah, I guess. But it should go without saying."
"You use that word 'should' but reality is reality. People 'should' avoid adding raisins to desserts and salads, but they do. All the time. So, you have to work around it."
"What is your approach?"
"Oh, I just pull the raisins out of the cookie or the carrot cake."
"No, I mean, what's your approach to the Acceptable Use Agreement?"
"My students have their parents sign the Acceptable Use Agreement and then we develop our own agreement. The first part is a guarantee of academic freedom. It spells out their rights and it includes aspects that connect with pencils. The second is a Code of Ethics that they promise to adhere to as they approach learning. We create a new document each year and we sign it collectively as a reminder of both the individual and social responsibility."
"Do kids understand that it applies to pencils?" my wife asks.
"They realize that it applies to all learning and to all learning tools. So, they can't snap a pencil and they can't stab someone with a protractor and they can't use words to tear a student down."
"What do you do with the Acceptable Use Agreement?" I ask him.
"I turn them in to the district where they remain in a file folder. Students forget about it, but often we go back and visit our rights and Bill of Rights and Code of Ethics."
why I don't care about the tablet
"Hey, Techno-Tommy, are you going to buy a tablet?" asks Mr. Brown.
"No. Not anytime soon," I respond.
"It's supposed to revolutionize the paper world. I thought you were a paper-geek."
"It just seems like hype. They might as well say, 'This is hand-crafted from the finest paper of the magical forests and consecrated by the holiest of of all woodland creatures. Every page is guaranteed to save the life of a sprite in danger.' Or 'Use this to turn water into wine and cure leprosy.' I just don't buy it."
Mr. Brown stares at me for a moment. "Really? Medieval mythology and thinly veiled Bible references? I'm talking technology, here, Tommy. It's supposed to revolutionize the paper world."
"Don't get me wrong. A tablet is cool. But it is not revolutionary. The Guttenberg Press was revolutionary. The horseless carriage just might prove to be revolutionary. The American Revolution - now that's revolutionary."
"Far from it," Mr. Brown begins. "As a Canadian, let me offer a critique. You stole democracy from the Greeks, your republican system from the Romans, the Bill of Rights from your states who stole it from the British. When will you understand that you simply aren't that special?"
"Okay, but you would agree that the tablet is mostly hype."
"Maybe. But you can flip through pages and touch it and take notes on books."
"It's a pad of yellow paper made from the over-expensive iCompany. I've been taking notes in books for years. I just don't think it's that special, that's all."
"But it's so much thinner than a notebook. You'll grant me that, won't you."
"Yes, but I never thought my notebooks were too bulky or heavy or cumbersome. I've never thrown out my back trying to care a composition book."
"Consider this, though. Often small changes are what make a huge difference. The shift from scrolls to pages revolutionized reading. The double-entry inventory forms helped the Spanish dominate the world. That and their boats. Oh, and their suave accents. See, it's little things. Yes, railroads are great, but a hundred years from now everyone will drive cars and trains will simply be an annoying, if quaint, relic of the past. But everyone will be carrying around tablets to take notes."
"Perhaps. I just don't see what makes a tablet so incredibly different from a stack of paper or a notebook. And for what it's worth, I'll refrain from the hype until I see the results. After awhile, all the slick marketing starts to feel like the junk mail promising to increase one's manhood or the letters saying I've won a UK lottery."
"No. Not anytime soon," I respond.
"It's supposed to revolutionize the paper world. I thought you were a paper-geek."
"It just seems like hype. They might as well say, 'This is hand-crafted from the finest paper of the magical forests and consecrated by the holiest of of all woodland creatures. Every page is guaranteed to save the life of a sprite in danger.' Or 'Use this to turn water into wine and cure leprosy.' I just don't buy it."
Mr. Brown stares at me for a moment. "Really? Medieval mythology and thinly veiled Bible references? I'm talking technology, here, Tommy. It's supposed to revolutionize the paper world."
"Don't get me wrong. A tablet is cool. But it is not revolutionary. The Guttenberg Press was revolutionary. The horseless carriage just might prove to be revolutionary. The American Revolution - now that's revolutionary."
"Far from it," Mr. Brown begins. "As a Canadian, let me offer a critique. You stole democracy from the Greeks, your republican system from the Romans, the Bill of Rights from your states who stole it from the British. When will you understand that you simply aren't that special?"
"Okay, but you would agree that the tablet is mostly hype."
"Maybe. But you can flip through pages and touch it and take notes on books."
"It's a pad of yellow paper made from the over-expensive iCompany. I've been taking notes in books for years. I just don't think it's that special, that's all."
"But it's so much thinner than a notebook. You'll grant me that, won't you."
"Yes, but I never thought my notebooks were too bulky or heavy or cumbersome. I've never thrown out my back trying to care a composition book."
"Consider this, though. Often small changes are what make a huge difference. The shift from scrolls to pages revolutionized reading. The double-entry inventory forms helped the Spanish dominate the world. That and their boats. Oh, and their suave accents. See, it's little things. Yes, railroads are great, but a hundred years from now everyone will drive cars and trains will simply be an annoying, if quaint, relic of the past. But everyone will be carrying around tablets to take notes."
"Perhaps. I just don't see what makes a tablet so incredibly different from a stack of paper or a notebook. And for what it's worth, I'll refrain from the hype until I see the results. After awhile, all the slick marketing starts to feel like the junk mail promising to increase one's manhood or the letters saying I've won a UK lottery."
a rebel without a clue
Our plog hosting site is across the street. It's a bit like a library, but a little different. People can peruse the plogs, but also subscribe to them and have it sent directly to their home. Some plogs require registration to view or comment and others simply require a word verification code (It's a great device that may some day ward off robots. For now, though, it works great at keeping Phil the Town Drunk from writing obscene comments)
As we cross the road, we face a barricade sponsored by SiteSense, the same folks who keep us away from "unnecessary field trips."
He kindly tells us that the district has restricted us from this site and that we can go elsewhere, but he will not permit us to take any steps forward. I stare at his baton and assume he means business. The Paper World is full of such posturing and though I never test it out, I assume it is correct. Years ago, I would hand-write addresses incorrectly and the postal worker would send it back with a stern "You have performed an illegal operation." I kept expecting the Paper and Parcel Police to pound on my door and take me to prison.
On the way back, a student tells me that it's what she expected.
"Our district slogan is 'Learning for Life,' but life is the very thing they try to avoid."
"One of our values is community, yet we have huge walls that keep us in and the community out."
After school, I stop by the district office. The Assistant Superintendent of Paper-related Learning explains the issue to me.
"Oh yeah, you're supposed to publish all student work to the iSites. We paid good money and we're going to use it."
"Yes, but the Plogger site is free and easier to customize and kids can visit it when they aren't at school."
"But the iSites works with the iParchment and it flows seamlessly in a system. We know the company and we trust them. Besides, I heard that there might be pornographic plogs across the street. Gertrude was tell me a story about . . . "
"Look, I highly doubt it. But if there is, you can always fill out a Report Abuse card for the curator and she will throw the plog in the trash."
"Quite honestly, we are worried about your approach to safety. Your students never even signed the Fair Use policy."
"What do you mean?"
"We have a distinct code explaining how paper and pencil must be used."
"No one told me that."
"Well, you never asked."
"So, do they have a Fair Use Policy in the wood shop? I mean, it seems that they are much more likely to lose a hand in woodshop than, say, gouge out an eye using pencils."
"No, shop class doesn't have the same rules."
"Do we block the choir from singing at the town square? I mean, I heard there is drinking and gambling that goes on over there."
"But that is supervised, Mr. Johnson. Your students could be meandering through a site that SiteSense considers potentially dangerous. They have a scientific process . . ."
"Science is about reason and skepticism. It's about inquiry and exploration. This is hysteria. It's not science. Technology, perhaps, but not science."
I leave with a stack of Fair Use forms for students to hand out to their parents. I am struck by the notion that our community is afraid of all the wrong aspects of pencil and paper. No one questions the proper age and development of a child using a pencil. No one asks whether it is a good thing for a child to have a community audience. No one looks at the death of an oral culture when we embrace all things print-related.
I'm not opposed to having some guidelines or even some paperwork. What scares me is that we get so hung up in creating structures of security that no one seems interested in protecting paper freedom.
(note: I was influenced on this post by a comment made by Josie)
As we cross the road, we face a barricade sponsored by SiteSense, the same folks who keep us away from "unnecessary field trips."
He kindly tells us that the district has restricted us from this site and that we can go elsewhere, but he will not permit us to take any steps forward. I stare at his baton and assume he means business. The Paper World is full of such posturing and though I never test it out, I assume it is correct. Years ago, I would hand-write addresses incorrectly and the postal worker would send it back with a stern "You have performed an illegal operation." I kept expecting the Paper and Parcel Police to pound on my door and take me to prison.
On the way back, a student tells me that it's what she expected.
"Our district slogan is 'Learning for Life,' but life is the very thing they try to avoid."
"One of our values is community, yet we have huge walls that keep us in and the community out."
* * *
After school, I stop by the district office. The Assistant Superintendent of Paper-related Learning explains the issue to me.
"Oh yeah, you're supposed to publish all student work to the iSites. We paid good money and we're going to use it."
"Yes, but the Plogger site is free and easier to customize and kids can visit it when they aren't at school."
"But the iSites works with the iParchment and it flows seamlessly in a system. We know the company and we trust them. Besides, I heard that there might be pornographic plogs across the street. Gertrude was tell me a story about . . . "
"Look, I highly doubt it. But if there is, you can always fill out a Report Abuse card for the curator and she will throw the plog in the trash."
"Quite honestly, we are worried about your approach to safety. Your students never even signed the Fair Use policy."
"What do you mean?"
"We have a distinct code explaining how paper and pencil must be used."
"No one told me that."
"Well, you never asked."
"So, do they have a Fair Use Policy in the wood shop? I mean, it seems that they are much more likely to lose a hand in woodshop than, say, gouge out an eye using pencils."
"No, shop class doesn't have the same rules."
"Do we block the choir from singing at the town square? I mean, I heard there is drinking and gambling that goes on over there."
"But that is supervised, Mr. Johnson. Your students could be meandering through a site that SiteSense considers potentially dangerous. They have a scientific process . . ."
"Science is about reason and skepticism. It's about inquiry and exploration. This is hysteria. It's not science. Technology, perhaps, but not science."
I leave with a stack of Fair Use forms for students to hand out to their parents. I am struck by the notion that our community is afraid of all the wrong aspects of pencil and paper. No one questions the proper age and development of a child using a pencil. No one asks whether it is a good thing for a child to have a community audience. No one looks at the death of an oral culture when we embrace all things print-related.
I'm not opposed to having some guidelines or even some paperwork. What scares me is that we get so hung up in creating structures of security that no one seems interested in protecting paper freedom.
(note: I was influenced on this post by a comment made by Josie)
should plogs be public?
Six graders snicker at the word plog. It sounds dirty, not in our Victorian sense, but in that innocent sense that you expect twelve year olds to have. Kids like turning it into phrases like "Don't plog the toilet," or into a makeshift cursed word like "Son of a plog!" Still, despite the strange terminology, students take pride in their plogs.
When I pass back their final projects, a student asks me what we should do with them.
"Save them, I guess."
"Can we make them public?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, there is this site I go to and it's like a library, but you can publish your plog and anyone can browse it."
"Wouldn't that be dangerous? I mean, wouldn't you worry about creepy people?"
"Maybe," another student interjects, "but I wonder if that's mostly hype. I mean, we let kids sing solos and do concerts for the public, right? And our school already has a baseball team. What's the difference?"
Another student adds, "Actually, a plog seems a little more anonymous. At a baseball game, they see you in person, learn your entire name and have physical access to you. A plog just means they have access to your public thoughts."
"Anyone in the world could visit this site," I point out.
"Do you really think anyone in the world is just going to randomly find out plogs?" a student asks. "No, they have to be searching for it. And if someone across the globe wants to take a boat to our great city and read the work of a bunch of sixth-graders, I say go for it!"
"What if you accidentally said something personal?" another student asks.
"Am I going to quit going to a diner because someone might eavesdrop?"
Another student points out, "I'd like to know what people think of my writing. If someone leaves a bad comment on the margins, I can always erase it."
"I don't know," another boy says. "I get random mail from strange people. I'm not going to divulge my secret, but apparently I have a large some of money in an account in Africa."
Finally, Ruth, a typically shy child, raises her hand and says, "I don't want my posts to be public. I think they belong to the classroom. They should be read by us. These walls aren't all bad. They define our community. I wrote with my classmates in mind. If I knew the public wanted to read my plog, I would have written it a little differently."
A boy adds to her comment, "If we knew that these would go to a public site, we would have been too careful in our approach. We would have tried to sound more important or more humble or more grown-up. I'm with Ruth. I like the barrier we have of a classroom wall."
I quickly develop a compromise, "What if we took this route? What if we played it safe at first and created a three-tiered approach? We could copy and paste the best parts of our personal plogs and made that a public magazine. We could then share our personal plog with the class and then have a separate private journal."
The class agreed with this solution, but then a boy pulled me aside and said, "Mr. Johnson, I think we should get to choose if we make our personal plog private or public. I think every student should have ownership of his or her voice."
When I pass back their final projects, a student asks me what we should do with them.
"Save them, I guess."
"Can we make them public?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, there is this site I go to and it's like a library, but you can publish your plog and anyone can browse it."
"Wouldn't that be dangerous? I mean, wouldn't you worry about creepy people?"
"Maybe," another student interjects, "but I wonder if that's mostly hype. I mean, we let kids sing solos and do concerts for the public, right? And our school already has a baseball team. What's the difference?"
Another student adds, "Actually, a plog seems a little more anonymous. At a baseball game, they see you in person, learn your entire name and have physical access to you. A plog just means they have access to your public thoughts."
"Anyone in the world could visit this site," I point out.
"Do you really think anyone in the world is just going to randomly find out plogs?" a student asks. "No, they have to be searching for it. And if someone across the globe wants to take a boat to our great city and read the work of a bunch of sixth-graders, I say go for it!"
"What if you accidentally said something personal?" another student asks.
"Am I going to quit going to a diner because someone might eavesdrop?"
Another student points out, "I'd like to know what people think of my writing. If someone leaves a bad comment on the margins, I can always erase it."
"I don't know," another boy says. "I get random mail from strange people. I'm not going to divulge my secret, but apparently I have a large some of money in an account in Africa."
Finally, Ruth, a typically shy child, raises her hand and says, "I don't want my posts to be public. I think they belong to the classroom. They should be read by us. These walls aren't all bad. They define our community. I wrote with my classmates in mind. If I knew the public wanted to read my plog, I would have written it a little differently."
A boy adds to her comment, "If we knew that these would go to a public site, we would have been too careful in our approach. We would have tried to sound more important or more humble or more grown-up. I'm with Ruth. I like the barrier we have of a classroom wall."
I quickly develop a compromise, "What if we took this route? What if we played it safe at first and created a three-tiered approach? We could copy and paste the best parts of our personal plogs and made that a public magazine. We could then share our personal plog with the class and then have a separate private journal."
The class agreed with this solution, but then a boy pulled me aside and said, "Mr. Johnson, I think we should get to choose if we make our personal plog private or public. I think every student should have ownership of his or her voice."
In Response to a Ted Talk
Every so often this guy named Ted likes to gather around the world's movers and shakers to offer short lectures on the future of the twentieth century. I know it sounds a little cultish, but these aren't magical mind readers. They don't sacrifice animals to the industrial gods or anything. Most of them are geeks like me, just smarter and with more money and influence and power.
Over this past weekend, they invited my class to visit the latest Ted Talk (I give him points for alliteration). A student pointed out to me, "Isn't that Andrew Carnegie?"
"It looks like it is."
"I can't believe he is lecturing us on what it means to be a philanthropic citizen. I enjoy our library, but I have an uncle who worked in one of his steel mills. When the machine chopped off his arm the company did nothing."
I sat uncomfortably through the talk. Apparently acquiring a massive amount of wealth through the use of monopolistic endeavors gives a man moral authority over others. I whisper to the boy, "Having free books isn't that great of a privilege when you have lost your eyesight in the steel mill."
Next was a man named Phil Bates. He seemed like a nice guy, slightly fidgety and a little shaky, but the kind of man who I would probably enjoy having a pint with. Bates first talked about the need to fix all of the poverty in Africa. It had a slight tone of "white man's burden" to it, especially considering the fact that he failed to address the larger issues of poverty, such as colonialism and imperialism. (Who knows, perhaps he was influenced by Kipling's poetry) Still, I respect a guy who will use wealth to help others. I can't picture Rockefeller or JP Morgan following his example.
However, I couldn't handle his next points. He spoke eloquently about the need to create a new pencil-integrated curriculum prepared to meet the demands of a New Industrial Economy. "Schools should move from one-room schoolhouses to factories producing workers that are knowledgable about our new global economy. Teachers need to be held accountable. Raise their salaries based upon their performance. We need better creative thinkers and our lack of creative teachers is a part of this creative crisis." he implored.
I took offense to his speech for the following reasons:
Over this past weekend, they invited my class to visit the latest Ted Talk (I give him points for alliteration). A student pointed out to me, "Isn't that Andrew Carnegie?"
"It looks like it is."
"I can't believe he is lecturing us on what it means to be a philanthropic citizen. I enjoy our library, but I have an uncle who worked in one of his steel mills. When the machine chopped off his arm the company did nothing."
I sat uncomfortably through the talk. Apparently acquiring a massive amount of wealth through the use of monopolistic endeavors gives a man moral authority over others. I whisper to the boy, "Having free books isn't that great of a privilege when you have lost your eyesight in the steel mill."
Next was a man named Phil Bates. He seemed like a nice guy, slightly fidgety and a little shaky, but the kind of man who I would probably enjoy having a pint with. Bates first talked about the need to fix all of the poverty in Africa. It had a slight tone of "white man's burden" to it, especially considering the fact that he failed to address the larger issues of poverty, such as colonialism and imperialism. (Who knows, perhaps he was influenced by Kipling's poetry) Still, I respect a guy who will use wealth to help others. I can't picture Rockefeller or JP Morgan following his example.
However, I couldn't handle his next points. He spoke eloquently about the need to create a new pencil-integrated curriculum prepared to meet the demands of a New Industrial Economy. "Schools should move from one-room schoolhouses to factories producing workers that are knowledgable about our new global economy. Teachers need to be held accountable. Raise their salaries based upon their performance. We need better creative thinkers and our lack of creative teachers is a part of this creative crisis." he implored.
I took offense to his speech for the following reasons:
- Phil Bates never finished college. He wasn't a great student, either. The man has no formal knowledge about the educational system, no registered research to back up his claims and no peer-reviewed articles under his name.
- Phil Bates earned his income by stealing the intellectual property of another company, marketing it as his own and creating a monopoly in the paper and pencil industry. So it's a little hypocritical when he talks about the need to develop a "creative mind" for future entrepreneurs. Unless, of course, by creativity one means, "find a creative way to take somebody else's ideas."
- It is not charity to offer your paper products at a discount. It is product dumping. Telling kids they "need it" because "that's what businesses use" only stifles future pencil innovations and ensures that your company has a greater market share in the future.
- The assumption that schools only exist to serve private industry goes against the very notion of public education and the original intent of developing critical thinking citizens.
- If you are really worried about training better factory workers for a "global economy," then you need to create vocational programs that do this very thing. But don't tell me that my only goal in teaching sixth graders is to create compliant workers.
- I'm a good teacher and I teach because I care. I teach because I believe it is meaningful. No gold star reward system will ever motivate me to improve.
- Having money doesn't mean you should have a stronger voice in educational reform. Even if this were true, Phil Bates has never once donated to my school. It is funded locally by hardworking citizens. It belongs to us, not him.
Utopia Shattered
After visiting the second school, I told other teachers about the amazing Utopia I had seen. My glossy-eyed edu-crush was shattered when I met with the principal the next day after school.
"I'm amazed with what you have here. How did you pull it off?"
"Tom, this place got real political when we began to change. Twelve teachers quit. People want autonomy and we were asking people to reject practices that weren't working. One teacher told me that she relished in being the Worksheet Warrior. This place works because the teachers agree upon this model."
"I'm impressed by the way it runs."
"Sometimes I worry that we simply attracted great teachers and then some of them have had their hands tied in collaboration and might be more effective if left alone."
"It seems like it's working, though."
"Maybe so, but change doesn't happen in a vacuum. The social and political and economic forces are hard. You know for a fact that both parties have been involved in handing out administrative jobs, right? And the large textbook companies essentially bribed our Governing Board. I almost lost my job in the first year."
I give him a puzzled look for his short lecture on Gilded Age politics. Yes, I know that corruption is the norm. Some of the best teachers had to pay for a teaching position. Yet, that has little to do with pencils and paper.
"What I'm saying is to avoid the thoughts about reform. If you want to be effective, teach well. Focus on your group of thirty students. If you are using pencils and paper effectively, it will catch on. The change will happen organically."
"But your school created structures for change. Your teachers do research and plan curriculum together and . . . "
"I know, but sometimes I wonder if they would have been better off without so much rigid structure. What's important is that they're talking about instruction instead of arguing about discipline or complaining about parents. Besides, things didn't improve for us until I backed down a bit and gave them the reins."
He pauses for a moment and then tells me, "Look, I hope you saw some good strategies, took a few notes on that fancy iParchment you have there and go back to your classroom with ideas. If you learn anything from this place it's to let your theory drive your instruction and then think of the pencils afterward. It's not the pencils, it's the people."
"What about implementing pencil integration school-wide?"
"Let it happen organically, Tom. You have some great teachers at your school. Let them ask you about pencils and move at their own pace. If it's imposed from the top, they'll resent the change. Didn't some guru in the first century say that change begins with something as small as a mustard seed?"
"I'm amazed with what you have here. How did you pull it off?"
"Tom, this place got real political when we began to change. Twelve teachers quit. People want autonomy and we were asking people to reject practices that weren't working. One teacher told me that she relished in being the Worksheet Warrior. This place works because the teachers agree upon this model."
"I'm impressed by the way it runs."
"Sometimes I worry that we simply attracted great teachers and then some of them have had their hands tied in collaboration and might be more effective if left alone."
"It seems like it's working, though."
"Maybe so, but change doesn't happen in a vacuum. The social and political and economic forces are hard. You know for a fact that both parties have been involved in handing out administrative jobs, right? And the large textbook companies essentially bribed our Governing Board. I almost lost my job in the first year."
I give him a puzzled look for his short lecture on Gilded Age politics. Yes, I know that corruption is the norm. Some of the best teachers had to pay for a teaching position. Yet, that has little to do with pencils and paper.
"What I'm saying is to avoid the thoughts about reform. If you want to be effective, teach well. Focus on your group of thirty students. If you are using pencils and paper effectively, it will catch on. The change will happen organically."
"But your school created structures for change. Your teachers do research and plan curriculum together and . . . "
"I know, but sometimes I wonder if they would have been better off without so much rigid structure. What's important is that they're talking about instruction instead of arguing about discipline or complaining about parents. Besides, things didn't improve for us until I backed down a bit and gave them the reins."
He pauses for a moment and then tells me, "Look, I hope you saw some good strategies, took a few notes on that fancy iParchment you have there and go back to your classroom with ideas. If you learn anything from this place it's to let your theory drive your instruction and then think of the pencils afterward. It's not the pencils, it's the people."
"What about implementing pencil integration school-wide?"
"Let it happen organically, Tom. You have some great teachers at your school. Let them ask you about pencils and move at their own pace. If it's imposed from the top, they'll resent the change. Didn't some guru in the first century say that change begins with something as small as a mustard seed?"
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