"Writing an article on the community response to Cathie Black's appointment as NYC Schools Chancellor. Does ANYONE think she's qualified/appropriate for the position? (She's not...but I thought at least 1 out of the last 11 people would say she is)."
I responded:
I can barely articulate how inappropriate she is. And it's not even her, personally--anyone with her background being in this position just illuminates what giant, awful, glaring things are wrong with the larger cultural mindset in regards to education.
And someone replied:
A lot of what's going wrong in education is because the teachers unions are so powerful. It needs to be said we are expecting a top to bottom change and why not someone from outside the perennial education circle. So many excellent CEO switch industries on a dime and I can't see why not Black.
::sigh::
I don't like getting into public-forum debates, so I didn't reply. Maybe not the best move, because shouldn't there be discussion? But it didn't feel like the right forum. So I'm just ranting here instead.
Saying that teachers' unions are to blame for poor education--often defined as kids scoring poorly on tests--ignores the fact that we put more trust in these tests than in the teachers, who are systematically demonized and trivialized in their paper wake.
People are not products that can be consistently pumped out looking polished like magazines. Yes, there is a chance that Cathie Black can make positive changes. Yes, maybe she can work some budget magic. But budget magic does not change the underlying cultural disrespect and distrust of educators. Cathie Black's appointment effectively underscores that lack of respect: you can't do what you're supposed to do, so we're bringing in this businesswoman who can. Again, she might be a brilliant fit for the job. I'll be happily surprised if she is. But the message remains that educators can't educate.
I'm not a huge fan of unions: I think generally, they've strayed from the original task of protecting workers and have ranged farther and farther out into outrageous roadblocking. But when it comes to the UFT, they're pretty much the only ones even somewhat supporting teachers on a philosophical level (ie, competent, trained professionals). My problem is not with Cathie Black, her decision to leave Hearst and join the DOE. My problem is with Mayor Bloomberg, who offered her the job, and the undoubtedly millions of others who think business models are the solution for education.
People are not products: they don't just go away or get scrapped if they don't turn out right. You can't just put in another order for better ones and stop doing business if they come back unsatisfactory. People are an investment. We all need long-term support and proper care from our earliest days onward.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Where Your Mouth Is
I find myself unable to calm down about the fact that I recently came across a couple of brochures for local private schools. Their tuitions - for kindergarten - are more than I was taking home as a preschool teacher. One of them charges more for pre-K than I cleared in a year.
I just... I am so angry. I recently found myself explaining to non-teachers that $5,000 for preschool is a competitive price. And you know what? The whole thing just pisses me off. The fact that a good education is still such a money club because we, as a country at large, continue to bitch about how bad our schools are and do nothing but "reform" them over and over with new curriculums, new tests, and new demands on teachers and administrators.
How about, oh, I don't know, funding decent schooling?
How about paying teachers decently and respecting their voices (rather than treating them like the enemy who are somehow responsible for the entire failing system) so that intelligent, reflective people are drawn to the profession and stay there, instead of the current split between caring, overworked educators and mediocre, half-invested educators, neither of whom can teach to the level needed?
No one ever suggests that we determine a politician's pay by the local GDP, or a banker's salary by the number of new accounts versus defaults on the bank's loans. Few question a doctor's medical expertise, or an attorney's legal knowledge, yet teachers are constantly suspected of not knowing what they're doing, and these days, their salaries are subject to their students' test scores. People feel entitled to bitch about what public school teachers do incorrectly, but nobody would sit down with a firefighter or a police officer and say, "I know how to do your job better than you do, because my tax dollars pay your salary." It's a perverse system that pits parents against teachers when really, we should all be on the same page because we all want children to become happy, successful adults.
Why do people who can afford to pay those ridiculous tuitions do so? Because those schools hire good educators, pay them well, and trust in their expertise. That trust shows in the reputations of the schools (and is subsequently reflected in their tuition prices).
There's a whole underlying classism issue that I don't want to dig up, but find myself skirting closer and closer to it. Especially after visiting a former student in her home; this child adores me and the feeling is mutual, but all the goodwill I felt from/for mom fairly much evaporated in the space of an hour, as she felt a need to repeatedly complain to me about how difficult it is to get a good housekeeper.
I'm sorry, what?
It gets me angry to a point where I can't be rational; I work my ass off, and get paid shit, and I have supplemented my income at times with babysitting and housecleaning. And guess what? I have a master's degree. I have training, and certification, and I couldn't afford to send my personal children to just about any of the schools that I'm qualified to teach at.
My vocation is more akin to servitude than to other professions. That, dear reader, is disgusting. And today, I can't even begin to offer potential solutions. Today, I can only manage to be gut-level angry at how many people - children and adults - get the shaft because of the way things work in this country.
America, put your ridiculous amounts of money where your mouth is: fund education properly.
I just... I am so angry. I recently found myself explaining to non-teachers that $5,000 for preschool is a competitive price. And you know what? The whole thing just pisses me off. The fact that a good education is still such a money club because we, as a country at large, continue to bitch about how bad our schools are and do nothing but "reform" them over and over with new curriculums, new tests, and new demands on teachers and administrators.
How about, oh, I don't know, funding decent schooling?
How about paying teachers decently and respecting their voices (rather than treating them like the enemy who are somehow responsible for the entire failing system) so that intelligent, reflective people are drawn to the profession and stay there, instead of the current split between caring, overworked educators and mediocre, half-invested educators, neither of whom can teach to the level needed?
No one ever suggests that we determine a politician's pay by the local GDP, or a banker's salary by the number of new accounts versus defaults on the bank's loans. Few question a doctor's medical expertise, or an attorney's legal knowledge, yet teachers are constantly suspected of not knowing what they're doing, and these days, their salaries are subject to their students' test scores. People feel entitled to bitch about what public school teachers do incorrectly, but nobody would sit down with a firefighter or a police officer and say, "I know how to do your job better than you do, because my tax dollars pay your salary." It's a perverse system that pits parents against teachers when really, we should all be on the same page because we all want children to become happy, successful adults.
Why do people who can afford to pay those ridiculous tuitions do so? Because those schools hire good educators, pay them well, and trust in their expertise. That trust shows in the reputations of the schools (and is subsequently reflected in their tuition prices).
There's a whole underlying classism issue that I don't want to dig up, but find myself skirting closer and closer to it. Especially after visiting a former student in her home; this child adores me and the feeling is mutual, but all the goodwill I felt from/for mom fairly much evaporated in the space of an hour, as she felt a need to repeatedly complain to me about how difficult it is to get a good housekeeper.
I'm sorry, what?
It gets me angry to a point where I can't be rational; I work my ass off, and get paid shit, and I have supplemented my income at times with babysitting and housecleaning. And guess what? I have a master's degree. I have training, and certification, and I couldn't afford to send my personal children to just about any of the schools that I'm qualified to teach at.
My vocation is more akin to servitude than to other professions. That, dear reader, is disgusting. And today, I can't even begin to offer potential solutions. Today, I can only manage to be gut-level angry at how many people - children and adults - get the shaft because of the way things work in this country.
America, put your ridiculous amounts of money where your mouth is: fund education properly.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
An ounce of prevention.
http://www.slc.edu/adult-professional/cdi/events/
If you don't have an hour and a half (who does?), just watch the 10 minutes from about 50 minutes in to the close of the first hour. Temple Grandin talks about kids with autism, but she could very well be talking about anybody, autism or no.
And/or, from 73:09, there's a piece of her answer to the question about bullying and teasing that's absolutely fascinating to me: non-teasing environments, where she had friends, arose from shared interests. She lists a number of activities that can create social bonds for kids with autism (and I would argue kids without autism, too). I thought, these are all the things that get cut first.
Socialization through shared interests: art, theater, science, cooking, building things.
How many jails do we build, how much funding do we throw at social programs, in order to care for (or worse, simply contain) the people who get squeezed out of their own productive capabilities through a lack of support early on?
If you don't have an hour and a half (who does?), just watch the 10 minutes from about 50 minutes in to the close of the first hour. Temple Grandin talks about kids with autism, but she could very well be talking about anybody, autism or no.
And/or, from 73:09, there's a piece of her answer to the question about bullying and teasing that's absolutely fascinating to me: non-teasing environments, where she had friends, arose from shared interests. She lists a number of activities that can create social bonds for kids with autism (and I would argue kids without autism, too). I thought, these are all the things that get cut first.
Socialization through shared interests: art, theater, science, cooking, building things.
How many jails do we build, how much funding do we throw at social programs, in order to care for (or worse, simply contain) the people who get squeezed out of their own productive capabilities through a lack of support early on?
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Coming Back to the Magic Phrase
A few nights ago I read a couple of chapters of Switch: How to Change Things When Change is Hard. The authors use examples from all different sources to illustrate their ideas, and there's some of the inevitable internal phraseology that happens (they borrow Jonathan Haidt's Elephant and Rider analogy for our emotional and rational mind, respectively, and add things like Paths, bright spots, Clinics, etc.), but it's a goldmine of simple, sensical, study-backed social science that is useful in a lot of ways.
What struck me most was this:
To pursue bright spots is to ask the question, "What's working and how can we do more of it?" Sounds simple, doesn't it? Yet, in the real world, this obvious question is almost never asked. Instead, the question we ask is more problem focused: "What's broken, and how do we fix it?"
This one paragraph sums up a lot of what I talk about here: seeing children as broken and in need of repair, instead of working from their strengths. Seeing what kids aren't doing well, and drilling them on it, over and over, in various ways, instead of taking a moment to see what they are doing well and building on it.
As a prime example of this, I'll quote again, from this post, what the American Association of Pediatrics has to say about vision therapy: “Ineffective, controversial methods of treatment such as vision therapy may give parents and teachers a false sense of security that a child’s learning difficulties are being addressed, may waste family and/or school resources and may delay proper instruction or remediation.”
You see, a simple solution such as giving a child "magic glasses" to help them read in a more facile manner works - and it works while flying in the face of the heaping pile of research, statistical compilations, and endless maze of solutions that's grown up around learning difficulties. Low-power glasses don't change a child's ability to read; but they change a child's belief in his or her ability to read, and something so simple and powerful just doesn't fit in with all the carefully controlled studies. Doctors and education specialists conclude that since it doesn't fix what's broken, then the fact that it solves the problem must somehow be false.
No, no, and no!
Do you see? We come back to the magic phrase: people don't see what they're not looking for.
If you are not looking to see what works, you will not see anything that works as a solution. If you're looking for ways to fix something that's broken, you will always be focused on the broken pieces because that's where you started. If you start from success, your solution will be about building on success, rather than avoiding failure.
It's a simple, crucial difference. It's a switch we have to make.
What struck me most was this:
To pursue bright spots is to ask the question, "What's working and how can we do more of it?" Sounds simple, doesn't it? Yet, in the real world, this obvious question is almost never asked. Instead, the question we ask is more problem focused: "What's broken, and how do we fix it?"
This one paragraph sums up a lot of what I talk about here: seeing children as broken and in need of repair, instead of working from their strengths. Seeing what kids aren't doing well, and drilling them on it, over and over, in various ways, instead of taking a moment to see what they are doing well and building on it.
As a prime example of this, I'll quote again, from this post, what the American Association of Pediatrics has to say about vision therapy: “Ineffective, controversial methods of treatment such as vision therapy may give parents and teachers a false sense of security that a child’s learning difficulties are being addressed, may waste family and/or school resources and may delay proper instruction or remediation.”
You see, a simple solution such as giving a child "magic glasses" to help them read in a more facile manner works - and it works while flying in the face of the heaping pile of research, statistical compilations, and endless maze of solutions that's grown up around learning difficulties. Low-power glasses don't change a child's ability to read; but they change a child's belief in his or her ability to read, and something so simple and powerful just doesn't fit in with all the carefully controlled studies. Doctors and education specialists conclude that since it doesn't fix what's broken, then the fact that it solves the problem must somehow be false.
No, no, and no!
Do you see? We come back to the magic phrase: people don't see what they're not looking for.
If you are not looking to see what works, you will not see anything that works as a solution. If you're looking for ways to fix something that's broken, you will always be focused on the broken pieces because that's where you started. If you start from success, your solution will be about building on success, rather than avoiding failure.
It's a simple, crucial difference. It's a switch we have to make.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Other Kinds of Smart
I've been heard to say that I don't like people. And that's true: I don't. As a species, I think we're rather craptastic. We destroy ourselves and other living things on a scale that is completely unnecessary, especially considering that nature already has an extensive arsenal of weather phenomena and other means of shaking things up.
However, I also find on a smaller level that we have the capacity for incredible creation. It's heartening, the little moments of kindness that are everywhere if you look for them. It's probably why I like working with small children so much: they are as surprisingly, spontaneously creative and kind as often as they are otherwise.
Kind or otherwise, in destruction or creation mode, the thing about people is, we need each other. We're social creatures, for better or worse. We are not able to meet all of our individual needs by ourselves: we need help from each other, whether it's to meet basic survival needs (food, shelter), emotional needs, spiritual needs, and so on.
So what, may I ask, is the point of educating everyone to have the same skills?
Because you see, we all have different skills and strengths. You can see it very early on, even amongst siblings, the different personalities and qualities that people have. Yet our educational system very clearly favors a particular kind of hands-off, head-only, reading and writing intensive means of approaching things.
What you end up doing is robbing individuals and communities both by limiting the skill sets people can draw from to get things done. Our needs don't change just because we're ill-equipped to meet them.
What happens to A., a child in my class two years in a row, who has such fine control over his body and such an eye for manipulating small parts and fixing things? If given an opportunity to be physically active, and to be the person other people come to when they need something repaired, he might flourish. But he'll get to school and be discouraged from using his hands (except to write), and he'll gets antsy, and his tenuous social skills will be broken down instead of strengthened, because he can't perform well in that environment.
What happens to a countless number of children whose strengths lie outside the narrow range favored in schools? The kid who can make his friends feel better but can't quite add quickly enough; the kid who can choreograph and lead her friends in a dance but can't be bothered to read assigned stories; any number of kids whose skills tend toward social, emotional, physical, philosophical, anything that can't be expressed on composition notebook paper. They are suckled on the lie that they're not good enough.
The reality is, we need every kind of smart we can get. Yes, we need people who can write coherently. Yes, we need people who can calculate various things quickly and accurately. But we also need things to write about, and reasons to make calculations. We need those skills to be in the service of people whose strengths provide the fodder for the writers and calculators; the artists, the entrepreneurs, the athletes and the entertainers, and so on. We do ourselves no favors by suppressing all the other kinds of smart that make us, as individuals, more happy and healthy, and our communities stronger and more resilient.
However, I also find on a smaller level that we have the capacity for incredible creation. It's heartening, the little moments of kindness that are everywhere if you look for them. It's probably why I like working with small children so much: they are as surprisingly, spontaneously creative and kind as often as they are otherwise.
Kind or otherwise, in destruction or creation mode, the thing about people is, we need each other. We're social creatures, for better or worse. We are not able to meet all of our individual needs by ourselves: we need help from each other, whether it's to meet basic survival needs (food, shelter), emotional needs, spiritual needs, and so on.
So what, may I ask, is the point of educating everyone to have the same skills?
Because you see, we all have different skills and strengths. You can see it very early on, even amongst siblings, the different personalities and qualities that people have. Yet our educational system very clearly favors a particular kind of hands-off, head-only, reading and writing intensive means of approaching things.
What you end up doing is robbing individuals and communities both by limiting the skill sets people can draw from to get things done. Our needs don't change just because we're ill-equipped to meet them.
What happens to A., a child in my class two years in a row, who has such fine control over his body and such an eye for manipulating small parts and fixing things? If given an opportunity to be physically active, and to be the person other people come to when they need something repaired, he might flourish. But he'll get to school and be discouraged from using his hands (except to write), and he'll gets antsy, and his tenuous social skills will be broken down instead of strengthened, because he can't perform well in that environment.
What happens to a countless number of children whose strengths lie outside the narrow range favored in schools? The kid who can make his friends feel better but can't quite add quickly enough; the kid who can choreograph and lead her friends in a dance but can't be bothered to read assigned stories; any number of kids whose skills tend toward social, emotional, physical, philosophical, anything that can't be expressed on composition notebook paper. They are suckled on the lie that they're not good enough.
The reality is, we need every kind of smart we can get. Yes, we need people who can write coherently. Yes, we need people who can calculate various things quickly and accurately. But we also need things to write about, and reasons to make calculations. We need those skills to be in the service of people whose strengths provide the fodder for the writers and calculators; the artists, the entrepreneurs, the athletes and the entertainers, and so on. We do ourselves no favors by suppressing all the other kinds of smart that make us, as individuals, more happy and healthy, and our communities stronger and more resilient.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Update? Wow.
I've been quiet for some time; not for lack of caring, though. And not for lack of thinking about education.
Mostly I've been busy laying the groundwork for a vision of what education could be - what, if you've read this blog so far, I believe it should be.
Now that it's almost September (really?!), I suppose the "back to school" vibe is in the air and has caught my attention to the point where I feel I need to say: still here. Still finding ways to do right by children.
And, in my own small way, still trying to make peace.
Mostly I've been busy laying the groundwork for a vision of what education could be - what, if you've read this blog so far, I believe it should be.
Now that it's almost September (really?!), I suppose the "back to school" vibe is in the air and has caught my attention to the point where I feel I need to say: still here. Still finding ways to do right by children.
And, in my own small way, still trying to make peace.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
The Doors and Windows of Opportunity
Once, on my birthday, I saw Billy Collins read some of his work.
He talked about the kind of poetry he admires, and the kind he aspired to write. He described a poem as a house, a mansion - inside, there can be any number of rooms, decorated any way you wish, with any number of things happening.
But mansion or humble cottage, any house must have a door. A poem, like a house, must have a way inside.
So too must an education.
In my graduate program, we talked a lot about multiple entry points into curriculum. I do think it's important to have a diverse number of ways to connect with whatever subject matter is at hand, whether it's art, science, writing, whatever. But here's the thing. No matter what you're studying, the way inside is to feel that it's worth walking through the door. That whatever's on the other side is something you want to see.
How do you make that happen?
Open up all the windows, let in the light.
And more detailed information will be coming soon, but for now, know this: letting in the light is exactly what I plan to do.
He talked about the kind of poetry he admires, and the kind he aspired to write. He described a poem as a house, a mansion - inside, there can be any number of rooms, decorated any way you wish, with any number of things happening.
But mansion or humble cottage, any house must have a door. A poem, like a house, must have a way inside.
So too must an education.
In my graduate program, we talked a lot about multiple entry points into curriculum. I do think it's important to have a diverse number of ways to connect with whatever subject matter is at hand, whether it's art, science, writing, whatever. But here's the thing. No matter what you're studying, the way inside is to feel that it's worth walking through the door. That whatever's on the other side is something you want to see.
How do you make that happen?
Open up all the windows, let in the light.
And more detailed information will be coming soon, but for now, know this: letting in the light is exactly what I plan to do.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Make Peace.
"I know how to protest war, but I don't know how to make peace."
These were words heard by the leader of a church in Manhattan when visiting a Quaker meeting. They became the subject of a prayer ribbon project that caught my eye one day, and I'm so glad I stopped to read how the project came about. I thought about these words again a few weeks ago as a committee that I've been serving on put the finishing touches on our curriculum.
The curriculum we've designed is an attempt to help children make peace. Or, as I've seen somewhere or other (on a bumper sticker, probably), to "wage" peace. Because peace is exactly like war, in the sense that it doesn't come from nowhere. Peace, like war, arises from a series of small decisions and a variety of influences. Peace has a history.
We talked a lot about peace, justice, and mutual respect; we talked about how such abstract values can be made concrete for children. Turns out there's a lot we can do. We can provide examples, by setting up games and role-playing, we can present problems for the children to solve together.
These were words heard by the leader of a church in Manhattan when visiting a Quaker meeting. They became the subject of a prayer ribbon project that caught my eye one day, and I'm so glad I stopped to read how the project came about. I thought about these words again a few weeks ago as a committee that I've been serving on put the finishing touches on our curriculum.
The curriculum we've designed is an attempt to help children make peace. Or, as I've seen somewhere or other (on a bumper sticker, probably), to "wage" peace. Because peace is exactly like war, in the sense that it doesn't come from nowhere. Peace, like war, arises from a series of small decisions and a variety of influences. Peace has a history.
(photo from http://www.flickr.com/photos/33981855@N04/3164684831/)
We talked a lot about peace, justice, and mutual respect; we talked about how such abstract values can be made concrete for children. Turns out there's a lot we can do. We can provide examples, by setting up games and role-playing, we can present problems for the children to solve together.
More than that, we can also be examples. We can work to be at peace with ourselves and with others. To illustrate what this doesn't look like, I think about a child in my class: her mother understands child development, and in particular knows what kind of child her daughter is, and instead of being at peace with that, has been steadily working to make her feel bad about herself. (Example: the girl had an accident, as recently-turned-4-year-olds sometimes do, and mom berated her in front of her teachers and other parents, then came back the next week and berated us teachers as well for good measure.) Most recently, she gave me a series of forms to fill out, attempting to get her daughter diagnosed with a disorder she doesn't have.
This girl, will she be able to make peace? Will she struggle with her thoughts, second-guessing her own experience and in turn second-guessing others throughout her days, because her mother cannot respect who she is and be just?
Peace has a history, and that history is written with every choice we make.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Spring Fever Makes Me Inarticulate.
Today I don't want to talk about the injustices of education, foisted on children by adults. Because today, my annoyance lies elsewhere.
Namely, with the children.
Lately, my classroom has been suffering from a severe case of spring fever. It happens every year to some degree; the kids get restless, punchy, and seem to lose the ability to listen to anyone over four feet tall. The result is no mental downtime for the adults in the room, as we are constantly arbitrating, repeating ourselves, and trying to introduce new/cool stuff to keep boredom from compounding the problem. The constant need for me to be "on," combined with whatever level of punchiness the children exhibit, is a nasty recipe that causes me to be far less patient with them and produces the need to nap the instant I arrive home. Being exhausted and annoyed with the kids makes it more difficult to come up with awesome plans and continue doing the documentation that I share with colleagues and families, all of which generally makes me cranky.
So hopefully, this too shall pass, as I have seen the good stuff come from these kids over many months, and this will turn out to be a short period of disequilibrium in the longer stretch of a happily functioning classroom. Children, like adults, have times when they are more wacky and moody than others... it sucks, from the adult point of view, to ride it out. But if I've done my job right, they'll get through it and we'll all move on!
Namely, with the children.
Lately, my classroom has been suffering from a severe case of spring fever. It happens every year to some degree; the kids get restless, punchy, and seem to lose the ability to listen to anyone over four feet tall. The result is no mental downtime for the adults in the room, as we are constantly arbitrating, repeating ourselves, and trying to introduce new/cool stuff to keep boredom from compounding the problem. The constant need for me to be "on," combined with whatever level of punchiness the children exhibit, is a nasty recipe that causes me to be far less patient with them and produces the need to nap the instant I arrive home. Being exhausted and annoyed with the kids makes it more difficult to come up with awesome plans and continue doing the documentation that I share with colleagues and families, all of which generally makes me cranky.
So hopefully, this too shall pass, as I have seen the good stuff come from these kids over many months, and this will turn out to be a short period of disequilibrium in the longer stretch of a happily functioning classroom. Children, like adults, have times when they are more wacky and moody than others... it sucks, from the adult point of view, to ride it out. But if I've done my job right, they'll get through it and we'll all move on!
Sunday, April 11, 2010
occupational therapy, snake oil, normality.
Lately my head has been filled with disorders and disabilities. I mean, I've been thinking about the semantics of disorders and disabilities. I've been sitting on this entry for a while, because it's a sensitive issue for many, many people (especially parents), and I don't want anyone to feel dismissed.
Just now I tried searching for the New York Times article I read recently about the rise of occupational therapy - it didn't pop up - but instead I got a hit for an article about vision therapy ("Concocting a Cure for Kids with Issues," March 14 2010). It's a therapy that's not really respected by the medical field, or by other special education therapies (physical, occupational, speech, applied behavior analysis, etc.); the central tenet, as explained in the article, is that many of the learning problems diagnosed as A.D.H.D. and the like are, in fact, misdiagnoses that treat the symptoms and not the root of an underlying vision problem. To quote:
"...vision therapists often see children’s learning and attention problems as part of the high-pressure society that kids are forced to grow up in. While problems like A.D.H.D., dyslexia and other developmental or learning disorders are now seen by mainstream medicine as related to differences in brain structure, wiring and chemistry, the behavioral-optometry model conceives of achievement-related problems as resulting from the environment: notably, the stress of growing up in an unnatural and overly visually demanding world."
It goes on to say, "In this schema, vision therapy just undoes what culture has created. There’s nothing actually wrong with the child who’s struggling to learn or pay attention — his or her dysfunction has been caused by the outside world. This reasoning is filled with the promise that, with the right kind of care, any child can rise to any sort of opportunity."
What amazes me about the opposition to vision therapy and behavioral optometry is not that it exists - certainly every idea should be turned around, examined, and questioned - but that it all seems to be based on the argument, "Well, it's not scientific enough. You're not doing anything except making children and parents feel good about themselves." Example cited by critics: "...the low-power glasses that behavioral optometrists prescribe to reduce stress are so weak that they can’t actually have any effect on a child’s vision — except to make the child believe that they are helping his vision (or to please a parent who believes they are helping the child’s vision)."
The American Academy of Pediatrics says, “Ineffective, controversial methods of treatment such as vision therapy may give parents and teachers a false sense of security that a child’s learning difficulties are being addressed, may waste family and/or school resources and may delay proper instruction or remediation.”
As if feeling good about yourself is somehow a bad thing, a hinderance on "proper learning." What does that say about our idea of 'proper learning'? That it should be drudgery? That we should struggle and hate every moment of school in order to learn? (Obviously, if you have been reading so far you know my feelings on interest, engagement, and learning - and you know I disagree with drudgery for drudgery's sake.)
It would also help if children - people in general but children especially - were not seen as some sort of predicable scientific subjects. Science is a wonderful thing, and it is fascinating to know that no matter whether you heat it in a kettle or a pot, with a gas flame or an electric coil, water is water and will boil at 212 F. Or 100 C. Whichever. But people are not a hard science. People vary. Our emotions matter, and they are not measurable in degrees, Fahrenheit or Celsius. And, when I say our emotions matter, I mean that they absolutely affect the outcome of a situation. They cannot be disregarded or ignored, or treated like a variable in a science experiment.
What bothers me about the "scientific" argument is that it loses sight of the ultimate goal. The whole idea isn't to get kids to respond predictably to stimuli, like water to heat. The idea is to get kids to acquire and use literacy and mathematical skills. So what if they need 'magic glasses' to help them do it? It is hardly a "false sense of security" if the child actually makes strides in their academic life (or, as the article suggests, several areas of life, including sports and music). It is, rather, achieving the ultimate goal of the child being comfortable with academic skills.
This post ended up straying a bit from where I started - I want to get to the story about the "snake oil" of the title - but I think this is where I need to end for now. Certainly, it's a large and complicated enough topic to warrant revisiting. So here's to a bit of time to digest, with snake oil to come.
Just now I tried searching for the New York Times article I read recently about the rise of occupational therapy - it didn't pop up - but instead I got a hit for an article about vision therapy ("Concocting a Cure for Kids with Issues," March 14 2010). It's a therapy that's not really respected by the medical field, or by other special education therapies (physical, occupational, speech, applied behavior analysis, etc.); the central tenet, as explained in the article, is that many of the learning problems diagnosed as A.D.H.D. and the like are, in fact, misdiagnoses that treat the symptoms and not the root of an underlying vision problem. To quote:
"...vision therapists often see children’s learning and attention problems as part of the high-pressure society that kids are forced to grow up in. While problems like A.D.H.D., dyslexia and other developmental or learning disorders are now seen by mainstream medicine as related to differences in brain structure, wiring and chemistry, the behavioral-optometry model conceives of achievement-related problems as resulting from the environment: notably, the stress of growing up in an unnatural and overly visually demanding world."
It goes on to say, "In this schema, vision therapy just undoes what culture has created. There’s nothing actually wrong with the child who’s struggling to learn or pay attention — his or her dysfunction has been caused by the outside world. This reasoning is filled with the promise that, with the right kind of care, any child can rise to any sort of opportunity."
What amazes me about the opposition to vision therapy and behavioral optometry is not that it exists - certainly every idea should be turned around, examined, and questioned - but that it all seems to be based on the argument, "Well, it's not scientific enough. You're not doing anything except making children and parents feel good about themselves." Example cited by critics: "...the low-power glasses that behavioral optometrists prescribe to reduce stress are so weak that they can’t actually have any effect on a child’s vision — except to make the child believe that they are helping his vision (or to please a parent who believes they are helping the child’s vision)."
The American Academy of Pediatrics says, “Ineffective, controversial methods of treatment such as vision therapy may give parents and teachers a false sense of security that a child’s learning difficulties are being addressed, may waste family and/or school resources and may delay proper instruction or remediation.”
As if feeling good about yourself is somehow a bad thing, a hinderance on "proper learning." What does that say about our idea of 'proper learning'? That it should be drudgery? That we should struggle and hate every moment of school in order to learn? (Obviously, if you have been reading so far you know my feelings on interest, engagement, and learning - and you know I disagree with drudgery for drudgery's sake.)
It would also help if children - people in general but children especially - were not seen as some sort of predicable scientific subjects. Science is a wonderful thing, and it is fascinating to know that no matter whether you heat it in a kettle or a pot, with a gas flame or an electric coil, water is water and will boil at 212 F. Or 100 C. Whichever. But people are not a hard science. People vary. Our emotions matter, and they are not measurable in degrees, Fahrenheit or Celsius. And, when I say our emotions matter, I mean that they absolutely affect the outcome of a situation. They cannot be disregarded or ignored, or treated like a variable in a science experiment.
What bothers me about the "scientific" argument is that it loses sight of the ultimate goal. The whole idea isn't to get kids to respond predictably to stimuli, like water to heat. The idea is to get kids to acquire and use literacy and mathematical skills. So what if they need 'magic glasses' to help them do it? It is hardly a "false sense of security" if the child actually makes strides in their academic life (or, as the article suggests, several areas of life, including sports and music). It is, rather, achieving the ultimate goal of the child being comfortable with academic skills.
This post ended up straying a bit from where I started - I want to get to the story about the "snake oil" of the title - but I think this is where I need to end for now. Certainly, it's a large and complicated enough topic to warrant revisiting. So here's to a bit of time to digest, with snake oil to come.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Children, Meet Earth.
I'm not a visual person. I don't really look at the living room and say, "You know what would be great? Some curtains in a color that compliments the couch, with a chair over here and..."
But today, I looked at our playground (not very far from the legendary recycled-rubber bits), and I saw it where it does not currently exist: a raised bed of... peppers, maybe. Or something, anything, green and growing.
I think that in the wider world, I would be easily dismissed as an unrealistic, idealistic, hippy-liberal or any number of epitaphs to describe someone who thinks that we can actually all get along, even if we never quite understand each other fully. But the reality is, while I am socially liberal, I am personally quite conservative: I think as a whole, people can't do for themselves and need help, but individually, we should all be capable of taking care of ourselves and our surroundings (home, family, community...).
In other words, you need to protect and take care of your own.
So as a teacher, I need to teach these kids to care about their own. And what is theirs? This space at school, for one. That's where we begin. We take care of our space. We take care of our bodies, too - that's why we go outside every day, why we have a 'fitness' program, why we have healthy snacks at snack time. It then makes sense that we can do both at once by gardening.
Therefore... raise the beds!
But today, I looked at our playground (not very far from the legendary recycled-rubber bits), and I saw it where it does not currently exist: a raised bed of... peppers, maybe. Or something, anything, green and growing.
I think that in the wider world, I would be easily dismissed as an unrealistic, idealistic, hippy-liberal or any number of epitaphs to describe someone who thinks that we can actually all get along, even if we never quite understand each other fully. But the reality is, while I am socially liberal, I am personally quite conservative: I think as a whole, people can't do for themselves and need help, but individually, we should all be capable of taking care of ourselves and our surroundings (home, family, community...).
In other words, you need to protect and take care of your own.
So as a teacher, I need to teach these kids to care about their own. And what is theirs? This space at school, for one. That's where we begin. We take care of our space. We take care of our bodies, too - that's why we go outside every day, why we have a 'fitness' program, why we have healthy snacks at snack time. It then makes sense that we can do both at once by gardening.
Therefore... raise the beds!
Monday, March 15, 2010
Recent Letter to Families
Dear Families,
It all began with snack gone awry. Several times, when we had yogurt or applesauce or something vaguely liquidy for snack, Mrs. B and I noticed that several cups ended up in the cup bin with a cloudy mixture in them: a sign that snack was being used to play and not to eat!
A lot of times, there's a knee-jerk reaction to something like this--children do something they're not "supposed" to do, and so we adults immediately forbid the inappropriate action. The problem with this reaction is, it might suppress the behavior, but it doesn't erase the desire to do whatever it is the children are doing, and often it leads to us being upset at them for finding ways to continue doing it.
In this case, clearly, the kids wanted to mix stuff.
Normally, we're not big proponents of using food for anything but eating at school--I know one of my own personal values is to waste as little as possible. But here, I don't consider it a waste to provide the children with an opportunity for scientific exploration. (Yes, I said it: mixing random food together is scientific exploration!)
Science is all about asking questions and conducting experiments to find answers. For three and four year olds, those questions are things like, "What happens if we mix bread with water?" and then of course we use our hands to mix the bread and the water together, to feel the changes in the texture. Then we ask again. "What happens if we add jelly to the bread and water?" And we mix and we feel the changes (and as several children noted, "My hands are all sticky!")
So far the children came up with a list of things they'd like to mix, and we've completed two concoctions. The recipes were as follows...
Concoction #1
bread
water
grape jelly
blue food coloring
mini marshmallows
green paint
purple paint
Concoction #2
soy sauce
duck sauce
hot mustard
bananas
mini marshmallows
We'll do another concoction this week, and we can start to point out patterns: marshmallows don't mix like the other stuff does, for example. Perhaps just as importantly, together we've turned what could have been an ongoing tension in the classroom--the children playing with their food and teachers getting frustrated--into an ongoing scientific inquiry that challenges the children to stretch their minds and allows them to really do some hands-on work!
Not a bad fate for all those ketchup packets, eh?
It all began with snack gone awry. Several times, when we had yogurt or applesauce or something vaguely liquidy for snack, Mrs. B and I noticed that several cups ended up in the cup bin with a cloudy mixture in them: a sign that snack was being used to play and not to eat!
A lot of times, there's a knee-jerk reaction to something like this--children do something they're not "supposed" to do, and so we adults immediately forbid the inappropriate action. The problem with this reaction is, it might suppress the behavior, but it doesn't erase the desire to do whatever it is the children are doing, and often it leads to us being upset at them for finding ways to continue doing it.
In this case, clearly, the kids wanted to mix stuff.
Normally, we're not big proponents of using food for anything but eating at school--I know one of my own personal values is to waste as little as possible. But here, I don't consider it a waste to provide the children with an opportunity for scientific exploration. (Yes, I said it: mixing random food together is scientific exploration!)
Science is all about asking questions and conducting experiments to find answers. For three and four year olds, those questions are things like, "What happens if we mix bread with water?" and then of course we use our hands to mix the bread and the water together, to feel the changes in the texture. Then we ask again. "What happens if we add jelly to the bread and water?" And we mix and we feel the changes (and as several children noted, "My hands are all sticky!")
So far the children came up with a list of things they'd like to mix, and we've completed two concoctions. The recipes were as follows...
Concoction #1
bread
water
grape jelly
blue food coloring
mini marshmallows
green paint
purple paint
Concoction #2
soy sauce
duck sauce
hot mustard
bananas
mini marshmallows
We'll do another concoction this week, and we can start to point out patterns: marshmallows don't mix like the other stuff does, for example. Perhaps just as importantly, together we've turned what could have been an ongoing tension in the classroom--the children playing with their food and teachers getting frustrated--into an ongoing scientific inquiry that challenges the children to stretch their minds and allows them to really do some hands-on work!
Not a bad fate for all those ketchup packets, eh?
Saturday, March 6, 2010
The Rock of Interest
One of the two playgrounds at my school is covered in a recycled-rubber surface, or in other words, many many pieces of shredded tires.
Underneath the tires, I assume there has to be dirt, and rocks. But if ever I've seen a version of the needle in the haystack with my own eyes, it's a rock in the playground. Try finding rocks in something that looks like this:
But here's the thing: one kid in my afternoon group decided he was going to look for rocks. He took a bucket and got to work, and before long, he'd found a rock. And then another one. And another, and on until when it was time to go home, he had too many rocks to carry in his hands. I had to give him a Ziploc to put them in. I poured his new rock collection into the bag, thinking that was the end of it.
Silly thought, that.
The next day, half the class was scouring the playground for rocks. And they all found enough rocks to fill their hands and beyond. And even today, a week or two later, I put four rocks in a child's mailbox that she'd asked me to hold on to for her while she played elsewhere on the playground. Chances are, they'll find rocks until the end of the year.
Why does this matter?
Simply because if I had asked the children, or told the children, to look for rocks, they probably wouldn't have done it. Or, maybe a little bit, but not the handfuls of rocks they've uncovered, and not for the length of time they've spent searching. Looking for stones half the size of a golf ball amid thousands and thousands of little black rubber pieces half the size of a golf ball... well, it takes patience, and persistence, and a desire to find what you're looking for. It's not something you do unless you're interested in doing it.
And isn't that how we operate in life? Don't we perform better, feel better, interact with others better, remember better, when we're interested in whatever's going on? Interest fuels learning, and when we take away the balance of things that children learn "because they should/need to" and things they learn because they want to, we destroy entire worlds of possibility.
Underneath the tires, I assume there has to be dirt, and rocks. But if ever I've seen a version of the needle in the haystack with my own eyes, it's a rock in the playground. Try finding rocks in something that looks like this:
But here's the thing: one kid in my afternoon group decided he was going to look for rocks. He took a bucket and got to work, and before long, he'd found a rock. And then another one. And another, and on until when it was time to go home, he had too many rocks to carry in his hands. I had to give him a Ziploc to put them in. I poured his new rock collection into the bag, thinking that was the end of it.
Silly thought, that.
The next day, half the class was scouring the playground for rocks. And they all found enough rocks to fill their hands and beyond. And even today, a week or two later, I put four rocks in a child's mailbox that she'd asked me to hold on to for her while she played elsewhere on the playground. Chances are, they'll find rocks until the end of the year.
Why does this matter?
Simply because if I had asked the children, or told the children, to look for rocks, they probably wouldn't have done it. Or, maybe a little bit, but not the handfuls of rocks they've uncovered, and not for the length of time they've spent searching. Looking for stones half the size of a golf ball amid thousands and thousands of little black rubber pieces half the size of a golf ball... well, it takes patience, and persistence, and a desire to find what you're looking for. It's not something you do unless you're interested in doing it.
And isn't that how we operate in life? Don't we perform better, feel better, interact with others better, remember better, when we're interested in whatever's going on? Interest fuels learning, and when we take away the balance of things that children learn "because they should/need to" and things they learn because they want to, we destroy entire worlds of possibility.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Overlooking the Obvious
Families have to trust teachers - adults outside the demarcations of 'family'- to aid in the rearing of their children. So a good rapport between teachers and families is important. Trust and good rapport, as I see it, has honesty as its base.
So it annoys me that I am not honest, and that I feel I cannot be honest, about a very basic piece of my life with families.
Why should it matter that my significant other is a woman? It shouldn't. And maybe it wouldn't, if I happened to mention it in conversation.
But I work hard enough as it is to convince families (not all, but many) that my approach to education is thorough and informed, that I understand their children's needs, and that even though I have a facial piercing and I wear jeans & t-shirts to work, I am a professional. I carry around this niggling feeling that if I were to share this piece about my life (a piece that I feel is ultimately inconsequential), there are enough people out there who would second-guess my work as to make my already substantial efforts unsustainable. It's not a feeling I enjoy, and as I said maybe it's unfounded, but there it is.
However, as with so many things, people don't see what they're not looking for. A week or two ago I guess I let slip a first-person plural pronoun sort of story--"we" don't watch much tv or whatever it was--and the mom I was talking with exclaimed, "Oh! I didn't realize you were married!"
Though I've known this woman for almost two years, we've only ever encountered one another within the hallways of the school. How many moms, dads, grandparents, etc. have had countless conversations with me about families and never noticed that I am particularly oblique about my own? When my colleague became a grandmother, signs went up announcing it. Others talk about their children freely; it's never a question that they have husbands (or less frequently, ex-husbands) who are a part of those children's lives. In my case, maybe there are a few parents who have put two and two together, but one way or the other, I've fallen into this 'don't ask, don't tell' policy with families.
Trust? Check. Good rapport? Check. Total honesty? Hm, we're all working on it.
So it annoys me that I am not honest, and that I feel I cannot be honest, about a very basic piece of my life with families.
Why should it matter that my significant other is a woman? It shouldn't. And maybe it wouldn't, if I happened to mention it in conversation.
But I work hard enough as it is to convince families (not all, but many) that my approach to education is thorough and informed, that I understand their children's needs, and that even though I have a facial piercing and I wear jeans & t-shirts to work, I am a professional. I carry around this niggling feeling that if I were to share this piece about my life (a piece that I feel is ultimately inconsequential), there are enough people out there who would second-guess my work as to make my already substantial efforts unsustainable. It's not a feeling I enjoy, and as I said maybe it's unfounded, but there it is.
However, as with so many things, people don't see what they're not looking for. A week or two ago I guess I let slip a first-person plural pronoun sort of story--"we" don't watch much tv or whatever it was--and the mom I was talking with exclaimed, "Oh! I didn't realize you were married!"
Though I've known this woman for almost two years, we've only ever encountered one another within the hallways of the school. How many moms, dads, grandparents, etc. have had countless conversations with me about families and never noticed that I am particularly oblique about my own? When my colleague became a grandmother, signs went up announcing it. Others talk about their children freely; it's never a question that they have husbands (or less frequently, ex-husbands) who are a part of those children's lives. In my case, maybe there are a few parents who have put two and two together, but one way or the other, I've fallen into this 'don't ask, don't tell' policy with families.
Trust? Check. Good rapport? Check. Total honesty? Hm, we're all working on it.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Yes, But Can He Count to Five?
I'm writing some descriptive reviews, based on the Prospect School process (oh, how my grad school teachers would be bouncing with glee to know that), and I'm doing it in place of the assessments that my director keeps insisting I produce. I can't help myself.
And I can't help but notice the difference in what her sheet asks me to write, and what I'm actually writing. For your reference, this is:
- fine motor coordination
- gross motor coordination
- concept development
- continued observation of relationships
- observations of activities
versus
- physical presence
- disposition/temperament
- relationships with others
- interests and preferences
(I'm not doing the fifth Prospect piece, which is about a child's learning style, though I have at previous times.)
It struck me just as I was writing about this child who is very funny. I mean, he cracks people up, adults and children alike. I don't know, is that supposed to fit under "concept development"? Should I say "he has a highly developed concept of how humor works"? I will admit this assessment isn't as awful as many that are out there, but... I don't enjoy chopping a child up into a series of skills and activities. It's like I say, "this kid is really funny," and the paper says back, "yes, but can he cut with scissors?"
It gets me thinking about the lens we use to look at people, children or adults. (Ah, now there's one of those stellar academic catchphrases, "the lens" with which we view things.) What Prospect's process does that so many do not is look at a child for who they are and what they can do, not how they measure up to an abstract category of ability. Being funny is one of those things that is so important and definitive of who this boy is, yet would go completely unnoted if I were to focus solely on his activities or his fine motor skills.
See, the thing is, there's no "yes, but" with the descriptive review. There's plenty of opportunity to mention things that might be of concern, but they are in the context of an entire person with strengths and weaknesses; it doesn't end up sounding like there's this broken part of a machine that we need to fix so that it works properly. When it comes to people, there's a hell of a lot of parts, and the descriptive review allows you to have a to look at what is, not some idea of what "should be," and go from there.
The phrase that I mentioned in an earlier post - people don't see what they're not looking for - is one that certainly applies here and will apply again in a future post, one that will take a slight diversion from children themselves into a personal issue of mine as a teacher. For now let me end by saying it is dangerous to summarize someone, child or adult, by what they lack, and especially to do so while overlooking the context of that person as a whole being.
And I can't help but notice the difference in what her sheet asks me to write, and what I'm actually writing. For your reference, this is:
- fine motor coordination
- gross motor coordination
- concept development
- continued observation of relationships
- observations of activities
versus
- physical presence
- disposition/temperament
- relationships with others
- interests and preferences
(I'm not doing the fifth Prospect piece, which is about a child's learning style, though I have at previous times.)
It struck me just as I was writing about this child who is very funny. I mean, he cracks people up, adults and children alike. I don't know, is that supposed to fit under "concept development"? Should I say "he has a highly developed concept of how humor works"? I will admit this assessment isn't as awful as many that are out there, but... I don't enjoy chopping a child up into a series of skills and activities. It's like I say, "this kid is really funny," and the paper says back, "yes, but can he cut with scissors?"
It gets me thinking about the lens we use to look at people, children or adults. (Ah, now there's one of those stellar academic catchphrases, "the lens" with which we view things.) What Prospect's process does that so many do not is look at a child for who they are and what they can do, not how they measure up to an abstract category of ability. Being funny is one of those things that is so important and definitive of who this boy is, yet would go completely unnoted if I were to focus solely on his activities or his fine motor skills.
See, the thing is, there's no "yes, but" with the descriptive review. There's plenty of opportunity to mention things that might be of concern, but they are in the context of an entire person with strengths and weaknesses; it doesn't end up sounding like there's this broken part of a machine that we need to fix so that it works properly. When it comes to people, there's a hell of a lot of parts, and the descriptive review allows you to have a to look at what is, not some idea of what "should be," and go from there.
The phrase that I mentioned in an earlier post - people don't see what they're not looking for - is one that certainly applies here and will apply again in a future post, one that will take a slight diversion from children themselves into a personal issue of mine as a teacher. For now let me end by saying it is dangerous to summarize someone, child or adult, by what they lack, and especially to do so while overlooking the context of that person as a whole being.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Relax.
Greetings from Barbados!
When I told people I was coming here over the February break, I got a lot of "oh, aren't you lucky" kinds of looks and comments. And I very heartily believe part of that is weather-related; at this time of year, the novel thrill of cold and snow has long given way to a feeling of endless drab and dreariness, and the idea of a tropical climate is just heaven. But also, I think part of the reaction is a general perception of the Caribbean as a place where people (Americans) go to relax and get away from the responsibilities and pressures of their daily lives, regardless of the weather.
The truth of the pace of life here in Barbados (or anywhere tropical) is a much bigger topic than I am able or prepared to talk about; however, I do feel that in terms of the responsibilities and pressures Americans feel, there is more than a little that seems self-made in nature. Education is no exception. And so I offer this piece from Lisa Murphy, which speaks very well to how we might begin to unravel some of the tension we carry around and place upon children as well. The original link is here, and without further ado...
November 29, 2008
RESISTING THE URGE TO CREATE TEACHABLE MOMENTS
By Lisa Murphy
Ooey Gooey® Membership Musing #6 July 2007
A little bit of history: This piece was originally written for an Indiana newspaper. There were 16 of us asked to be contributors for a special Father's Day Sunday paper insert. The original title was "Using Everyday Moments to Teach". I am not sure if my piece actually appeared in the paper, but I wanted to share it with you. I also wanted to change the title.
============================
When asked to be a contributor for the special newspaper insert mentioned above, I was honored. When told what the title of my piece would be I found myself letting out a big heavy sigh. The idea behind the original title, of course, is that we can use what goes on around us to impart knowledge to our young, and don't need to "go buy stuff" in order to teach things to our children. All in all this is true. What then was the reason for my big heavy sigh? Well, right now amid testing frenzy, elementary school level expectations showing up in preschool classrooms, teachers being second guessed, districts pressured to purchase pre-packaged, dry curriculum aligned with content standards, recess being outlawed, tag and running on play yards being banned, pressure on babies to be reading, toddlers doing homework and three and four year olds plastered to computers all in the name of"learning" while at the same time our society as a whole is showing evidence of a lack of communication skills, social skills and a general disappearance of common sense, maybe instead of another article about teaching and learning what we really need is for someone to say,"HOLD ON A MINUTE!! STOP! Everyone just slow down for a minute! Stop just for a second and take a breath." Parents are frantic, children are stressed. Pressure is coming at everyone from all sides. Very few are immune from these recent outlandish expectations. As a preschool owner and educator for almost 20 years, I would argue that instead of another article about teaching our kids, what is needed is permission to be with our kids. Permission to stay strong and resist the urge to make everything a teachable moment. Permission to listen to the birds in the yard without needing to know their genus and species. Permission to build with Lego blocks without needing to count how many we used. Permission to plant flowers without needing to take the "What color are they?" quiz. Permission is hereby granted to appreciate everyday moments without the "moment" needing to be folded, spindled or mutilated into a learning experience. I would send a gentle reminder that in our hunt for these teachable moments we can miss the forest for the trees. I shudder at the thought of folks starting to"plan" (can you imagine??!) everyday experiences to make sure our children are "learning things." As adults we often forget that children are constantly learning from the world around them. More often we forget that children are capable of learning things and acquiring knowledge without adult intervention. Now before you denounce me as just another liberal, learn as they go, touchy feely educator, I challenge you to hear me out on this one. First off, we want kids to read and write. No one is saying otherwise. What I am saying is that instead of learning being a natural, authentic experience which children take part in, it has become something done to them. Truth be told, most folks, young or old, don't like things done to them. Learning has been reduced to a list of items to be checked off a to-do list. Colors? Check! ABCs? Check! The entire process got skewed along the way and has become very frantic and forced both for adults and children alike. From Dr. Maxine Greene, education professor at New York University, "You cannot teach them anything unless they want to be there." With this maxim in mind, if every single outing to the zoo becomes an unnecessary and exhausting day of drill and kill (How many hippos? What color are the giraffes? Where is the alligator? What kind of bird is that?) the honest truth is that eventually kids aren't going to want to go to the zoo any more. And neither will you. To paraphrase Joseph Chilton Pearce in his book "Evolution's End" : little learning takes place from willful forced attempts to make children learn. Provide an appropriate environment and appropriate experiences and you cannot prevent their brains from learning because learning is what their brains are designed to do. Cheers to you Mr. Pearce! And here's to all of you too. Permission granted. I'll see you at the zoo.
===========================
Lisa Murphy, B.S., educator and author, CEO of Ooey Gooey Inc. and owner of The Ooey Gooey® Playschools, can be reached at her office via phone (800) 477-7977 or through her websites www.ooeygooey.com and www.ooeygooeyplayschools.com
When I told people I was coming here over the February break, I got a lot of "oh, aren't you lucky" kinds of looks and comments. And I very heartily believe part of that is weather-related; at this time of year, the novel thrill of cold and snow has long given way to a feeling of endless drab and dreariness, and the idea of a tropical climate is just heaven. But also, I think part of the reaction is a general perception of the Caribbean as a place where people (Americans) go to relax and get away from the responsibilities and pressures of their daily lives, regardless of the weather.
The truth of the pace of life here in Barbados (or anywhere tropical) is a much bigger topic than I am able or prepared to talk about; however, I do feel that in terms of the responsibilities and pressures Americans feel, there is more than a little that seems self-made in nature. Education is no exception. And so I offer this piece from Lisa Murphy, which speaks very well to how we might begin to unravel some of the tension we carry around and place upon children as well. The original link is here, and without further ado...
November 29, 2008
RESISTING THE URGE TO CREATE TEACHABLE MOMENTS
By Lisa Murphy
Ooey Gooey® Membership Musing #6 July 2007
A little bit of history: This piece was originally written for an Indiana newspaper. There were 16 of us asked to be contributors for a special Father's Day Sunday paper insert. The original title was "Using Everyday Moments to Teach". I am not sure if my piece actually appeared in the paper, but I wanted to share it with you. I also wanted to change the title.
============================
When asked to be a contributor for the special newspaper insert mentioned above, I was honored. When told what the title of my piece would be I found myself letting out a big heavy sigh. The idea behind the original title, of course, is that we can use what goes on around us to impart knowledge to our young, and don't need to "go buy stuff" in order to teach things to our children. All in all this is true. What then was the reason for my big heavy sigh? Well, right now amid testing frenzy, elementary school level expectations showing up in preschool classrooms, teachers being second guessed, districts pressured to purchase pre-packaged, dry curriculum aligned with content standards, recess being outlawed, tag and running on play yards being banned, pressure on babies to be reading, toddlers doing homework and three and four year olds plastered to computers all in the name of"learning" while at the same time our society as a whole is showing evidence of a lack of communication skills, social skills and a general disappearance of common sense, maybe instead of another article about teaching and learning what we really need is for someone to say,"HOLD ON A MINUTE!! STOP! Everyone just slow down for a minute! Stop just for a second and take a breath." Parents are frantic, children are stressed. Pressure is coming at everyone from all sides. Very few are immune from these recent outlandish expectations. As a preschool owner and educator for almost 20 years, I would argue that instead of another article about teaching our kids, what is needed is permission to be with our kids. Permission to stay strong and resist the urge to make everything a teachable moment. Permission to listen to the birds in the yard without needing to know their genus and species. Permission to build with Lego blocks without needing to count how many we used. Permission to plant flowers without needing to take the "What color are they?" quiz. Permission is hereby granted to appreciate everyday moments without the "moment" needing to be folded, spindled or mutilated into a learning experience. I would send a gentle reminder that in our hunt for these teachable moments we can miss the forest for the trees. I shudder at the thought of folks starting to"plan" (can you imagine??!) everyday experiences to make sure our children are "learning things." As adults we often forget that children are constantly learning from the world around them. More often we forget that children are capable of learning things and acquiring knowledge without adult intervention. Now before you denounce me as just another liberal, learn as they go, touchy feely educator, I challenge you to hear me out on this one. First off, we want kids to read and write. No one is saying otherwise. What I am saying is that instead of learning being a natural, authentic experience which children take part in, it has become something done to them. Truth be told, most folks, young or old, don't like things done to them. Learning has been reduced to a list of items to be checked off a to-do list. Colors? Check! ABCs? Check! The entire process got skewed along the way and has become very frantic and forced both for adults and children alike. From Dr. Maxine Greene, education professor at New York University, "You cannot teach them anything unless they want to be there." With this maxim in mind, if every single outing to the zoo becomes an unnecessary and exhausting day of drill and kill (How many hippos? What color are the giraffes? Where is the alligator? What kind of bird is that?) the honest truth is that eventually kids aren't going to want to go to the zoo any more. And neither will you. To paraphrase Joseph Chilton Pearce in his book "Evolution's End" : little learning takes place from willful forced attempts to make children learn. Provide an appropriate environment and appropriate experiences and you cannot prevent their brains from learning because learning is what their brains are designed to do. Cheers to you Mr. Pearce! And here's to all of you too. Permission granted. I'll see you at the zoo.
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Lisa Murphy, B.S., educator and author, CEO of Ooey Gooey Inc. and owner of The Ooey Gooey® Playschools, can be reached at her office via phone (800) 477-7977 or through her websites www.ooeygooey.com and www.ooeygooeyplayschools.com
Monday, February 8, 2010
The Smartest Things I've Seen
I mentioned better means of assessment than tests. I should add that I'm talking about cognitive assessment - there are many kinds of smart, and mental facility with language and mathematics and the like is only one kind. That's the kind tests are designed to measure, and that's the focus here. That said.
Better assessment often depends on our own powers of observation: people don't see what they're not looking for, so if you're not looking for a child's ability to make meaningful connections, you'll miss it. Three stories to illustrate my point.
1. The Napkin
The first classroom I ever worked in was a 3-year-old room. One day at the easel, we teachers had put out bits of different colored tissue paper for the kids to stick to their paintings. There was one boy who was very excited to try it, but by the time he got a chance to paint, the tissue paper had been used up by others. His reaction was to stop and look around. He went over to the sink, where we kept the supply of cups and napkins for snack. He grabbed a napkin off the top, tore it and wadded it up all over his painting.
2. The Teacup
The pitchers we use at snack have handles that slide off for easy cleaning. Some of the kids discovered they could take the handle off all by themselves. One boy took the handle and balanced it next to his snack cup. He called me over. "Look! A teacup!!"
3. The Rainstick
One girl in my class loves music. By now I've learned not to worry if I don't see her for five minutes after she comes into school: I know she's gone across the hall to visit, dance, and sing with our music specialist. So one day, she was playing with the periscope from our science center. She'd removed the two mirror pieces at each end, and was looking through it like a spyglass. She spied a pile of bits and bobs from the carpentry table where we were taking apart a computer; she put a few screws and things in the periscope, placed her hands at both ends, and turned to me as she rotated her new invention - "a rainstick. Listen, doesn't it sound like a rainstick?"
So why's that so smart?
When you learn something, you literally make a connection in your brain, a new neural pathway that wasn't there before. What the children did in these stories was make a connection in their brain that could be seen by anyone who was watching. The boy in the first story spoke Spanish as a first language, and it was difficult to assess his cognitive skills through language alone, since he was learning English as part of his first school experience. Yet clearly, he made the connection between what he wanted (little bits of paper on his painting) and something that often ended up torn and wadded up (napkins from snack), and solved the problem of having no tissue paper for himself.
Both of the children in my current class made a connection between something they've previously encountered (a teacup, a rainstick) and the materials at hand. These small moments are easy to dismiss, but these are the moments that reveal a child's thinking and learning. This is what they do naturally. If we're not looking for it, we don't see it.
I understand that on a large scale, it is difficult to assess children observationally. It is time and labor-intensive on the adults' part. But what kind of example are we for the children we care for, if our assessments are slapdash, our efforts minimal, our attention somewhere else? What message do we send? It is a message of value: your ideas are not worth investigating, we are only interested in the right answer to an arbitrary series of questions. And so children - who are always making connections - make the connection that value lies in a very superficial measure of their experience (like ignoring all the other kinds of smart). The smartest things I've seen are moments when a child thinks something through, figures something out, goes deep into the soup of their experience to ask, "where have I seen this before? how does it apply to what I'm doing now?"
I'll talk more about those questions another time, in relation to the "other" kinds of smart, since they're just as applicable. For now, I will leave you with a task: think of a time when you made a cognitive leap - when something 'clicked' and you understood something you didn't before. Then think about whether it was something you were tested on or not.
Feel free to share if you'd like.
Better assessment often depends on our own powers of observation: people don't see what they're not looking for, so if you're not looking for a child's ability to make meaningful connections, you'll miss it. Three stories to illustrate my point.
1. The Napkin
The first classroom I ever worked in was a 3-year-old room. One day at the easel, we teachers had put out bits of different colored tissue paper for the kids to stick to their paintings. There was one boy who was very excited to try it, but by the time he got a chance to paint, the tissue paper had been used up by others. His reaction was to stop and look around. He went over to the sink, where we kept the supply of cups and napkins for snack. He grabbed a napkin off the top, tore it and wadded it up all over his painting.
2. The Teacup
The pitchers we use at snack have handles that slide off for easy cleaning. Some of the kids discovered they could take the handle off all by themselves. One boy took the handle and balanced it next to his snack cup. He called me over. "Look! A teacup!!"
3. The Rainstick
One girl in my class loves music. By now I've learned not to worry if I don't see her for five minutes after she comes into school: I know she's gone across the hall to visit, dance, and sing with our music specialist. So one day, she was playing with the periscope from our science center. She'd removed the two mirror pieces at each end, and was looking through it like a spyglass. She spied a pile of bits and bobs from the carpentry table where we were taking apart a computer; she put a few screws and things in the periscope, placed her hands at both ends, and turned to me as she rotated her new invention - "a rainstick. Listen, doesn't it sound like a rainstick?"
So why's that so smart?
When you learn something, you literally make a connection in your brain, a new neural pathway that wasn't there before. What the children did in these stories was make a connection in their brain that could be seen by anyone who was watching. The boy in the first story spoke Spanish as a first language, and it was difficult to assess his cognitive skills through language alone, since he was learning English as part of his first school experience. Yet clearly, he made the connection between what he wanted (little bits of paper on his painting) and something that often ended up torn and wadded up (napkins from snack), and solved the problem of having no tissue paper for himself.
Both of the children in my current class made a connection between something they've previously encountered (a teacup, a rainstick) and the materials at hand. These small moments are easy to dismiss, but these are the moments that reveal a child's thinking and learning. This is what they do naturally. If we're not looking for it, we don't see it.
I understand that on a large scale, it is difficult to assess children observationally. It is time and labor-intensive on the adults' part. But what kind of example are we for the children we care for, if our assessments are slapdash, our efforts minimal, our attention somewhere else? What message do we send? It is a message of value: your ideas are not worth investigating, we are only interested in the right answer to an arbitrary series of questions. And so children - who are always making connections - make the connection that value lies in a very superficial measure of their experience (like ignoring all the other kinds of smart). The smartest things I've seen are moments when a child thinks something through, figures something out, goes deep into the soup of their experience to ask, "where have I seen this before? how does it apply to what I'm doing now?"
I'll talk more about those questions another time, in relation to the "other" kinds of smart, since they're just as applicable. For now, I will leave you with a task: think of a time when you made a cognitive leap - when something 'clicked' and you understood something you didn't before. Then think about whether it was something you were tested on or not.
Feel free to share if you'd like.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Recent History
Yesterday, one of my children was late coming to school because he was taking a kindergarten entrance exam. I don't think it's a coincidence that this article about kindergarten testing was the most recent cover story of New York Magazine. It speaks very directly to the issue of testing children at the age of 4 to determine their cognitive abilities. The focus is on testing for gifted & talented (G&T) programs and high-end private schools in the city.
In short, says the article, the testing is worthless.
More specifically, the test isn't totally worthless, but the way the information is used and never revisited makes it so. A child is tested once, at age 4, and never again; though children grow and their minds aren't static, the testing system treats them as if they are. From New York:
Those who are bullish on intelligence tests argue they’re “pure” gauges of a child’s mental agility—immune to shifts in circumstance, immutable over the course of a lifetime. Yet everything we know about this subject suggests that there are considerable fluctuations in children’s IQs. In 1989, the psychologist Lloyd Humphreys, a pioneer in the field of psychometrics, came out with an analysis based on a longitudinal twin study in Louisville, Kentucky, whose subjects were regularly IQ-tested between ages 4 and 15. By the end of those eleven years, the average change in their IQs was ten points. That’s a spread with significant educational consequences. A 4-year-old with an IQ of 85 would likely qualify for remedial education. But that same child would no longer require it if, later on, his IQ shoots up to 95. A 4-year-old with an IQ of 125 would fall below the 130 cutoff for the G&T programs in most cities. Yet if, at some point after that, she scores a 135, it will have been too late. She’ll already have missed the benefit of an enhanced curriculum.
I would broaden this to any childhood testing: a child's mind is not a static thing, and yet children are 'tracked' as if this were the case. The whole premise of education - the tacit thing we all agree to but never seem to articulate aloud - is that one's behavior can change, one's actions and abilities influenced, through instruction. So, if we believe that children's minds can change, why do we use a test, a small sampling of ability at a particular moment in time, to define their capacity, instead of treating them like the dynamic entities they are?
The short (and cynical) answer is because it's easier to measure a static moment than dynamic movement. And, I do strongly believe there are ways to gauge children more holistically. But, since I feel this is more than enough to chew on for now, my next post will touch more on what, exactly, that might look like. For now, all I know is that the boy who came to school late yesterday - I sent the link for the New York article to his mom. It's small, but it's something; maybe she will feel less alone, less anxious, when her child does not want to sit and be asked random questions by a stranger, as happened yesterday. Who knows.
It's a start.
In short, says the article, the testing is worthless.
More specifically, the test isn't totally worthless, but the way the information is used and never revisited makes it so. A child is tested once, at age 4, and never again; though children grow and their minds aren't static, the testing system treats them as if they are. From New York:
Those who are bullish on intelligence tests argue they’re “pure” gauges of a child’s mental agility—immune to shifts in circumstance, immutable over the course of a lifetime. Yet everything we know about this subject suggests that there are considerable fluctuations in children’s IQs. In 1989, the psychologist Lloyd Humphreys, a pioneer in the field of psychometrics, came out with an analysis based on a longitudinal twin study in Louisville, Kentucky, whose subjects were regularly IQ-tested between ages 4 and 15. By the end of those eleven years, the average change in their IQs was ten points. That’s a spread with significant educational consequences. A 4-year-old with an IQ of 85 would likely qualify for remedial education. But that same child would no longer require it if, later on, his IQ shoots up to 95. A 4-year-old with an IQ of 125 would fall below the 130 cutoff for the G&T programs in most cities. Yet if, at some point after that, she scores a 135, it will have been too late. She’ll already have missed the benefit of an enhanced curriculum.
I would broaden this to any childhood testing: a child's mind is not a static thing, and yet children are 'tracked' as if this were the case. The whole premise of education - the tacit thing we all agree to but never seem to articulate aloud - is that one's behavior can change, one's actions and abilities influenced, through instruction. So, if we believe that children's minds can change, why do we use a test, a small sampling of ability at a particular moment in time, to define their capacity, instead of treating them like the dynamic entities they are?
The short (and cynical) answer is because it's easier to measure a static moment than dynamic movement. And, I do strongly believe there are ways to gauge children more holistically. But, since I feel this is more than enough to chew on for now, my next post will touch more on what, exactly, that might look like. For now, all I know is that the boy who came to school late yesterday - I sent the link for the New York article to his mom. It's small, but it's something; maybe she will feel less alone, less anxious, when her child does not want to sit and be asked random questions by a stranger, as happened yesterday. Who knows.
It's a start.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Every Story Begins with a Word.
Children.
That is the word I want to begin this story, for children are the subjects of this blog, and in turn, this blog is to serve them. Serving the needs of children is what I do daily in my professional life; lately, I feel as if the children I see from Monday to Friday are not the only ones I can serve. I can do more. I can do this - speak directly to you, the parent, the teacher, the aunt or uncle, the adult who loves the child or children in your life and feels a bit lost in the sea of expectations and uncertainty involved in educating a human being.
I want to help, I want to create a resource and a forum for discussion, because I think we are all a little bit adrift. There's so much out there - information and ideas about how to best provide an education, what that education looks like, etc. - and a part of me asks if I am doing anything by adding my voice to the din. But then, a greater part of me feels that there needs to be more voices saying, Teaching a child to read at 'grade level' is not as important as teaching a child to read between the lines of their experience and make sense of it for themselves. Teaching a child how to divide fractions is not as important as teaching a child to prevent divisions within their community. So much of the current educational climate ignores anything that can't be measured with a paper test - surely, a cultural foundation made of paper skills will give out as quickly as a physical building would, were a ream of paper laid as its base.
And so I want to be clear about two of my deeply held beliefs, the premises that guide everything I will be posting here:
1. Children - future adults - have merit both in terms of what they can do now, as well as what they are capable of achieving later on.
2. Learning does not occur in a vacuum - regardless of age, everyone has the ability to learn, and learning is at its best when all aspects of our selves are engaged: cognitive, physical, emotional, social, spiritual... we are whole beings and we learn as whole beings.
As I post, I will most likely end up talking about something in 1., or 2., or both. I can't say either of those things enough. Because what education comes down to is value: how we display and transmit, in real terms, what is intrinsically valuable to us.
What is it we want to build with on the ground floor, steady and stable, yet with enough give to withstand the occasionally shifting movements of the earth below?
Every building needs a door; and so this blog is the door of my virtual classroom. This is the threshold between philosophy and practice - a space where thoughts and ideas, and the real-life stories to illustrate them, can go freely to and fro. Every building needs a door. Every story begins with a word.
Welcome.
That is the word I want to begin this story, for children are the subjects of this blog, and in turn, this blog is to serve them. Serving the needs of children is what I do daily in my professional life; lately, I feel as if the children I see from Monday to Friday are not the only ones I can serve. I can do more. I can do this - speak directly to you, the parent, the teacher, the aunt or uncle, the adult who loves the child or children in your life and feels a bit lost in the sea of expectations and uncertainty involved in educating a human being.
I want to help, I want to create a resource and a forum for discussion, because I think we are all a little bit adrift. There's so much out there - information and ideas about how to best provide an education, what that education looks like, etc. - and a part of me asks if I am doing anything by adding my voice to the din. But then, a greater part of me feels that there needs to be more voices saying, Teaching a child to read at 'grade level' is not as important as teaching a child to read between the lines of their experience and make sense of it for themselves. Teaching a child how to divide fractions is not as important as teaching a child to prevent divisions within their community. So much of the current educational climate ignores anything that can't be measured with a paper test - surely, a cultural foundation made of paper skills will give out as quickly as a physical building would, were a ream of paper laid as its base.
And so I want to be clear about two of my deeply held beliefs, the premises that guide everything I will be posting here:
1. Children - future adults - have merit both in terms of what they can do now, as well as what they are capable of achieving later on.
2. Learning does not occur in a vacuum - regardless of age, everyone has the ability to learn, and learning is at its best when all aspects of our selves are engaged: cognitive, physical, emotional, social, spiritual... we are whole beings and we learn as whole beings.
As I post, I will most likely end up talking about something in 1., or 2., or both. I can't say either of those things enough. Because what education comes down to is value: how we display and transmit, in real terms, what is intrinsically valuable to us.
What is it we want to build with on the ground floor, steady and stable, yet with enough give to withstand the occasionally shifting movements of the earth below?
Every building needs a door; and so this blog is the door of my virtual classroom. This is the threshold between philosophy and practice - a space where thoughts and ideas, and the real-life stories to illustrate them, can go freely to and fro. Every building needs a door. Every story begins with a word.
Welcome.
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