Are higher-order thinking and nonambiguously-measurable objectives inherently at odds with each other?  Or can the two be combined so that making all standards measurable for accountability’s sake doesn’t have to shortchange the kids on the most transferrable skills?

Check comments for my thoughts–I’m going to hold off on posting them for at least a week to see what other people think first.  Discuss, debate, post links to other articles, even cite Wikipedia if you have to.  Definitely invite your friends.  But as you tear each other’s arguments’ faces off, be polite.

Dear Office,

Second hour is not present for class today.  They seem to be present for an episode of Springer, but that is not a subject that I teach, so as far as I’m concerned they are ditching.  Please mark them accordingly.  Thank you.

That’s not quite a direct quote, but it’s a very close paraphrase, to the note that I sent up to the office today with a blank attendance form because second hour wouldn’t get quiet so I could take attendance.  These…ridiculous little brats…

I just found out about this today.  This is going to be a transitional year; the new standards are supposed to be fully implemented next year.  The standards in use last year covered all four grades, even though the test over the standards was in 10th grade.  The new standards are split out into 9-10 and 11-12.

I’ve only glanced over them a little bit, so this is pretty much pure knee-jerk.  Take it for whatever it’s worth.

Splitting the standards into pre- and post-AIMS is, as far as I know, the smartest thing that’s happened to the curriculum in a long time.  The downside seems to be that the 9-10 curriculum narrows slightly as some of the harder stuff is bumped to after AIMS.  However, the 11-12 curriculum is expanded to include more precalculus type stuff.  So, we no longer have to justify everything higher-level than Algebra 1 and Sophomore Geometry as being related to those standards.  I can use this…

As of now, I for one welcome our new Standards overlords.

My bosses’ boss: “The reason we have to deal with all this intrusive state paperwork is we, as a profession, dropped the ball for a long time and it showed in our product.  Our students weren’t learning math and science, and now our national security is suffering because of it.”

Compare to what I say about NCLB: “It’s obnoxious and annoying, and the only thing worse is the 40% pass rates that used to be acceptable back when it didn’t mess with the district’s wallet.  While politicians don’t know anything about running schools, they kind of had to step it when it got that bad–and we need to be asking ourselves, how did it come to this?”

I heart working for people who get it.

Now and then…all right, let’s face it, too often; I need to get out of my head…I look at where I am and who I am. Now and then, I even figure something out.

Contrary to grad school telling us that we were all going to be leaping tall IEPs in a single bound, I’ve turned out so far to be a mediocre teacher. Contrary to grad school, and then Pendergast, telling us that nothing but perfect was good enough, I’m OK with that. I’m first-year; I have a right to be mediocre. After all I’ve had to do to drag myself to this point, I deserve to be mediocre for a while.

The problem is, in pretty much everything else I can think of in my life, I’m falling short there too…on any given measure I can think of, I’m so far from who and what I was supposed to be right now, especially for what I used to be. I miss being a kid, for that; I like the independence now but I also liked being good at stuff, and as a general rule I’m not any more. “Good at stuff” as the foundation of my identity doesn’t work so well when it stops being true. It doesn’t help, I guess, that work is pretty much the only thing in my life. That’s what makes it hard to accept being mediocre; if I’m only doing one thing, I should at least be good at it.

I tried a new test generation program. Instead of printing 31 copies of the same test, it made 31 versions of the test with different right letters even in the multiple choice section. I didn’t catch this until I was partway through grading it off of one version of the answer key.

I have to grade this. Which means I have to work out all these problems on all these tests. GAH!!! WILL TAKE FOREVER!!!!! *dies of frustration*

Student: Hey, other student, is the answer to problem 3 40?

Miss Klaus: Are you kidding me?

Student: Gee sorry, I guess I didn’t take it that serious!

When we were all teenagers, four of us–me, my sister, our cousin Teresa, and her friend Julie–agreed on one thing in particular: we were definitely not going to “grow up.”

Well, it seems like Julie did, possibly something to do with having three kids (she’s only a year older than I am…yikes…). Rianna’s on the edge. And Teresa and I…it’s not easy, but we’re fighting back, and trying to “rescue” the other two by dragging them along with us. Most notably we’re working on WARP again; see Teresa’s post for more details on that.

Is it a little bit silly? Well…yeah…no sillier than the idea of paying someone to talk to you for an hour about how crazy you are though. The thing is, all this responsible adult crap pretty much sucks…I like teaching, I’d do it for free if I didn’t have bills, but having to be anywhere and do anything on someone else’s schedule, well, let’s face it, no one feels like it every day. So, I figure, I can either have a full-on “is this really the dream I signed up to chase OMG get me a freaking refund immediately with sprinkles” quarterlife crisis, or I can trade my Responsible Adult character sheet in for an elvish mage or something now and then.

The day before yesterday, while I was still hitting the snooze, my phone rang…and the charter school I interviewed at was on the other end, asking me if I could come in that day to sign a contract.  I get two paid planning days before I start teaching on Monday, which is the beginning of a new term there.  Of all the things I never saw coming, they’re putting me to work in the high school–their high school math person is leaving.  I don’t think I’ve got all the facts about why but it sounds like a lot of drama.  Anyway, it’s legal for me to take that spot over because my sub license is K-12.  Apparently a lot of the kids at this school are not so high achieving…not a problem.  I got my start in teaching when I was a kid by teaching a friend who couldn’t read yet.  Plus it’s good to know that they’ll be straight with me about that kind of thing.

I keep getting ideas of things to shoot for, with these kids.  A while ago I came to the realization that college sets ed students up to think they have to save the world right away.  Stand and Deliver and Freedom Writers references were set up in front of us as examples.  The problem is…not everyone can be Jaime Escalante straight out of the box…heck, even Jaime Escalante wasn’t Jaime Escalante when he started.  The Hollywood version left a few things out:

“It took 10 years to bring Escalante’s program to peak success. He didn’t even teach his first calculus course until he had been at Garfield for several years … Escalante says he was so discouraged by his students’ poor preparation that after only two hours in class he called his former employer, the Burroughs Corporation, and asked for his old job back … By showing students moving from fractions to calculus in a single year, it gave the false impression that students can neglect their studies for several years and then be redeemed by a few months of hard work. This Hollywood message had a pernicious effect on teacher training. The lessons of Escalante’s patience and hard work in building his program, especially his attention to the classes that fed into calculus, were largely ignored in the faculty workshops and college education classes that routinely showed Stand and Deliver to their students.”

Start from the bottom, build a foundation first.  Eventually…who knows?

Disclosure: I didn’t write this…I just wish I did.

He says the problem with teachers is, “What’s a kid going to learn
from someone who decided his best option in life was to become a teacher?”
He reminds the other dinner guests that it’s true what they say about teachers:
Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach.

I decide to bite my tongue instead of his
and resist the temptation to remind the other dinner guests
that it’s also true what they say about lawyers.

Because we’re eating, after all, and this is polite company.

“I mean, you’re a teacher, Taylor,” he says.
“Be honest. What do you make?”

And I wish he hadn’t done that
(asked me to be honest)
because, you see, I have a policy
about honesty and ass-kicking:
if you ask for it, I have to let you have it.

You want to know what I make?

read the rest