I have always been interested in the group dynamics that exist in a classroom--I think it's a topic that is largely ignored by those currently researching education. We spend so much time thinking about the effect of inputs via teacher quality, school quality, student-specific demographics and not enough time thinking about how all of these things are interdependent. Economists, specifically, tend to think about a classroom as though it were a machine. We put various things in, they are combined to together and we get a "product" out of it. It is a production function--the focus is on "output". This "output" is almost always tied to test scores. If the "output" isn't explicitly test scores, such as studies that tie education to future income, that "output" is still a function of test scores, so it's essentially the same thing. Test scores are wonderful data for economists and other researchers because it's easy to collect, readily available, and usually standardized. In short, it's already in the correct language for economists. While ease of analysis can be an important characteristic of data, however, it does not necessarily mean that the data is useful. This is a major issue I have with current education research--I don't think the models and data being used are giving us the most useful information. Instead, I think our obsession with test scores stems from researchers' love of quantifiable information. Education is a complex system. Learning, in terms of the "product" our schools "produce", is not easily understood. But we very much want it to be so. As a result, we collect test score data and we squeeze, twist, and torture those numbers until they fit nicely into the models we have created. We then sing our own praises and claim that we have finally figured out how to "fix" our schools. We just need to fire bad teachers. We just need to hire better teachers. We just need to develop universal standards. We just need to spend more money. We just need to pay teachers more. We just need to use more technology. We just need to test students more. We just need to test students less. We just need to hold teachers accountable. We just need to hold parents accountable. We just need to hold communities accountable. We just need to open more charter schools. We just need to close charter schools. We just need to collect more data. It's all so damn simple, if you'd just look at what our model tells us. Except it's not simple. Let me use an analogy and a story to explain.
First, the analogy. In his book, Seeing Like a State: How Certain Schemes to Improve the Human Condition Have Failed, Yale professor James Scott argues that the desire to organize and operate society according to rigidly defined scientific laws leads to unintended consequences that undermine the success of the system. In the first part of the book, he describes the history and development of German forestry science:
The great simplification of the forest into a “one-commodity machine”
was precisely the step that allowed German forestry science to become a
rigorous technical and commercial discipline that could be codified and
taught. A condition of its rigor was that it severely bracketed, or
assumed to be constant, all variables except those bearing directly on
the yield of the selected species and on the cost of growing and
extracting them. As we shall see with urban planning, revolutionary
theory, collectivization, and rural resettlement, a whole world lying
“outside the brackets” returned to haunt this technical vision.
I believe education has been turned into a "one-commodity machine", for precisely the same reason and with the exact same effect. In an attempt to make this complex system into a "rigorous technical and commercial discipline", we have created these bracketed models. We have looked at these very complex variables and decided that for the sake of simplicity and universality of our models, we should just assume them to be constant. We shall, in effect, ignore them. And our justification for this treatment is that "it's not correlated with our other variables". We treat it like random noise--something that exists but doesn't really matter to our "output". And because we have are very good at math, we can do that.
The effects on these German forests were disastrous:
It took about one century for them [the negative consequences ] to show up clearly. Many of the pure stands grew excellently in the first generation but already showed an amazing retrogression in the second generation...A new term, Waldsterben (forest death), entered the German vocabulary to describe the worst cases. An exceptionally complex process involving soil building, nutrient uptake , and symbiotic relations among fungi, insects, mammals, and flora—which were, and still are, not entirely understood— was apparently disrupted, with serious consequences. Most of these consequences can be traced to the radical simplicity of the scientific forest.
This is remarkably similar to what we see in education. Each time a new "solution" or "system" is implemented, we observe great results at the outset. We believe our efforts have finally paid off, that we have finally solved the problem. But then it becomes abundantly clear that those gains are but an illusion. In our simplified models we neglected those intricacies and interdependent relationships, and over time those variables come back to haunt us. Things like peer effects, teacher morale, and classroom culture are ignored. But they matter-- they matter a lot. And every time we neglect them in our model (either by omitting them or "controlling" for them), we end up with policy that sucks. And it's easy to tell that it sucks, because teachers tell us that it sucks. "But it fits our model, it's proven by the data", we say. And in the end, who are we going to believe, the dignified and universally-acclaimed academics or the teachers (those damn unionized lazy teachers)?
Now to the story. As I mentioned in my last post, this summer I am an adviser for two new teachers, which means that I sit in the classroom, observe their lessons, and provide them with feedback and coaching. This gives me the chance to see the complexities of the classroom from a different perspective--without being the one who is responsible for delivering content and managing behavior. I am a fly on the wall, and I see a lot of interesting things each day. Today, one of the teachers was leading the students through a math game. The game is called "buzz". It is a simple game. Students form a circle and each count off starting from "one". The object of the game is to get to 100. There is only one rule to the game. The teacher gives the students a number from 1 to 10. That number is the "multiple", and any time the students reach a "multiple" of that number in their counting, they must say "buzz". If anyone messes up, the entire class goes back to zero. For example, if the multiple is "5", then the students are supposed to count 1, 2, 3, 4, BUZZ, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, BUZZ...and so on. In theory, this game only necessitates that students be able to do two things: count from 1 to 100 and know their basic multiplication facts. In theory, this game should be quite simple for 7th grade students. Individually, they have the capability to do these tasks. In theory, if each individual can do these tasks, the group should have no problem completing this game. However, as you might have already guessed, it was quite the struggle for this group of 25 students. Most of the time, they got to around 30 before someone messed up. There were screams and groans as the class berated their classmates for a silly mistake. "Can't you multiply? It's so easy!" As disrespectful as that sounds, it's actually not that far from what the education "models" tell us. The "product", in this case, is successful completion of the game. Stuff goes in, product comes out. If the product ain't coming out, there must be something wrong with the inputs (not the machine). If the kids can't complete the game, it must mean that they can't multiply or count to 100 or "think critically" or whatever other condescending thing you want to throw in there. But we can't blame the kids completely-- it's those damn lazy teachers! They didn't teach the kids how to multiply! It's obvious, just look at what's happening in this game! As a passive observer in this situation who also happens to be a middle school teacher, it's pretty obvious to me that the reason students are struggling has little to do with their ability to multiply or count to 100, and everything to do with group dynamics, teamwork, and classroom culture. It's a similar phenomenon to any situation where many interdependencies exist. Students do not learn on command nor do they demonstrate knowledge on command. A classroom is much like a forest-- there exist many variables that are poorly understood, interrelated, and likely impossible to measure. We make this ridiculous assumption that our schools and classrooms run like machines, and that if we take inventory of the individual parts of that machine and throw in a specific combination of inputs that we will be able to accurately predict what comes out. That just couldn't be further from the truth.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
Are we talking about the right issues?
My first year of teaching is over. It's actually been over for about a month already, but it took a while to truly disengage myself from "teacher mode". This summer, I am a faculty adviser for the Teach For America summer school program hosted by my school district-- the exact program I went through as a corps member last summer. My experience in this position so far is enough for an entire post, so I'll leave that alone for now, but I mention it because I spend a lot of time sitting in a classroom each day, which gives me plenty of time to think about teaching and reflect on the past year. It's particularly interesting to reflect given the current context-- watching new teachers encounter the same struggles I fought with only months before. But ultimately, what I am most interested in exploring in relation to the past school year is student learning. "Are students really learning?"-- this is perhaps the most important question in education today, but to me it really seems like the elephant in the room, in that we are reluctant to face realities about the unfair way we assess students. Instead, we prefer to focus on (inadequate) proxies like teacher accountability and the common core. Not that these topics aren't important, but rather they are a red herring allowing politicians, bureaucrats, and pundits alike to talk tough and act tough on education reform without addressing the fundamental issues-- the issues that require tough conversations and painful sacrifices.
Take the issue of teacher tenure, where a California judge recently ruled that the practice was unconstitutional, stating in his decision that, "Substantial evidence presented makes it clear to this court that the challenged statutes disproportionately affect poor and/or minority students. The evidence is compelling. Indeed, it shocks the conscience."
The judge references previous rulings on racial segregation of schools, funding disparities, and term length disparities, describing them as issues of a lack of equality of education; whereas teacher tenure presents an issue relating to the quality of the educational experience. Of particular interest to me is the judge's statement regarding the legal positions of his decision:
"[This court] is not unmindful of the current intense political debate over issues of education. However, its duty and function as dictated by the Constitution of the United States, the Constitution of the State of California and the Common law, is to avoid considering the political aspects of the case and focus only on the legal ones. That this Court's decision will and should result in political discourse is beyond question but such consequence cannot and does not detract from its obligation to consider only the evidence and law in making its decision."
Ostensibly, this seems like a very reasonable (and necessary!) thing-- to consider only the evidence and law in making the decision. However, the very nature of "evidence" changes dramatically as we move from issues of equality of education to quality of the educational experience. Furthermore, the judge's choice to consider certain types of information as "evidence" is an inherently political action. The primary evidence cited in the judge's decision was the expert testimony of Harvard professors (economists) Raj Chetty and Thomas Kane. Chetty's testimony, based on his 2011 paper attempting to quantify the long-term impact of teacher effectiveness on students' adult income, was that a grossly ineffective teacher costs students $1.4 million in lifetime earnings. Kane, based on his own study, testified that students in the LA Unified School District taught by a grossly incompetent teacher lost 9.54 months of learning in a single year compared to students with average teachers. Wow! Such impressive and clear data! It's no wonder the judge was moved enough to comment that it "shocks the conscience". But when we look behind the economic models we find an ominous motif: teacher effectiveness and student achievement that is almost exclusively measured through state-mandated standardized tests. And so we return to the judge's original claim: that decisions are made based on evidence and the law, no politics involved. By regarding the aforementioned studies as evidence (attributing them as objective truths), the judge is effectively making a quite controversial: that the current standardized testing regime provides accurate data about student learning. So much for the absence of politics.
My argument here is not that there is zero value in standardized test scores or value-added models of teacher effectiveness; it is not that laws protecting incompetent teachers are harmful to students. Rather, my worry is that our continued focus on these issues crowds out more important (and potentially more fruitful) issues: de facto school segregation, poverty, privatization of education, to name a few. Why are our priorities so misaligned? Maybe we should ask for expert testimony of our teachers (in contrast to that of the Harvard economists, who have never spent a single day in front of 35 screaming 7th graders), rather than trying to continue playing this ridiculous blame game that devalues those tasked with cultivating our nation's most valuable resource, it's children.
Take the issue of teacher tenure, where a California judge recently ruled that the practice was unconstitutional, stating in his decision that, "Substantial evidence presented makes it clear to this court that the challenged statutes disproportionately affect poor and/or minority students. The evidence is compelling. Indeed, it shocks the conscience."
The judge references previous rulings on racial segregation of schools, funding disparities, and term length disparities, describing them as issues of a lack of equality of education; whereas teacher tenure presents an issue relating to the quality of the educational experience. Of particular interest to me is the judge's statement regarding the legal positions of his decision:
"[This court] is not unmindful of the current intense political debate over issues of education. However, its duty and function as dictated by the Constitution of the United States, the Constitution of the State of California and the Common law, is to avoid considering the political aspects of the case and focus only on the legal ones. That this Court's decision will and should result in political discourse is beyond question but such consequence cannot and does not detract from its obligation to consider only the evidence and law in making its decision."
Ostensibly, this seems like a very reasonable (and necessary!) thing-- to consider only the evidence and law in making the decision. However, the very nature of "evidence" changes dramatically as we move from issues of equality of education to quality of the educational experience. Furthermore, the judge's choice to consider certain types of information as "evidence" is an inherently political action. The primary evidence cited in the judge's decision was the expert testimony of Harvard professors (economists) Raj Chetty and Thomas Kane. Chetty's testimony, based on his 2011 paper attempting to quantify the long-term impact of teacher effectiveness on students' adult income, was that a grossly ineffective teacher costs students $1.4 million in lifetime earnings. Kane, based on his own study, testified that students in the LA Unified School District taught by a grossly incompetent teacher lost 9.54 months of learning in a single year compared to students with average teachers. Wow! Such impressive and clear data! It's no wonder the judge was moved enough to comment that it "shocks the conscience". But when we look behind the economic models we find an ominous motif: teacher effectiveness and student achievement that is almost exclusively measured through state-mandated standardized tests. And so we return to the judge's original claim: that decisions are made based on evidence and the law, no politics involved. By regarding the aforementioned studies as evidence (attributing them as objective truths), the judge is effectively making a quite controversial: that the current standardized testing regime provides accurate data about student learning. So much for the absence of politics.
My argument here is not that there is zero value in standardized test scores or value-added models of teacher effectiveness; it is not that laws protecting incompetent teachers are harmful to students. Rather, my worry is that our continued focus on these issues crowds out more important (and potentially more fruitful) issues: de facto school segregation, poverty, privatization of education, to name a few. Why are our priorities so misaligned? Maybe we should ask for expert testimony of our teachers (in contrast to that of the Harvard economists, who have never spent a single day in front of 35 screaming 7th graders), rather than trying to continue playing this ridiculous blame game that devalues those tasked with cultivating our nation's most valuable resource, it's children.
Thursday, April 24, 2014
Why can't I just let it go?
There are twenty school days left in the year. Four short weeks until Summer--the opportunity to relax, recharge, and reset. For teachers, "the end of the year" is typically defined as the weeks following standardized testing, where the looming specter of accountability fades and the blissful anticipation of Summer vacation becomes apparent. Things are supposed to become more relaxed. Students, teachers, and administrators are no longer feeling the pressure of high-stakes testing, and everyone starts to shift focus to the next stage of life. For my 8th grade students, high school is right around the corner. For me, year two is within reach. These last few weeks should be a fun time--and opportunity to enjoy time with my students and close out the year with engaging lessons that don't necessarily have to be tied to arbitrary state standards. As one of my various teaching mentors told me a few weeks ago, the end of the first year is when many excellent teachers developed their best teaching strategies. They took risks and experimented in their classrooms. She encouraged me to do the same. Even as I sit here now, I want to have that experience. I want to walk into my classroom each day for the next four weeks and be innovative. I want my students to feel like science matters--like its something that actually relates to their lives, and not just a collection of content that will appear on an assessment. I want lessons to be engaging. I want to leverage students' strengths and interests. I want to harness the tremendous powers of technology. I want more of my students to look forward to walking into my classroom on a daily basis. Unfortunately, this is practically the opposite of what is actually happening in my classroom in these last few weeks.
Before I say anymore, I will readily accept responsibility for most of what happens in my classroom. I am doing what I can, but the bottom line is that I have made some mistakes this year that have led to the headaches I am experiencing now. These are things that I hope to correct or improve next year, though I am already trying to make changes in these last few weeks. However, the source of much of my current stress is largely out of my locus of control (or perhaps that's just a self-rationalization). I don't want this post to become a rant, and I don't want to direct too much negativity towards certain parties (students, parents, overworked teachers, overworked administrators). Nevertheless, I need to write for my own sanity--to project onto this page some of the anger, frustration, and fatigue that is washing over me. Writing is cathartic, and I hope that this post will both provide me some relief and also serve as a memory to look back on at a future time. We shouldn't forget times of adversity--they are often transformative periods and contain important lessons that we can harness to become better people.
My most pressing problem is that I feel I am being asked to deliver too much in too short an amount of time. Additionally, I don't always see a clear connection between the expectations of my classroom and actual student learning. 8th grade students recently finished taking their district and state standardized tests. High-stakes testing is worth another post on its own, and I won't say more here besides: these tests have contributed to the corruption of our school system and have taught our students to believe that their worth is defined as a single number. 4th and 8th graders are required to test in science, and while these scores aren't particularly important to students or administrators, they matter to my effectiveness rating as a teacher, and I felt responsible for preparing students to do their best on this test. At my school, 8th graders also take a placement exam that will hopefully land them in an honors science class as freshmen in high school. This test is very important to my school, and I think it matters to my students. As of today, less than 10% of them are slotted to be in an honors track next year. This placement exam is an opportunity to dramatically increase that number. In an ideal situation, the last few weeks would have been solely devoted to preparing them for that test. There is some content that differs from the 8th grade standards, which would need to be taught; but there is also content that needs to be reviewed from earlier in the year. This is not an ideal situation. In addition to this test, which is next Thursday, the school science fair is also next week. Our school has mandated that every single student needs to participate, meaning that I am responsible for guiding my students--most of whom never had a science class before this year--through this project in under two weeks. This has been the most epic disaster of my year. As of right now, I am expecting less than 10% of groups to have a completed project ready for the science fair. It wasn't as if I didn't see this coming--I went to administration early on and explained why this was an unreasonable burden for me and my students. I was told to devote a week of class time to the science fair, and that the rest should be completed by the students at home. Rule number one: in high poverty schools, don't expect much academic work to get completed outside of your classroom walls. It is wishful thinking to expect students to complete their science fair projects at home, especially with only limited class time available to provide the necessary modeling and support. Nevertheless, I have tried to make this happen. I set the expectation that the project needed to be completed mostly at home, and I've tried to help students as much as possible. I have neglected some of the time I would have used to teach new content to give them class time to work on their projects. As of about a week ago, I thought it would be workable. Sitting here on Thursday night, I now realize that disaster is imminent.
I haven't had a true instructional day in my classroom this week. Late last week, we were notified that our 8th graders had been "selected" to field test the new state standardized assessment, which is our shift to the common core. Basically, the district gets some money from the state and our 8th graders spend even more time testing. Instead of being in class, instead of learning, instead of working on their science fair projects, instead of doing SOMETHING beneficial, half of our 8th graders are sitting in the library TAKING ANOTHER TEST. Forget that they just had four days straight of testing; forget that this test isn't actually assessing them; forget that they have ZERO vested interest in it; forget that they already have all of these other expectations; lets WASTE THREE MORE DAYS testing, because we haven't wasted enough already. Then there was picture day. I had students ask me, "Do we even need to bring our stuff on picture day? Are we going to do any work today?" Honestly, as much as those questions irritated the hell out of me, I can't really blame them, because this is what they are accustomed to. Pictures took three entire periods to complete. Every single student was dressed up--there was zero concern for learning. I had a student attempt to straighten her hair in my classroom during homeroom. Students constantly came in and out from other classrooms. Everyone and their mother needed to go to the bathroom. Any attempts at structure were undermined by a lack of organization and foresight by administration and the photography company. It was a wasted day. Today, the day after picture day, was a field trip. By the grace of God we weren't leaving until 10am, so we would at least have time for one period of real instruction. Yet even that time was interrupted by continuous announcements and changes. It took me over 20 minutes to get through bellwork (normally would be 5-10) because of constant use of the intercom and a surprise announcement that every 8th grader needed to go to the cafeteria to punch in their lunch number. After first period, students went back to homeroom to wait before leaving for the field trip. We were supposed to leave at 10am. First period ends at 9:15am. Apparently they thought it would take 45 minutes to round up students to leave. 30 more minutes of instruction? Nah, let's just bag it and have them sit in the cafeteria. Then comes the announcement--"whoops, I guess we're actually leaving at 10:45". So we sit around for an hour and a half. Nobody seems particularly bothered by this.
This brings me to the question that I've heard from many different people. "Why can't you just let it go?" Honestly, it's a question that I've thought about a lot lately. Why do I focus on the negative? Why am I so worked up over lost instruction time? Why does the disorganization at my school bother me so much? Why do I focus on the handful of students making poor choices instead of the vast majority that aren't? These are all various forms of the same question, but that question is different from, "Why do you teach?" That question was answered long ago, and hasn't changed. "Why can't you just let it go?"-- this is a question about the margins. Why does that extra day matter? What's the harm in one hour of lost instruction? From a student's perspective, "Why can't I pack up my stuff five minutes early? Why should I keep working hard these last few weeks? Why should I put in the extra effort to do my very best?" I am not sure why these things bother me more than they seem to bother some of my colleagues. I am not sure how to get my students to care about the little stuff. On days like today, I am not sure whether I'm better off just going with the flow to save myself from the stress or trying to continue pushing the boulder up the hill. I have continually tried to keep pushing, but it's downright disheartening. It makes me hate my job on certain days. It makes me want to go home and sleep instead of plan. It makes me believe that my attempts to push the boulder up the hill simply aren't good enough--that as soon as I let go, that boulder rolls back down to the bottom. There are twenty school days left in the year. I just want them to be used effectively. Is that so much to ask?
Before I say anymore, I will readily accept responsibility for most of what happens in my classroom. I am doing what I can, but the bottom line is that I have made some mistakes this year that have led to the headaches I am experiencing now. These are things that I hope to correct or improve next year, though I am already trying to make changes in these last few weeks. However, the source of much of my current stress is largely out of my locus of control (or perhaps that's just a self-rationalization). I don't want this post to become a rant, and I don't want to direct too much negativity towards certain parties (students, parents, overworked teachers, overworked administrators). Nevertheless, I need to write for my own sanity--to project onto this page some of the anger, frustration, and fatigue that is washing over me. Writing is cathartic, and I hope that this post will both provide me some relief and also serve as a memory to look back on at a future time. We shouldn't forget times of adversity--they are often transformative periods and contain important lessons that we can harness to become better people.
My most pressing problem is that I feel I am being asked to deliver too much in too short an amount of time. Additionally, I don't always see a clear connection between the expectations of my classroom and actual student learning. 8th grade students recently finished taking their district and state standardized tests. High-stakes testing is worth another post on its own, and I won't say more here besides: these tests have contributed to the corruption of our school system and have taught our students to believe that their worth is defined as a single number. 4th and 8th graders are required to test in science, and while these scores aren't particularly important to students or administrators, they matter to my effectiveness rating as a teacher, and I felt responsible for preparing students to do their best on this test. At my school, 8th graders also take a placement exam that will hopefully land them in an honors science class as freshmen in high school. This test is very important to my school, and I think it matters to my students. As of today, less than 10% of them are slotted to be in an honors track next year. This placement exam is an opportunity to dramatically increase that number. In an ideal situation, the last few weeks would have been solely devoted to preparing them for that test. There is some content that differs from the 8th grade standards, which would need to be taught; but there is also content that needs to be reviewed from earlier in the year. This is not an ideal situation. In addition to this test, which is next Thursday, the school science fair is also next week. Our school has mandated that every single student needs to participate, meaning that I am responsible for guiding my students--most of whom never had a science class before this year--through this project in under two weeks. This has been the most epic disaster of my year. As of right now, I am expecting less than 10% of groups to have a completed project ready for the science fair. It wasn't as if I didn't see this coming--I went to administration early on and explained why this was an unreasonable burden for me and my students. I was told to devote a week of class time to the science fair, and that the rest should be completed by the students at home. Rule number one: in high poverty schools, don't expect much academic work to get completed outside of your classroom walls. It is wishful thinking to expect students to complete their science fair projects at home, especially with only limited class time available to provide the necessary modeling and support. Nevertheless, I have tried to make this happen. I set the expectation that the project needed to be completed mostly at home, and I've tried to help students as much as possible. I have neglected some of the time I would have used to teach new content to give them class time to work on their projects. As of about a week ago, I thought it would be workable. Sitting here on Thursday night, I now realize that disaster is imminent.
I haven't had a true instructional day in my classroom this week. Late last week, we were notified that our 8th graders had been "selected" to field test the new state standardized assessment, which is our shift to the common core. Basically, the district gets some money from the state and our 8th graders spend even more time testing. Instead of being in class, instead of learning, instead of working on their science fair projects, instead of doing SOMETHING beneficial, half of our 8th graders are sitting in the library TAKING ANOTHER TEST. Forget that they just had four days straight of testing; forget that this test isn't actually assessing them; forget that they have ZERO vested interest in it; forget that they already have all of these other expectations; lets WASTE THREE MORE DAYS testing, because we haven't wasted enough already. Then there was picture day. I had students ask me, "Do we even need to bring our stuff on picture day? Are we going to do any work today?" Honestly, as much as those questions irritated the hell out of me, I can't really blame them, because this is what they are accustomed to. Pictures took three entire periods to complete. Every single student was dressed up--there was zero concern for learning. I had a student attempt to straighten her hair in my classroom during homeroom. Students constantly came in and out from other classrooms. Everyone and their mother needed to go to the bathroom. Any attempts at structure were undermined by a lack of organization and foresight by administration and the photography company. It was a wasted day. Today, the day after picture day, was a field trip. By the grace of God we weren't leaving until 10am, so we would at least have time for one period of real instruction. Yet even that time was interrupted by continuous announcements and changes. It took me over 20 minutes to get through bellwork (normally would be 5-10) because of constant use of the intercom and a surprise announcement that every 8th grader needed to go to the cafeteria to punch in their lunch number. After first period, students went back to homeroom to wait before leaving for the field trip. We were supposed to leave at 10am. First period ends at 9:15am. Apparently they thought it would take 45 minutes to round up students to leave. 30 more minutes of instruction? Nah, let's just bag it and have them sit in the cafeteria. Then comes the announcement--"whoops, I guess we're actually leaving at 10:45". So we sit around for an hour and a half. Nobody seems particularly bothered by this.
This brings me to the question that I've heard from many different people. "Why can't you just let it go?" Honestly, it's a question that I've thought about a lot lately. Why do I focus on the negative? Why am I so worked up over lost instruction time? Why does the disorganization at my school bother me so much? Why do I focus on the handful of students making poor choices instead of the vast majority that aren't? These are all various forms of the same question, but that question is different from, "Why do you teach?" That question was answered long ago, and hasn't changed. "Why can't you just let it go?"-- this is a question about the margins. Why does that extra day matter? What's the harm in one hour of lost instruction? From a student's perspective, "Why can't I pack up my stuff five minutes early? Why should I keep working hard these last few weeks? Why should I put in the extra effort to do my very best?" I am not sure why these things bother me more than they seem to bother some of my colleagues. I am not sure how to get my students to care about the little stuff. On days like today, I am not sure whether I'm better off just going with the flow to save myself from the stress or trying to continue pushing the boulder up the hill. I have continually tried to keep pushing, but it's downright disheartening. It makes me hate my job on certain days. It makes me want to go home and sleep instead of plan. It makes me believe that my attempts to push the boulder up the hill simply aren't good enough--that as soon as I let go, that boulder rolls back down to the bottom. There are twenty school days left in the year. I just want them to be used effectively. Is that so much to ask?
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