Anyway, I can’t fully blame the writing conferences (and, if I’m going to be honest, they were worth the time), but it seemed to begin a downward spiral of rapidly building up papers to grade, day-to-day frantic planning, and a plethora of other little tasks and duties that had to be fulfilled, which culminated in a little bit of an emotional breakdown last night (picture me, in the kitchen, sobbing to my husband: “I just wanted to make homemade applesauce, so I didn’t stay at school and–whimper–grade more papers because I….wanted to come home and make applesauce! And I feel so–sob–guilty…”

Sound crazy? Yeah, he thought so, too. Ultimately, though, this is not about applesauce (clearly). It is about the emotional toll that the past couple of weeks have taken on me. I find myself often trying to do things that the rigid structure and standard schedule of our school simply do not allow for, and, boy, is it exhausting. If I want to meet with every kid about his/her writing, I have to do it during every prep period, lunch, and before school/after school time that I have. For 50 students, that takes nearly a week. That’s a week of having no time during the school day (or for the half hour or so before or after the school day) to do anything other than meet with students. As I said, I’ve found it so productive and valuable that I’m willing to make that sacrifice, but with the influx of papers that I collected at the same time, it ended up creating this black hole of grading hell that I’m still pulling myself out of.

I don’t even think that that is entirely what had me feeling so overwhelmed last night, but it is a good indication of how much stress I put upon myself. It’s not as though I’m required to do writing conferences. This is certainly something I need to work on–the guilt factor–because it personalizes my job way too much and, well, makes me cry. I worry that I’m a terrible teacher and I worry that I’m spinning my wheels and not accomplishing anything. I worry, worry, worry, but that I can get under control. I’ve had to tackle it a few times every year that I’ve taught.

But then there is the stuff outside of myself, that I can’t control. The increasing number of mandates and new policies, etc. that are coming down from the administration without faculty input, the frequent IEP meetings, the parents, guidance counselors, and special education case managers, among others, who want to know how so-and-so is doing, the cover-my-ass responsibilities, like letting parents know when a kid doesn’t turn in an assignment, and every teacher’s favorite fall activity, letters of recommendation for college applications! And, related to my above dilemma about writing conferences, the feeling that I am toiling away in a completely messed up system that is, in fact, counterproductive to learning and engagement and inquiry and all the things they want us to do. The feeling that the whole thing needs to be dismantled and put back together in new patterns and forms and structures. And the bitter disappointment that that will never happen.

This post has very little focus and you may have stopped reading back at “sound crazy?”, thinking, “um, yes,” but I wanted to get something posted, and a sort of emotional complaint about how hard teaching is, while unoriginal at best, seemed better than nothing.

I’ll end with a quick list of five good things that have happened over the past couple of weeks, mostly to remind myself why the heck I do this, but also to reward my loyal reader with a little positivity:
1. The “speed dating” activity I did with my sophomores for Reading Workshop today. So much fun.
2. Last night, half a dozen gay or lesbian teachers at my school participated in a panel discussion in front of nearly 200 students, staff, and parents about coming out as part of the “It Gets Better Project“. Wow.
3. The students that I advise in Amnesty International ran a successful campaign demanding a fair trial for Omar Khadr. They had students put their handprints on large sheets, then sent the sheets to the appropriate State Department officials.
4. I watched several students who have traditionally been disengaged from the writing process not only work really hard to write successful short stories in Creative Writing, but read excerpts to the class while sitting up straight and speaking with pride.
5. I made some applesauce, and it’s damn good.

As a creative writing major and literature minor in college, I took a particular interest in young adult literature. I remember encountering Francesca Lia Block in one of my YA classes and sort of metaphorically clasping an armful of her gorgeous books to my chest, thinking, “Oh, if only I’d known about books like this to help me through high school!” Not that I had a tortured or traumatic adolescence (then again, what adolescence isn’t tortured and traumatic), but the books I read in high school fell into one of two categories: my mom’s V.C. Andrews books, which shocked me again and again with their complete audacity, or the classics like Wuthering Heights or Tess of the d’Urbervilles, which made me feel intelligent and wildly romantic at the same time. Indeed both of these types of literature tell excellent stories, but neither had very much to do with my actual life. Block’s stories–despite their tinge of fantasy and, at times, outrageous situations–at least address real issues that teens face, such as eating disorders, sexuality (real teen sexuality, not V.C. Andrews-style!), and drug abuse, just to name a few.

Thinking back now on college, I realize that I truthfully still was an adolescent and young adult literature still had all the relevance in the world to me. And I’m thinking…it still does. I spend the vast majority of my time with teenagers, and I’m wondering if immersing myself in some YA lit might not only be an enjoyable reading experience, but might also help me continue to examine my students’ various issues and struggles from a variety of angles.

In college and just after, I dreamed of being a young adult author. Somewhere along the way I decided that was only because I was, in fact, a young adult and so it was the most natural ambition to have as a budding writer. Now, I’m thinking about dabbling in it again. The thought terrifies me a bit, though. I fear that I would only be able to create cliched teenage characters or that it would be unfair to mine the experiences of my students for fictional material; I fear that I (ironically) don’t know enough about real teen culture to write authentically, that if I tried to write about young characters again, I would only be able to wrangle out something contrived or–worse–dated because I’m basing it too much on my experience of being a teenager in the mid-90s, practically the Dark Ages compared to what it’s like to be a teenager now. Plus, given the array of topics I heard covered in our “book talks,” I fear there’s nothing left to write about! Mad Cow Disease, school violence, anorexia, vampires, zombies, one-year-to-live stories, suicide, every futuristic situation that one can imagine…it’s all been done! I know, of course, this isn’t true and that these are just a list of excuses for not taking a risk; this is not the kind of behavior that I find acceptable in myself. And, so, right now I have a character sort of percolating in my imagination, someone insecure yet fierce, naive yet witty, tough-seeming yet fragile…we’ll see where she leads me.

In the meantime, I have a lot of reading to do and I’m hungry for recommendations, so bring them on! I’m also hoping to spend some time perusing the YA blogging world. I’ve recently rediscovered Laurie Halse Anderson’s brilliant blog (her recent posts on censorship and banned books are absolutely fascinating) and would love recommendations for others as well. Yay for YA!

It was, however, a pretty successful week, all in all. It was great to get back in the game, greet the students, and start making connections. So, riding the wave of back-to-school optimism and enthusiasm, I thought it might be a good time to make a list of five things that I’m looking forward to this year…

1. Reading Workshop. So excited about this. Following the lead of one of my brilliant colleagues, I’m going to incorporate independent reading into my Sophomore classes as a regular thing. Every Friday is going to be Reading Workshop day; sometimes we’ll read silently, and other times we’ll do activities. My colleague experimented with using Goodreads, the sort of nerdy-book-lovers version of Facebook, with his students last year and it met with success, so I’m going to give it a go. The goal? Nothing more than to help kids discover books that they actually enjoy reading (gasp!) and to help them recognize reading as a social activity, rather than an isolating one. It seems like such a simple goal in the greater context of English requirements and standards…and I’m really looking forward to spending some time working towards it.

2. Teaching Creative Writing again. At my previous school, I was THE creative writing teacher. It was my identity. I had a little following and everything. While I don’t expect a following (it was, after all, at my previous school a chosen elective, and here it fulfills a required English semester), I do expect it to be fun. It’s fun for all of the expected reasons, but one of the reasons I love teaching it is because I get to see students who don’t normally excel in the traditional English class really find their writing niche and, sometimes for the first time, feel proud of something they’ve written. Very gratifying. Plus, since I try to write along with the students as much as possible, it keeps me inspired to stay on top of my own writing!

3. Being Mrs. B. Upon getting married this past summer, I did change my name, which is kind of a big deal for a teacher, who, moreso than in other professions, is identified solely by her last name. It’s something I really wanted to do, though, so here I am: Mrs. B after 7 years or so of being Ms. C. I like it. It’s like a marker for this new phase of my life; the one in which we are creating our own little family. It’s been a little awkward/confusing (oh, you’re Mrs. B! says a confused guidance counselor who knew me in my former life as Ms. C.), but the kinks will work themselves out and something tells me I’ll be used to it pretty quickly. Also, this means I have a Mr. B to come home to…I mean, I had him last year and the year before, but now he’s not just a boyfriend. He’s my husband.

4. Being a better advisor for Amnesty International. So, last year I was unwittingly pulled in as the faculty advisor for Amnesty International. They were desperate for an advisor; I was in my 2nd year at the school and felt I should take on some sort of extracurricular…. It was run by a group of seniors, though, and I struggled all year with asserting myself as the advisor. I mean, I do think a club like this should be student-run, but they were making poor decisions and they completely ignored my advice. These were over-extended kids with way too many obligations and it didn’t take long for me to realize that this was really just an opportunity for them to put the word “president” on their college applications. Grrrrrr. This year, though, we have a new committee running the club and I plan to lay down some ground rules before we even have our first meeting. My first ground rule: “we’re supposed to be working for global human rights, people, NOT for our own selfish obsession with getting into a good college!” Again: grrrrr.

5. My Hero’s Journey Project. I feel like I’ve worked hard to solidify my sophomore curriculum. We read some great books, I have some strong projects, and I felt generally happy with how things went at the end of last year. But, I always like to incorporate something new to keep it fresh, and I have wanted to try to figure out a way to get more creative writing into my curriculum. Hence, the Hero’s Journey project. I taught Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison for the first time last year and I’ve been teaching The Bean Trees by Barbara Kingsolver for a few years. They are vastly different books in terms of their themes, characters, and language, but they both tell the archetypal Hero’s Journey story. So, my idea is to read them both during first semester, discuss some other examples of Hero’s Journeys (ie, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings…), and then have them write their own fictional Hero’s Journey story. It should not only be fun, but also a great way of engaging the students as participants in the American mythology that we discuss throughout the year.

These are a few of the things that I’ll be blogging about this year; hope to get your insights on them as well! What are you looking forward to this year?

In the meantime, here I am. I’ve dipped my toes into the vast ocean of the school year by attending eternal faculty meetings/trainings (really, how many times must one learn how to use an epi-pen?! I’m sure that no matter how many times the school nurse oh-so-patiently explains to me what to do if one of my students goes into anaphylatic shock, I’ll still feel completely unprepared and freaked out…), catching up on department gossip (of course, this year, it’s mostly about the antics that two department members got to witness as guests at my wedding), and setting up my classroom (which will be more likely to fill them with the joy of learning on day one: a quote from Socrates or one from Thoreau?…). The big plunge, however, doesn’t happen until Tuesday when the school comes to life with a deluge of students.

The entire faculty at my school returns with such energy and enthusiasm and inspiration that the hallways literally echo with excitement. I love it. Which is why it is SUCH a downer when the district insists on “welcoming” us back with a guest speaker. This year, it was (another) particularly high-profile education expert, most likely particularly well-paid by the district for his presentation/advertisement for his book.

Okay, first of all, why do these guys (and, in my admittedly limited experience, they do tend to be guys) insist on talking to us in a way that they claim we should never teach our students (lecture format, unexcitingly accompanied by a bland PowerPoint)? Instead of getting us engaged as the intelligent, well-educated, inspired group that we are, asking us questions and listening to our answers, tapping into what we already know, they talk at us like we are empty vessels waiting to be filled with wondrous knowledge. I don’t mean to indicate that scholars in the field don’t have a lot to share (and I hate sounding like that arrogant teacher that doesn’t know how to be a student anymore); they certainly have had the luxury of doing research, visiting many institutions, traveling to other countries to learn about their education systems…we can all learn a lot from them (and, truly, I love being on the student-end of things!). The thing is, I’m a scholar in my field, too, and my students can learn a lot from me, but I don’t stand in front of my students on the first day and talk to them like they’ve never read a book. I know that not every teacher in the classroom today went to graduate school in the 21st century, but, really, you’d have to be living under your dust-covered desk not to know that in a rapidly changing world, we need to equip students with new skills. Besides, since when are “critical thinking” and “collaboration” new?? These guys talk about these skills as if they are earth-shattering realizations, when any decent teacher has been desperately trying to foster such skills for years! Decades even!

And that desperation fits into my other point about guest speakers of this ilk. As much as I was irked by the way in which this expert presented his ideas, I mostly agreed with what he said. His ideas are fairly progressive and, while I didn’t find them revolutionary, they are well-intentioned. The problem is that most classroom teachers believe in what he is saying–that grades should be de-emphasized and students shouldn’t be so afraid to try something and “fail,” that students should pursue their own interests and learn to be innovative, that assessments should be more performance-based, that teachers should be evaluated by more authentic means, etc. We try to do these things every day, but we work in an outdated system, one that values grades above anything, frowns on failure, and insists on putting students into leveled categories with labels like “honors”… My feeling is that instead of hiring such experts to come in and “inspire” the faculty on the first day of school, the superintendent should hire them to come in and implement real change that goes beyond a smart board in every classroom and that truly does bring our system into the 21st century.

So, while this first post of the year may seem negative, it’s actually inspired by positivity. I am so excited to start this year, to meet my students, and to learn from them. I can see that those around me–despite the beating that we took last year–are equally as enthused. All we can do is keep pushing forward in our classrooms, doing what we know is right, and hope that at some point, the recognition of our efforts will go beyond lip service (our administrators do repeatedly praise us for our excellence in teaching, after all) and will actually result in a genuine rethinking of how schools should be run.

Here we go….

Ms. Student Senator: Dear Mr. Principal, It has come to the Student Senate’s attention that our school-wide email system has the capability of instant messaging, but that that function is turned off for students. We would like to request that it is activated, as it would be very useful to be able to communicate with teachers and classmates via instant messaging. Thank you for considering our request.

Mr. Principal: Sure, Ms. Student Senator. Sounds like a great idea! We love technology around here!

Mr. Principal: Mr. Tech Guy, please activate the instant messaging function for students. Thank you.

A few days later….A teacher (Teacher #1) is using his department’s set of laptop computers for a writing lesson in class. As he circulates, he notices messages popping up on students’ screens. They’re instant messaging one another! What the….?

Teacher #1: Dear Mr. Principal, It has come to my attention that the instant messaging function has been turned on for students to use. My colleagues and I find this disturbing on a number of levels, first and foremost because of the added layer of distraction that students will experience when using technology in class. In addition, it seems to set us up for a number of problems on the teacher-student communication front. If I am checking my email at midnight on a Saturday, am I expected to respond if a student IMs me? Many teachers in our department are uncomfortable with this, and request that it be turned off until we can further discuss how to handle the complications that it brings up. Thank you.

A few days later at a faculty meeting…

Ms. Tech Lady: Good news, everyone! The instant messaging function has been turned off for students.

Teacher #2: It has? Why?

Teacher #3: What about the potential it has for educational purposes?

Mr. Principal: The past two faculty meetings have been dedicated to allowing teachers to voice their concerns. We have a lot to get through at this meeting, though, so we don’t have time to discuss this.

Just a little glimpse into how these things go around here: SO many ways of communicating, SO little real communication going on…

We actually talked about this in the Differentiated Instruction class I took last semester; it’s not just disabilities and cultural backgrounds and learning styles that impact how students access our curriculum, but also the development (or lack thereof) of their brains.

Just one more reminder of just how complicated it is to be a teenager (not to mention to be a teacher of teenagers!)…

So, here’s a brief report on what’s happening in my two courses so far this semester:

Writing Workshop: So, a few months ago I spent a Saturday afternoon helping my fiance with revising his cover letter and resume as he was applying for a new position. It was so enjoyable–helping someone to use language, punctuation, and sentence structure more effectively in order to accomplish a very important “real world” task. I said to him, “This is something I would like to do for a job.”

He looked at me kind of funny. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, like, helping people write more effectively.” He kept giving me that look, his eyebrows kind of burrowing into his forehead. “Oh,” I said. “That is what I do for a job, isn’t it?”

The kinds of students I was imagining when I said this were adults, people with poor literacy skills or for whom English is a second language or just people who are super-brilliant at what they do, but have a hard time putting it into words. That’s why I said something so daft, but it is true that sometimes in the midst of all of the need for assessment, the drive to inspire, the looming standards and flashy technology…the fact that what I do is to “help people write more effectively” can get a little lost!

My Writing Workshop class is a great reminder of this, though, especially as I’m getting to know my new sections this semester. Since my attention is not pulled in as many directions this semester, I can pay closer attention to each of my 45 (or so) students, get them feedback in a more timely manner, and really do some intensive one-on-one work with them in class. Since they do most of their writing in class, it really frees me up to literally sit down with individual students and have a real conversation about their writing skills; more like coaching than teaching. (Of course, this has been something of a challenge with my wacky last period class whom I have to “shush” every five minutes, but I think a new seating chart and a school-marmish lecture yesterday may have made an impact…).

Sophomores: Teaching in a school with semester-long junior/senior electives has really made me appreciate the special thing that happens when you have the same group of students in the same class all year. My sophomores have really grown on me…I’ve taught sophomores every year of my teaching career except one and I think the things that teachers often say they don’t like about sophomores are the things that make me love them all the more–they’re sort of stuck in the middle, unsure of who they are or where they fit in, kind of arrogant in that insecure sort of way…charming, right? There’s just something to be said about helping them through all of that, in whatever small way I can, and watching them grow into themselves ever-so-slightly by the end of the year.

My sophomores started out the semester with a “Drama Circles” unit (the kids seemed to like what I originally called it–”Play Groups”–but I thought they deserved something slightly more sophisticated than something a 3-year-old does on a Saturday morning). They chose one of five American plays to study and they worked in a group to read the play, discuss it, complete activities based on it, and, now, to complete a final presentation on the play.

This is the first time I’ve done this unit and it’s definitely had its ups and downs. I think it’s been really good for them to have to take responsibility for how they use their time in class, but it’s been hard for me to let go of some of that control, especially when I’ve watched their discussions flounder and heard questionable interpretations or just downright inaccurate information arising from a group’s conversation. The hardest part, I think, is hearing the blanket labels they love to apply to characters (and that I work like hell to dismantle when we are discussing a text as a class)…”Blanche Dubois is a whore,” “Willy Loman is a jerk,” “Rose Maxson is a push-over”… I tried to intervene when it seemed necessary, but with five groups having discussions at the same time, I’m sure there were some fires that I never got around to putting out. And that’s okay, I think. I’ve been trying to think of the unit as less about teaching them about the play and more about teaching them how to work collaboratively and take initiative.

Now they are working on their final projects, and I have to say, in many instances I’m impressed by their diligence and spirit. I gave them a very clear task–they are an independent theater company that wants to put on a full-blown production of their play, and they are presenting to potential funders–and they are tackling it with gusto. When they do their presentations next week, I’ll post more about the project and how it turned out.

Okay, now that I’ve taken a step back to look at what’s going on in my classroom, I’m going to take a step back and get some perspective on this laundry situation I have brewing…

I was talking with a writer friend of mine the other day and she pulled out the poem “Why We Tell Stories” by Lisel Mueller, explaining that when she gets frustrated and wonders why she bothers with the whole writing thing, she can read this poem and think, “Oh, yeah. That’s why….”

I also encountered this post on Classroom as Microcosm yesterday and was faced with that question that haunts me day and night–why do I teach literature? What’s the point? Why is this so important?

Well, I thought this poem was a beautiful answer to those questions…(Thanks, Linley!)

“Why We Tell Stories” by Lisel Mueller

I
Because we used to have leaves
and on damp days
our muscles feel a tug,
painful now, from when roots
pulled us into the ground

and because our children believe
they can fly, an instinct retained
from when the bones in our arms
were shaped like zithers and broke
neatly under their feathers

and because before we had lungs
we knew how far it was to the bottom
as we floated open-eyed
like painted scarves through the scenery
of dreams, and because we awakened

and learned to speak

2
We sat by the fire in our caves,
and because we were poor, we made up a tale
about a treasure mountain
that would open only for us

and because we were always defeated,
we invented impossible riddles
only we could solve,
monsters only we could kill,
women who could love no one else
and because we had survived
sisters and brothers, daughters and sons,
we discovered bones that rose
from the dark earth and sang
as white birds in the trees

3
Because the story of our life
becomes our life

Because each of us tells
the same story
but tells it differently

and none of us tells it
the same way twice

Because grandmothers looking like spiders
want to enchant the children
and grandfathers need to convince us
what happened happened because of them

and though we listen only
haphazardly, with one ear,
we will begin our story
with the word and

I’ve realized it’s of no coincidence that my last post was from early October–literally the week before I got engaged! I think once that happened, I experienced some temporary insanity in which my only interest in blogs was in those of the wedding variety (and, oh, what a variety there is!). Whimsical white dresses, yellow wildflower bouquets, and the joys of planning something that would be assessed based only on my own eternal happiness whisked me away indeed…

First semester wasn’t only wrought with the distractions of my non-teaching life, however. It was also disillusioning and disenchanting on many levels, and the last thing I wanted to do most evenings and weekends was write about all of the madness. (Although, now that I think about it, it may have been a kinder outlet than coming home to boo-hoo about it to my long-suffering fiance. In retrospect, I’m lucky he didn’t call the whole thing off one of those evenings when I stood in the kitchen, chopping vegetables for dinner, maniacally wielding a paring knife and answering his pleasant, “How was your day, Baby?” with a sort of frustrated tear-fringed growl, “You won’t believe what happened today!”)

The most basic outcome of the upheaval of first semester is that my department is now figuring out how to implement an honors level in our curriculum for next year. This sounds like a simple thing…I mean, many, if not most, public schools have some such system, and it’s not the end of the world, right? What has been so absolutely horrendous about this whole thing is the process by which this came about. Terrible management, insultingly secretive administrators with an agenda, and what has ended up as truly low morale in the English department. You can take a trip back in the time machine to The Parent Trap, in which I expounded on this topic at more length. Oh, those were naive days. Turns out this has little to do with parent demand, and much to do with administrative agenda and politics.

I’ve mulled over how to put all of this into one concise, thoughtful blog posting and have started numerous times, but failed. I should have been writing about this all along and I lost that opportunity. Things will come up in the next few months, though, that will most likely allow me to go back to some of the events of the past semester to fill you in.

More importantly, however, we will be moving forward with planning, with implementing a new curriculum and figuring out how to thoughtfully create an honors level rather than (as our principal so articulately put it) “just slapping an H on it.”

Any thoughts from those of you with experience teaching in a leveled system or (even better!) experience going from an unleveled system to a leveled one is always welcome!…

In this same vein, I ran into a student and his mom in the Pittsburgh airport the other day, coming back from a wedding. This also happened to be a mother with whom I had spent some time chaperoning a dance last year; I am certain her son would melt into a puddle of humiliation if he knew half of what she told me about their family, his struggles, her history, etc. Even now, nearly a year after I taught her son (he was moved out of my class mid-year into a special program), she seemed to seek out some support from me. She caught me in the bathroom and we hovered near the sinks, I providing her with some validation that, no, her son is not the only kid who struggles with getting homework done and, no, her son is not the only kid at the school smoking pot. (Again, absolute puddle). I don’t mind these kinds of interactions with parents, though. We know we both want what’s best for the kid; we know it’s not easy to figure that out; we rely on each other for reassurance in some ways.

Now…I happen to teach in a district with very heavy parent involvement. Which we all know is great on some level, and certainly more desirable than a population of parents who couldn’t care less about their children’s education. When I say, though, that they are heavily involved, what it really means is that their main (sole?) concern is their child’s transcript. Not her mental health, or her emotional well-being; not whether she is inspired or engaged or–of all things–learning–, but what a college (preferably, Harvard or Princeton) will see on her transcript. Will it be a delightful mountain range of As? Will it be AP courses galore? Classes with the prestigious word “Honors” embellishing their titles?

It’s enough to make any well-intentioned teacher with a solid set of priorities want to scream.

One of many ways in which this “parent problem” has reared its ugly head this year is through the increasing demand for teachers to post grades online for students and their parents to see. Our administration seems to be moving closer and closer to mandating this, something that makes many of us uncomfortable. I for one am philosophically opposed to posting my grades online. It puts too much emphasis on something I am trying (desperately, unsuccessfully) to de-emphasize in my classroom. It says, “Hey, this is all you really need to know about how you’re doing in this class,” which, at least in my class, is absolutely not true. If a student wants to find out what his grade is (or, likewise, if his parent does), I am more than happy to have a conversation surrounding it. Discussing why Bobby got a “C” on that last essay is far more productive than that C alone.

In addition (and of even more concern), there has arisen another “demand.” Apparently, a (small?) contingency of parents in our town is pushing (hard) for honors-level English classes. As of now, our freshmen and sophomore classes are mixed; our junior and senior semester-long electives run the gamut in terms of requirements and difficulty-level of texts, assignments, etc. Teachers, guidance counselors, and students work together to figure out the best fit for the student’s needs and abilities. As a department, our philosophy generally lies in heterogeneous grouping; we acknowledge that it has its challenges, but we have no desire to separate out the students with the highest 8th grade test scores (or whatever) into their own “honors” class, for all the reasons that it has been proven to be pedagogically unsound and unhealthy for the school community.

Never has the old rule about the squeaky wheel been more true, though: these parents are getting lots and lots of grease from the administration. As far as we can tell, grease in the form of near-promises that we will integrate an honors component into the freshmen English program (at least) and possibly that we will implement an AP English course. This has led to what is basically an “audit” of the English department and a district-wide goal of “improving rigor in high school English.” This without having ever done any research to find out IF our curriculum is, in fact, rigorous. (I could go on for paragraphs about the term “rigor” and how inappropriate of a word it is for teaching and learning, by the way).

A guidance counselor has suggested holding a presentation that disproves the parents’ misconception that their children are at a disadvantage for college admissions because we do not have honors/AP English or social studies classes. She would show them graphs and pie charts and whatnot that reveal that, in fact, our college admissions are “better” than ever (read: more and more kids are getting into more  and more Ivies and other “prestigious” schools).

My suggestion? That we hold a presentation in which we disprove their misconception that going to Harvard is the most important thing in life.