WV TotY 2007

21st Century Symposium Update

2008-10-23T10:30:00.002-04:00

I know I haven't posted in quite some time, but I promise it's not because I am a slacker. My mind's been elsewhere, and I've been working on other things, some of which I'll post about soon.

For now, know that 21st Century Symposium has been amazing so far, and we have a wiki. Check it out!

21st Century Symposium

2008-06-01T18:37:00.002-04:00

I am very excited about a new project. Three colleagues and I are working (with the assistance of our wonderful principal and a great group of kids) on a new, experimental, multidisciplinary course for next year.

21st Century Symposium will be led by four core-area teachers (math, social studies, science, and me, English) and will incorporate aspects of all subject areas in a study of real-world themes and ideas that is student-driven. Kids will determine projects, grading, topics, readings, (ideally) everything. And we will learn right along with them--teachers as learner-leaders. The ultimate goal is real world understanding, participation, and publication.

We're starting with a blog. Wish us luck and follow our progress.

The Primary Race and Issues of Race in West Virginia

2008-05-16T10:29:00.002-04:00

At this moment, facing national news coverage of the West Virginia primary elections, echoes of racism, ignorance, and prejudice sounding throughout the national media, I am saddened and afraid.

An Associated Press exit poll found that “one in five white Clinton voters said race was an important factor in their vote and about 85 percent of them voted for Clinton against Obama, who would be the first black major-party presidential nominee.” In a state that is 95 percent white, this might be expected: one can argue that it’s human nature to fear the unfamiliar. We’ve made national headlines for this. We have also made national headlines for some of our residents’ overwhelming lack of information. On Wednesday, The Daily Show openly mocked interviewees’ ignorance, and with valid reason. The ideas represented are obvious examples of what my friend Pete refers to as “ignorance with confidence:” the worst possible kind of ignorance.

So I sat in my car this morning, in the parking lot at school, listening to West Virginia Public Radio’s coverage of recent press. In their piece on West Virginia Morning, “Racial, religious prejudice hurt Obama in W.Va.,” Scott Finn and Anna Sale presented the issues frankly and clearly, and I watched the rain and felt a stone of hopelessness growing in the pit of my stomach. I listened to interviews with the state Democratic and Republican chairmen, and cringed as they expressed the idea that West Virginians aren’t really racist; that if a person were to ask the question directly, West Virginians would deny being racist—the interviews just came off incorrectly. This made me feel even worse, simply because that thinking—the direct question of prejudice versus the ingrained and slippery submerged reality—obscures and oversimplifies the problem. It’s the same when people say: “I’m not racist, I have a Black friend,” yet still exhibit prejudiced behavior. Kids do this all the time: “I’m not racist, I just wouldn’t trust “a Mexican”… or “a Jew”… or “an Arab.” Fill in the blank. It’s frustrating and frightening, the lack of logical thinking: again, ignorance with confidence. I see it when I teach a Holocaust unit and kids express sympathy with the Jews, yet prejudice against African Americans… When I show Hotel Rwanda, and they voice the opinion that those Africans are different from Blacks here… And I’ll not even discuss the stereotypes that so many hold about West Virginia, which now seem to smack of some truth! People exhibit a strange inability to translate thinking across barriers, to see how hate is hate, no matter where and how or why it rears its ugly head. And that hate is destructive, always.

As a teacher, I think it’s my responsibility not so much to teach what’s “right” (too subjective and close to indoctrination for me) but to teach kids how to logically evaluate all the information they’re given, and how to seek more information when a logical solution is evasive. I’ve written about this before, but it’s critical in a discussion of prejudice because hate is clearly illogical. Like the woman on The Daily Show who stated she wouldn’t vote for Obama because she’s “…had enough of Hussein,” we don’t always have the ability to distinguish between distortions and facts. A shared name does not equal shared beliefs; why isn’t this obvious? What if his name were Adolf? Maybe it’s the result of culturally faulty synapses, but, according to current media evidence, we’re just not making logical connections in West Virginia.

It’s distressing and daunting. It’s another task to add to the list of things that I must do as a teacher. It’s culturally ingrained and deeply concealed, and it takes a national political issue to reveal it. When I discussed it with my class this morning, their thinking was that only the most outrageous, most controversial interviews were excerpted on the news, and that only a small cross section of voters must have been polled. But this is oversimplifying, as well. And maybe it is true, too, that press coverage is biased, but again, it doesn’t account for the fact that hate is here, it’s our problem, and we’ve gotten very good at avoiding actually dealing with it.

My rainy parking lot moment, listening to the radio, my sadness at the already poor national image of West Virginians, my responsibility as an educator—all these lead me to the same place. I have got to turn that stone of hopelessness into a grain of hope. I am only one, but I hope I make a difference. I hope the kids who leave my classes can see logical patterns, and communicate those to others. I hope my kids won’t embody and reinforce those awful stereotypes about West Virginians; they can change them by not stereotyping other people. I hope for the future, because, even with all the progress we’ve made nationally, the West Virginian present just isn’t good enough. Ignorance with confidence? Not in my classroom.

Signposts

2007-09-12T22:59:00.000-04:00

I can hardly believe it's almost over. I feel relief, some sadness, and some excitement to really be a teacher again. This is the text of my speech from the 2008 Teacher of the Year banquet, at which I turned over my "crown."

When I addressed the guests at this banquet last year, I was in a considerable amount of shock. In fact, if I had known I would be selected, I probably would have not filled out the application, nor would I have agreed to attend the finalist interview in the first place. The truth is this: when I attended this banquet last year, I had seriously been considering whether I was on the right path. In my heart, I did not really believe I was a good teacher. I did not expect to be selected. I did not know that something would happen to hold me in my classroom. Now, I think it happened for a reason.

It could be that I am a superstitious person. I do look for extraordinary messages in everyday events; I am an English teacher, after all. But I believe there are paths we are meant to follow, and we don’t always get to choose them ourselves.

On September 12, 2006, I drove the hundred miles from my home in Morgan County to my parent’s home in Morgantown. The whole time I was laboring over the silliest thing: not the speech I had written, not whether my students would actually work for my substitute, but what jewelry I would wear to the banquet. It does seem silly, doesn’t it? Let me explain. When I was a teenager, my grandmother gave me a necklace--she called it a lavaliere--that had been given to her by a student in her first year of teaching: 1929. It was cheap, five and dime costume jewelry, but she knew that the child who had given it to her had probably not been able to afford it. It was a testament to the relationships she built in her classroom. This seemed an obvious choice for me to wear to this dinner, but I also saw it as a sign of commitment to a career about which I was having serious doubts.

The second jewelry choice was a gift from a friend who was aware of my conflict. It’s a raw stone set with a simple silver wire wrapping. The stone is called chrysoprase, and it’s a “heart stone,” which signifies the power of the heart over all others. It is representative of finding success in following new paths. Again, facing professional uncertainty, this seemed an obvious choice, but a polar opposite to the first.

It was with this conundrum that I drove the two hours to my parents’ home. I brought both necklaces and intended to ask my folks for help in making the decision. To me, these represented two clear and contrasting paths, neither of which I was sure I wanted. So I arrived, and I took both pieces in the house, and I asked the question. My parents, who had incidentally just returned from Alaska, responded by making the decision easy. They presented me with a gift—a third necklace, the one I am wearing now, and the one I wore to this banquet last year. It is a jade carving, in miniature, of an Inuit symbol, called an inushuk: these are signposts, used to mark dogsled trails. Travelers use these signs to find their paths and to stick to them. "So you don't lose your way," my mom said. And as a result of the events at this banquet last year, I did find my way—in so many ways.

Fate toys with us, I think. Being a teacher is hard, and being an award-winning teacher is even harder. It has been a test of my talents, my constitution, my teaching techniques, and my convictions in the deepest sense of myself. Standing here, last year, there were some things I needed to know that I ended up figuring out mostly on my own, so, for the 2008 West Virginia Teacher of the Year, these are some things I need to tell you:

You will hone skills and talents you never knew you had: for example, you will become an expert at winging a speech, churning out thank you cards, throwing together substitute plans, and getting by on very little sleep. You may gain other skills: you may move audiences to tears, you may find you are very skilled at moving yourself in 1/6^th gravity at Space Camp, you may learn to be photogenic for the first time in your life. You will learn to ask for—and accept—help from unexpected sources.

You will face disappointments: when you tell your students you’ll be out for the 20^th time this semester, they may look at you with frustration and say: “We Hate This.” Your significant other may wonder who you are. You may see a drop in student test scores for the first time in your career. You may ask for help and not receive it from sources you most expect to give it.

You must rely on all your resources: Dave Perine, Liza Cordiero, Jason Hughes, and Alison Barker will be of immense help to you, as they were to me. I am a resource for you, too. You will meet fifty-five other amazing teachers of the year who will awe you with their talents, caring, and devotion to our profession; you may be stunned to realize that you are one of them. You are one of them.

You will find that most of what you do will be up to you: your best resource will be yourself; you have to trust in your own abilities to find your way. There may be moments when you find yourself stretched so thin that you feel you can’t do anything well, but you will do well—you will shine.

I wish you luck on your journey; I’m ready to go home.

Know this: It will be Hard. You will feel undeserving and discouraged.

It will change you. You will be a better teacher.

It will be whatever you make it.

It will be worth it.

And when you find yourself waffling between frustration and fortitude, between dedication and destruction, remember this:

Your path has found you.

Now it’s up to you to see the signposts.

All Roads Lead to Home: Reflections on Space Camp

2007-08-02T16:38:00.000-04:00

I spent the last week of July in Huntsville, Alabama, at The US Space and Rocket Center’s International Space Camp for Educators. While there, I stretched beyond the limits of anything I ever thought I would do. Among many other activities, I learned to read topographical maps of Mars; helped to create and launch a rocket; worked to build a heat shield out of copper mesh and tinfoil and test it with a blowtorch; performed an extra-vehicular activity to build a structure outside a space station on a mock mission; collaborated with others in mission control to launch and land a space shuttle as my team’s flight director; and experienced 1/6th gravity in a moon walk simulation. Along with 23 international participants, the 56 American teachers of the year went non-stop for seven days, from 7 am to 10 pm each day. After seven days, I returned wired, inspired, and exhausted.

When I recovered enough to actually start thinking about the implications of my week as a mock astronaut, one lesson seemed to shine above all others: the further away I went, the more signs I saw of home.

It started on the first day of camp, when Sang-Ki, the educator from South Korea, sang “Country Roads” to me on the bus at 7:30 am. This in itself did not seem unusual, since people all over the world have a tendency to break into their best John Denver renditions as soon as one mentions being from West Virginia. It's true: I’ve personally had it happen in Japan and in Thailand.

Another unsurprising West Virginia reference was frequent discussion of Chuck Yeager, a Lincoln County native and the first person to fly faster than the speed of sound. This, too, was expected, since Yeager was the director of the first Space School at Edwards Air Force Base, the training program responsible for producing the first astronauts.

During a break one afternoon, I went for a walk with the teachers of the year from New Hampshire, Tennessee, and Rhode Island, and we wandered onto a field used for testing student built rockets. Near the launching frames was a monument to Homer Hickam, the author of Rocket Boys, which is set in his hometown of Coalwood in MacDowell County. While we know Hickam primarily as a West Virginia Writer, he is better known in Huntsville as an Aerospace Engineer and astronaut trainer, dedicating much of his adult life to education and exploration. His books were on the shelves in the gift shop, and many of the other teachers had read them and shared them with kids.

Again, I had expected these references to home. Then things started to get more surprising. On Wednesday, we had a presentation from, a discussion with, and books signed by Ed Buckbee, the press person for the first manned space flights, and the founder of space camp. Mr. Buckbee is a native of Hampshire County and was educated in Morgantown (my hometown) at West Virginia University.

At Space Camp, teachers are divided into teams of about 15 people, and these teams work together in classes and on missions. Each team has two leaders, Space Camp employees who facilitate activities and serve as guides. One of our team leaders, Dan Oates, lives just over the mountain from me in Romney, WV. He has been a teacher-leader at Space Camp for seventeen years. He has also been fundamental in creating opportunities for thousands of children as the creator of SCI-VIS, a Space Camp experience for the visually impaired. Dan, along with Ed Buckbee, was inducted into Space Camp’s Hall of Fame as part of the 25th anniversary celebration this summer.

As one might imagine, I was beginning to feel a little stunned in the shadow of so many amazing West Virginians. And then things got weird.

On Friday, I had the chance to briefly visit with a little league team with members from Paw Paw, a town in the county where I live. They were passing through on their way to a tournament and had arranged for the afternoon at the Space and Rocket Center museum. We took a few photos, and I was again reminded of home.

And then, on Saturday morning in the airport, Dan stopped me to introduce me to a little boy from Romney. He was a fifth grader, and his favorite subject was science. As we posed for a picture in the terminal, he was clearly nervous at the thought of the adventure ahead of him. I was still coming down at the end of mine, and I told him that he was going to have a great time. When I explained that I had just had the most amazing week doing everything he was about to do, he looked at me—really looked at me—making eye contact for the first time in our conversation. I hope I left him a little less afraid, and I know that he has been changed by his week in Huntsville, as I am, though maybe not in the same way or for the same reasons.

Anyone who knows me knows that I look for greater meaning in simplistic images; English teachers do that. I look for signs and symbols, evidence of the universe at work in my daily life. In the air as I headed toward West Virginia, I tried very hard to piece together the meaning of all these encounters with home. I was supposed to be exploring the cosmos, right? But these connections kept me grounded—and not just grounded on Earth—grounded at home. With each connection I made, I felt the umbilical pull of my home state. And in these connections, I’d seen changed lives, and West Virginians who changed and will change them. I met pioneers of the past: Yeager and Hickam, who changed America’s technological and exploratory capabilities. I met visionaries who are making a difference in the present: Buckbee, who directly touched the lives of half a million people, as Space Camp celebrated its 500,00th participant this summer, and Oates, who saw a need and filled it to touch the lives of over 2000 visually impaired children. And I saw the future: children awed by the dream of possibility and the ways in which learning can be authentic and purposeful.

As part of our orientation, Dan Oates showed us a video news piece from Southern Living about Space Camp for visually impaired kids. I was very moved when one little girl spoke about her experience, saying that in her normal life she was a person who couldn’t see well, but in the SCI-VIS environment she was able to see better than others, and the vision she had enabled her to lead.

Good teachers are like that. We see things clearly when others can not, and we use the vision we have to lead others to see, too. All it takes is one person with one vision and the effort it takes to express it in a way that other people can see it, too. Some people see opportunities, or needs, or possibilities, or potential—whatever we see, it’s up to us to do something with our vision. To find the vantage point where we see best and project the image of our vision as far and wide as we can is the only thing—the greatest thing—we can do. As Christa McAuliffe so eloquently stated: “I touch the future, I teach.”

So here I am in the middle—looking at the past, present, and future—and trying to figure out where I fit. I spent my time at the Space and Rocket Center with 55 other American teachers who are the same as I am. We won the same award, went through the same program at Space Camp. We were in constant contact for the duration of our stay: we played together, worked together, learned together, ate together, and even slept in the same rooms in a dormitory. Yet I am different too, and I’m different in a way that is distinctly West Virginian. I believe in sense of place, and that place shapes who we are, and that as West Virginians we see things a little differently. Maybe my perspective is affected by the way the hills surround me, or by the way the leaves move in the wind, or by the fact that I, unlike so many other Americans, can actually see the stars when I stand in my backyard at night.

I don’t know what it is that sets any one of us apart, but I do know this: NASA is planning to send a human mission to Mars by 2025, and the person who may next set foot on the Moon, or on Mars, may be that boy I met in the airport. More fantastic yet, that Martian explorer may be a kid in my town, in my school, in my class. And if she—or he—is, I want to know that I’ve helped instill the drive to do whatever the heart says, the vision to believe it can be done, the determination to go and explore, and the sense to see and recognize the signs that lead us home.

Twisted Words and Teacher Pay

2007-07-02T09:55:00.000-04:00

Be very careful about releasing your words into the wild. Once you’ve made a public statement, it’s no longer yours, and anyone who has an opinion and a pen can use it any way he likes. In January, I was interviewed by Jessica M. Karmasek, a writer for Charleston, West Virginia’s Daily Mail newspaper. We had a long phone conversation about me, my teaching, and, among other issues, the cost of living disparity between the part of the state where I live and other parts of the state, which are in a population decline. When Jessica’s article was published, she quoted me accurately, and, with the exception of adding three years to my age (Gasp!), presented me in a realistic and positive light. I was flattered by how she saw me and was impressed with her writing skills.

Something I said to Jessica, however, struck a nerve with people: that I would rather teach in West Virginia than cross the border into another state where teachers make more money. The story was picked up by the AP and spread to other state papers. Most of these short pieces were of the “thumbs up” type, applauding my selflessness in taking a pay cut to teach at home, like this one from the March, 2007 issue of Graffiti magazine: “IN: West Virginia teacher of the year, Sarah Morris, English teacher at Berkeley Springs High School is making a commitment to stay in the state despite the lure of higher salaries in neighbouring states. Sarah is committed to her students, her community and is keeping her considerable talents at home.” These sentiments continued to spread, and USA Today picked the byte up, too, in their state blurbs.

Strangely, as the words moved farther away from me, they became more and more condensed, truncating my thoughts into one, single (and twisted) message: Good teachers don’t need more money. Then, to my surprise, the words grew again, were editorialized and leveraged by both sides of the teacher pay issue in my home state. I was discussed in editorials and in blogs. One Dominion Post letter to the editor very bitingly criticized me as being naively unaware of the issues teachers face when they have families to raise and live in other counties. As the state legislature, the governor, and the state teacher unions negotiated for a pay increase, my words become more political. They did so without my consent.

In March, teachers across the state staged a planned, one-day walkout to vie for a pay raise for West Virginia teachers. Fourteen of the state’s fifty-five counties participated in the walkout, but, in spite of the growing population, mine was not one of them. Teachers in my county, in contrast to the rest of West Virginia’s Eastern Panhandle, voted to stay in school that day for a number of reasons. Some base facts of the teacher pay issue, statewide, are these:

We currently rank 47^th in the nation in terms of teacher pay.

On March 10, 2007, the WV legislature approved a 3.5% pay increase (which ends up being somewhere between $800 and $2000 annually, depending on degree and level of experience). Something, but not much.

As a whole, the population of West Virginia is in decline, but the population in the Eastern Panhandle, where I live, is growing exponentially. These facts apply to me and other teachers in my county:

Morgan County, West Virginia, where I live, has a community which supports an excess levy that allows our first year teachers to start out at about $2000 more than the state average, and we have been granted a pay increase two out of the last three years due to that levy. This almost compensates for the cost of living increase in our area, which has become a bedroom community for DC.

My school voted 30 to 8 against the state wide walkout (although many teachers did not vote at all, as this represents a little over half our staff). There were many reasons for this, and some of our individual reasons for not walking out were documented by students in their weekly program, NewsTeam.

I am lucky to live in a county that believes in supporting education. I am lucky in that I am single, childless, and able to do work that I love. If I wanted a fully loaded Lexus, a McMansion, and a state of the art technological arsenal, would I make enough money to have them? Not in a million years. Do I want these things someday? No. I would not leave work that I love in order to have material wealth. If I had a family to support, would I make enough money to do so? Probably not, and I want to have a family some day. If teacher pay does not change before I am ready for these things, maybe I will find a more lucrative profession. Or maybe my children will live with less, even though they shouldn’t have to. I do not know what will happen. I have enough experience that I am very aware of poverty’s territories, and I never want to live there.

Still, what I said was meant to be personal, not political, regardless of the fact that I can now hear the adage “The Personal is Political” ringing in my head. I was raised by proud West Virginians who know the debilitating effects of poverty and believe that the way out of it is education; therefore, I identify as West Virginian and believe in the power of education. As far as my altruism goes, my reasons for staying at home are maybe not as noble as people think. The belief that I’m making a difference in West Virginia makes me feel good. I do it because it makes me feel like a purposeful, dedicated West Virginian. I think I am opening doors for children who may have lives like the ones my parents worked to climb out of, and I am making a difference for those kids. That feels good. I teach to feel good, just like I exercise to feel good, read books to feel good, write in my journal to feel good, spend time with the people I love to feel good. I’m not sure that’s so noble. In fact, it might even be a little selfish.

I am writing about this because it raises a cultural issue for me in terms of the way we read and report the news. When I interviewed with Jessica Karmasek, I was talking about myself, not the teacher pay issue as it pertains to any other teachers. This is clear in the article, which was published under the headline: “Teacher of the Year Says She Is Committed to Teaching West Virginia Students.” The focus of the first article was me, not teacher pay, and addresses the fact that money is an issue, but I have the luxury of not needing much money right now. When the AP picked the piece up, however, the headline changed: “West Virginia’s Top Teacher Here to Stay, She Says, Despite Lower Pay.” This second article, run statewide the very next day, is less than a quarter of the length of the original and contains three sentences worth of quotes, yet it changes the focus from me to pay. How’s that for spin? The editorials followed from there, and most of them did not quote me at all. Questions follow: what’s truth, then? I was not misquoted, but parts of my story were missing. Who is responsible? Which article is most accurate? How can I teach students to tell the difference? How can I tell the difference myself?

In an era where everything is a joke or a hot button issue, when we’re more interested in watching the latest Britney Spears trainwreck rather than learning anything, when news is not news, how can we be responsible teachers and learners? If everything’s satire (including, ironically, my school’s student news show, which I think is great) how do we know what’s serious? If we even want the real story, how can we sort through the muck to locate it? Education in the 21^st century is a daunting task. The media literacy and critical thinking required in our information age can’t be measured by standards based assessments, yet these skills are absolutely necessary for cultural survival. Just thinking about the tasks ahead of me makes me want to sink into the couch with the remote and a big bag of fat free Doritos, but… I can’t, partly because I don’t have TV, and, also, because I have a job to do.

And just to clear the record: teacher pay is a more complex issue than a single editorial or essay (this one included) can easily address. At the risk of oversimplification, my feelings are these: teachers in West Virginia do not make enough money. Teachers do not make enough money anywhere. We devalue education as a culture, which is why Paris Hilton makes more money than I do and is better liked than I am. (What is her job, anyway?) The teaching profession reaches every American life. Every life. And yet we are at the bottom of the professional pay scale. Don’t give me a pay raise, give me a paradigm shift.

Sometimes...

2007-06-29T09:24:00.000-04:00

Sometimes kids save me, and they don’t even know it.

One cold, January day, I am feeling strained, stressed, and awful. I have been working for several days on a major report due in response to a fellowship I’ve received. The package is to be postmarked the next day. I scramble to finish typing, and I need to proofread before I send the thirty plus pages out. I print to my desktop inkjet. No ink. I print to the main staff room laser. A malfunction. I print to the media center laser. Out of service.

Frustrated, I rush down the hall, clutching my flash drive, looking for anyone who might have an available and functional printer. As I’m about the charge into the office, a parent stops me. “Hey!” she smiles, “It’s my son’s favorite teacher!” Her son is largely silent in my class, and he often struggles with his grade. Before this moment, I have no idea that he even likes me. I instantly feel better. When I see him, later, I thank him, and I send his mom a short note, thanking her, too.

Thanks to a very kind colleague, I am able to print, proof, and post my report on time the next day. Yet, more importantly, the kid comes into school and says, at the beginning of class, “My mom says to tell you that you have a beautiful soul.”

As a teacher, much of my job is to make connections with kids and their families, to build communities of learners that extend beyond my own physical reach. This seems obvious to me on a practical level, but I don’t always see evidence that my efforts work, until a kid or a parent says something unexpected that changes my perspective. It’s amazing to me how we touch and are touched just by virtue of the nature of the profession. Yeah, I think moments like these are why I teach.

Say "Cheese!" or My Photographic Learning Curve

2007-06-28T09:27:00.000-04:00

When I was recognized with a teaching award, I was not prepared for many of the new roles I would have to play. I was not ready to smile for the camera, to answer reporters’ questions, or to have to present myself as a representative for state education at all times. Still, I learned. I wear make-up. I smile in pictures. I wear colors besides gray, brown, and black. In fact, there is a visible learning curve in the photographs of me as I have become more and more comfortable.

When a cameraman blinds me with a spotlight, I no longer scream: “CarolAnn! Don’t go into the light, CarolAnn!” That went over well, for the record. When I had publicity photos taken with the car that Toyota lent me, I resisted the urge to climb on the hood like Tawny Kitaen. I also exercised extreme restraint when presented with a giant novelty check; I did not ask to be photographed beneath it, as if it were crushing me, and I did not make jokes about trying to cram it into one of the tubes at the bank drive-through. I have had difficulty learning to keep my thoughts to myself (no matter how funny I think they are), and keeping track of my face and body has presented a double challenge. I have learned to stand up straight, finally, after all those years of my mom harassing me, and I have learned, somehow, to lose that frantic, strained look I have always had in front of a camera. Amazingly, about six months into this thing, I have begun to look relaxed, natural, and—for the first time in my life—pretty in pictures.

My past, devastatingly bad photogenic record, however, has made me wary of having my picture taken. Part of the problem is that I am extremely expressive, so the likelihood of a camera catching me making some gruesome face is very high. I once had a student entitle her final reflection for my class “The Many Faces,” and another time, when an album of a special event in my life came back from the photographer, I actually yo-yoed between laughter and tears because of the pictures of me. Hideous. Anyway, it was with years of photographic tragedy weighing on my shoulders that I entered the Oval Office to have my picture made with President and Mrs. Bush.

I guess it didn’t help that I’d had multiple discussions with one of my friends about crossing my eyes and sticking out my tongue when I turned to the camera. Or that I chose to wear very high heels to prevent the world from seeing how short I really am. Or that I’m at the end of the alphabet when we’re in order by state, so I had 53 photographs worth of time for my makeup and hair to wilt and for my brain to consider all of the absurd things I could not say. Or that the whole experience was about eighteen seconds long. The extent of my conversation with the Presidential couple was about three sentences, consisting generally of the words “good morning,” “West Virginia,” “congratulations,” and “thank you.” It was a handshake, a smile, a click, and that’s it. There were no retakes.

When the e-mail attachment of the White House photo came, then, I opened it with much trepidation. What face might I be making? Miraculously, I looked happy, relaxed, and confident. When my principal forwarded it to the whole staff, one of my illustrious colleagues replaced the Bushes’ heads with the ones from Grant Wood’s painting American Gothic, copied it, and distributed a print in everyone’s mailbox—but he left my face alone. My state coordinator had a huge color copy made and framed for me; “That’s your best picture so far,” he said. The kicker was this: when I showed it to my kids, large as life on the whiteboard, they said, in every class: “You look good, but we don’t think you really met them because they look like they’re made of plastic.” And not one of them laughed at the picture of me.

Who Owns You, Baby?

2007-06-27T14:45:00.000-04:00

I had no idea that winning a teaching award goes hand in hand with getting lots of free stuff. For each state teacher, The Smarter Kids Foundation provides a huge technology package, including a SmartBoard, a projector, a wireless slate, a student response system, software licenses, and two days of intense training. I got a free car to drive for a year from Toyota West Virginia—a silver 2007 Prius. I was awarded a big check from Mountain State BlueCross BlueShield, which has done wonders for defraying some of the expenses I didn’t know I’d encounter (makeup, an evening gown, a costume for the parade at Space Camp). I have received free food at local restaurants, fancy shoelaces, cookies, books, flash drives, trinkets, flowers, gift cards, and a ton of other stuff. With each of these, however, comes the implication of some kind of connection.

I also did not expect to be approached by individuals and organizations seeking endorsements. At first, I said yes to anything that seemed worthwhile—and much of what’s out there is designed to be beneficial to kids and to teachers. How can I not review a book on alternative teaching strategies, particularly when they’re strategies that I know are effective? How can I not endorse a program that encourages community wide reading? How can I not participate in a public presentation to support our local library? How can I not accept this shiny new technological gadget on behalf of a major company when there are no obvious strings attached? Hey…Wait a minute…

After a while, I realized that I had to think critically about the offers I accepted, do more research, and decide whether the philosophies of the companies seeking an endorsement from me (from ME?) really did jibe with my philosophy as a professional educator and as a person. Now I’m a little less likely to agree to back products and services just because I can. Funny, these are the skills I ask kids to use every day, yet somehow I wasn’t using them myself. (It’s a wonder I didn’t spend that entire BlueCross BlueShield check at Hot Topic.) Still, I remembered my own instructions, eventually, and now I’m more selective about whose agenda I support.

Last week, then, I had the opportunity to do a presentation at a state convention to endorse an organization I really do believe in. In April, all the Teachers of the Year were welcomed at the Smithsonian Institution for an Educator’s Day. On that day, we divided into small groups to visit individual museums, view and use some of the available resources, and discuss our own classroom applications. Later, we attended a presentation and training session and were all given the opportunity to become Smithsonian Teacher Ambassadors. While I am all for the Smithsonian’s mission of the “increase and diffusion of knowledge,” I wasn’t sure that I was ready to sign on for anything else. Then I checked out the educator website. Wow.

At the Smithsonian Educator website, teachers can find appropriate teaching resources for any activity imaginable. We can interact with other teachers, artifacts, and information. We can print PDF files of Smithsonian in Your Classroom publications, plan field trips, and schedule professional development (at a Smithsonian site or in a virtual setting). The most impressive thing, however, for me and for the teachers I’ve shared this with, is the fact that we can search the resources by state content standard, grade level, and subject area. There is a section of the site for parents. There is also a section for students, which means, for me, an easy way to direct them to an alternative to other, less reputable sites. And although I feel like a walking, talking (and, now, typing) infomercial, I guess I’ve learned a lesson of sorts.

It’s the beauty of the irony again, the idea that I always have to apply those things I so actively teach. I have to be able to recognize the pitfalls of being a consumer, no matter how—or what—I consume. Just because a product is sold to me doesn’t mean I have to buy it, even if it’s wrapped in a pretty package. Not only does this make me a better thinker, it gives more meaning to the things I do choose, and that’s valuable education.

Walking the Line: Working with Pre-Service Teachers

2007-06-26T16:03:00.001-04:00

It was a former student who gave me the idea that I might be of use to pre-service teachers. Rachel is a student in English education at West Virginia University, and she came in to do an observation with me during her second year in the program. She’s smart and funny, and during her second observation I turned the class over to her. The way I see it, most of us spend the first thirteen years of our formal educations observing public school teaching, both good and bad. She didn’t really need to observe; she needed a safe, supportive environment in which to “test out” her ideas and a clear, pedagogical discussion afterward. This seemed like a deeper, more productive exercise for both of us. So, in that way, I was able to influence her as a teacher on more than one level—as a student, then as a colleague. This seemed—still seems—especially meaningful to me.

Anyway, after Teacher of the Year was announced, I got an email from a friend and colleague who is on staff at West Virginia University. She said that Rachel was in her class, and she thought it would be beneficial for pre-service teachers to be able to speak with me. I agreed and spent a little more than an hour with her group of future English teachers, doing a demonstration on using art as a bridge to written analysis. They were amazing: asking questions, taking notes, journaling with me, writing, sharing. The temperature in the room was about ninety degrees, but they were fully engaged—on the level of learner and of teacher.

This experience led me to other, similar visits with pre-service teachers: a pedagogy class at Shepherd University, a curriculum and instruction class at WVU. In every situation they drilled me with questions—from simple stuff (“What do you do about bathroom passes?”) to complex conundrum (“How do you handle a challenge to your beliefs in the classroom?”). Several times I had to be comfortable saying those words traditional teachers are often most afraid to say: “I don’t know.” These visits are some of the most rewarding activities I’ve done in my role as Teacher of the Year.

Conversations like the ones I’ve had with teachers in training require me to reconsider my own fears and also to come to terms with the fact that I’ve been very lucky. In my career, I’ve been protected by strong administrators, a safe community, and involved colleagues. I wasn’t that long ago, though, that I was a student with many of the same fears, questions, and hopes for my future. Seven years ago, when I entered the field, I was frightened and excited. I could have used the insights of someone who had experience but who also could relate to me. I think I am different from the traditional model of “teacher” in this respect: I don’t know the answers. I am always learning, I think I learned that perspective in my teacher education classes; I was asked to be both a student and a practitioner—to straddle the line. Now, as a professional educator, this perspective still continues to work for me, as it seems to for those pre-service teachers.

As I began to think about this, I realized that the West Virginia University professor whom Rachel contacted me through served much the same function to me as I do to Rachel. I was her student in a young adult literature class when I was studying in the education department, then, later, we were peers as fellows in the National Writing Project at WVU Summer Institute. Now, we are co-leaders of the Summer Institute ourselves, leading teachers to different kinds of learning. Maybe, for me, the real secret of successful teaching is this web of professional collegiality, the fluidity of relationships, the idea that we are all learners and that we never stop learning. It’s this that draws Rachel to me, and me to her, and to any other teacher who can shift between roles, walk the blurry line, learning from me, learning with me, and leading me to learning at the same time.

NCLB Recommendations from Teachers of the Year

2007-06-25T10:03:00.000-04:00

In April, 50 of the 2007 state teachers of the year held a press conference discussing our recommendations for changes to the No Child Left Behind legislation. I encourage you to view a video of the press conference on the Internet. Our statements follow.

10 Changes to NCLB from the Teachers of the Year

1) Fully fund all education and assessment programs that are federally mandated.

2) Allow all states to utilize a growth model for measuring individual student achievement over time.

3) Use multiple methods of assessment to evaluate student learning accurately and report the results to the public.

4) Include language that appropriately addresses the unique needs of students with exceptionalities (disabilities as well as gifts and talents) while continuing to set high standards for all students.

5) Provide assessment information to teachers in a timely manner and professional development in effectively utilizing such information, so that it can inform instruction that will improve teaching and learning.

6) Evaluate current sanctions for failing Adequate Yearly Progress and replace them with proven methods of enhancing achievement.

7) Develop and fund programs that promote meaningful parent and family engagement.

8) Modify assessments and set realistic goals for English Language Learners.

9) Ensure every student is taught by a Highly Effective Teacher who receives ongoing professional development.

10) Include programs for school leadership development that addresses the need for administrators to become instructional leaders who conduct regular classroom observations and provide productive feedback to teachers.

Full Funding

Needed change:
Fully fund all education and assessment programs that are federally mandated.

Unfunded mandates create an undue burden on local and state resources. If a program is important enough to be mandated, then it should also be funded.

Why the change is needed:
If our schools are going to ensure each student has success with high expectations and standards that include a rigorous and comprehensive curriculum, Congress should insist on the full funding of ESEA programs at their authorized levels.

NCLB regulations state that “Nothing in this chapter shall be construed to authorize an officer or employee of the Federal Government to mandate, direct, or control a State, local education agency, or school’s curriculum, program of instruction, or allocation of State or local resources, or mandate a State or any subdivision thereof to spend any funds or incur any costs ot paid for under this chapter”. We believe that this section of the law should be enforced with vigor equal to that being applied to states and schools to meet Adequate Yearly Progress.

As educators, we have learned that there is a big difference between what is authorized (how much Congress knows we should spend) and actual funding (what resources are provided to meet our students’ needs).

Since its 2002 inception, the President has failed to request and the Congress has failed to appropriate funding levels promised in the NCLB Act. In 2002, Congress authorized $26.4 billion and only appropriated $22.2 billion. Each year since, the gap has grown wider. In the current fiscal year, 2007, $39.4 billion is authorized but only $23.7 billion was appropriated. President Bush’s education budget for 2008 is no better. Using 2007’s authorization level (NCLB is not authorized beyond 2007) of $39.4 billion, the President has requested only $24.6 billion. If Congress accepts the President’s request, it would bring the cumulative shortfall since enactment to $70.9 billion.

Impact:
Oklahoma school districts struggle with the fact that federal program teachers must be rehired prior to the time they are notified of the amount of funds they will get for the year. School districts are then forced to come up with the money to pay the salary at a time when their federal funds are being cut.

Just this past week, one of the TOYS was told by her principal that their elementary "lost money" because there are a few schools within her district that did not meet AYP and therefore face sanctions--tutoring, transportation--that must be paid with district funds. The money has to be diverted from schools experiencing success in the district to those who are not - "Robbing Peter to pay Paul". Some schools do need additional funds to meet the needs of challenging populations, but to take it away from successful schools within the same district may put other schools at risk. We could ultimately end up in a “ping-pong” match, redirecting of funds to a new/needy source every year.

Growth Model

Needed change:
Develop a growth model for measuring individual student achievement.

No Child Left Behind set out to close the achievement gap. If the law is going to achieve this goal, we need to acknowledge the growth of struggling students while challenging our gifted students, particularly in lower-income schools.

Why the change is needed:
Nearly all the rewards and punishments in NCLB focus on how many students are testing at “proficiency” by the end of the year—a middle-of-the road benchmark determined by each state. If we can focus instead on how much progress each student has made over the course of the year, we do two things:

1. Create an incentive for the best teachers to take on the lowest-performing students. The same applies to the best principals taking on the lowest-performing schools and the best superintendents taking on the lowest-performing districts.

2. Encourage all students to continue improving their academic skills. Students who enter the year far below grade level usually need more than one year to become proficient, even when they are provided with an excellent teacher. Affirming their progress toward proficiency is critical to their success. Students who enter the year far above grade level should be pushed just as hard as their peers to excel.

Impact:
Aaron entered my 2nd grade class as a non-reader. By the end of the year, he had advanced to a level 24 as measured by the Developmental Reading Assessment, just shy of the level 28 designated as “proficient.” His remarkable achievement should be acknowledged as a success on the part of Aaron, his family, his teachers, and his school.

When Maria entered my 2nd grade class, she was already reading on a 4th grade level. In lower-income schools like mine, the staff is often desperate to raise standardized test scores to avoid being put in school improvement—a designation that tends to stigmatize the school as a failure, drive away qualified staff, and strip both resources and autonomy from the school community. A child like Maria will pass with a “proficient” score whether or not she is pushed to achieve her full potential.

In my class of 20 lower-income students, Maria is one of six in the Gifted and Talented program. These gifted lower-income students have the brilliance and the academic skills to go to great universities someday, and they have the first-hand knowledge of their neighborhoods to transform their communities. If they are to develop perseverance, intellectual risk-taking, and joy in their work, these students must be challenged.

A growth model meets the needs of students at both ends of the spectrum, the Aarons and the Marias, by pushing them to achieve their full potential. It provides the most meaningful measure of effective teaching, particularly for teachers in lower-income schools. A growth model also provides the most effective means of attracting and retaining highly effective teachers, principals, and superintendents in our neediest schools.

Multiple Methods of Assessment

Needed Change:
Use multiple methods of assessment to evaluate students accurately and report the results to the public.

We need a more holistic approach to assessing student learning for the purpose of providing accountability-- one that balances qualitative and quantitative analysis. Standardized assessments do provide statistics and data for a baseline that can be used to guide decisions made to improve student achievement on a large and generalized scale. Standardized assessments do little to measure the degree to which students progress in their ability to acquire knowledge, think independently, develop unique, creative solutions to a problem, collaborate with others;, make value judgments, develop new knowledge from old, or any number of other accomplishments we deem as necessary 21st century skills. People on both sides of the standardized test debate acknowledge that these tests measure a narrowed band of learning and marginalize populations of students. Remarkably, even while supporters and detractors alike agree that these indicators do not present a complete picture of learning, standardized testing remains the cornerstone of school accountability. As with the issue of developing growth models that address the needs of different learners, assessment must also be responsive to the variety of ways that students demonstrate their knowledge.

Why the change is needed:
Comparing student achievement globally raises qualitative questions about the intrinsic nature of the social, political, and economic structures of the student populations being compared. Yet we did just that to justify famous educational doctrines such as 1983’s “A Nation at Risk”. Similarly, although on a smaller scale, we could say that comparing student achievement nationally or even community to community raises similar questions. (For example the equity gap between large urban, small rural, and wealthy suburban populations.) Yet we do just that to create “The Nation’s Report Card”. When we examine the same premise inside an individual classroom, teachers can answer these qualitative questions easily. You can’t rely on a standardized mechanism for assessing holistic achievement because students are not standardized. The idea that “ALL…… WILL…. BY……” becomes a ridiculous premise when accounting for individual learners’ needs and ways for demonstrating what they really know and are completely able to do.

Impact:
My school was deemed low performing and non-improving over two consecutive years putting us into the sanctioned position of offering choice while conducting the required improvements necessary to raise student achievement. We were commended two years later by our State’s Board of Regents as one of the fasting improving schools in the state. Two years later we are struggling to continue to retain our improving status. Our original success can be tied to implementing a variety of strategies which included intense focus on specific areas of academic content, trying new curriculum materials, and most importantly an openness to utilizing innovative approaches to engaging students in their learning. One of the observations made during this stressful, high stakes time was the collaborative nature our learning community employed in tackling our problems and teaching our students. As testing has been expanded to all grades starting at grade three, we are seeing a negative impact on our ability to sustain and utilize the strategies that enabled our original success.

The beginning of a school year is a critical time for setting the stage for an exciting and dynamic environment for learning and for establishing a momentum for engaged and active participation. It is also a time for setting expectations, goals and support for a wide range of young learners. With the looming pressure of testing in October, many classrooms hunker down immediately to the task of reviewing test type questions and test taking strategies. This is not the same as teaching to the test, but it is essential in preparing concrete learners for a specific type of task. As a school community we were asked to postpone certain activities until after the testing period had passed. Many of the activities on this list included some of the collaborative and integrated “outside the box” strategies we had found successful in engaging students in learning, particularly effective in reaching at-risk, disconnected, passive, and non-compliant learners.

Many teachers in the building feel that the school year now begins in November because this is when the “real” teaching can begin. How can we be improving learning and raising authentic achievement by cutting into dynamic instruction by two months each year?

Special Education

Needed Change:
Include language in No Child Left Behind that appropriately addresses the unique needs of students with exceptionalities (disabilities as well as gifts and talents) while continuing to set high standards for all students.

The reauthorization of NCLB should implement the following changes:
· Provide IEP teams with the authority to determine how individual students with special needs will participate in state-mandated assessments (whether through general assessments, assessments with accommodations, or alternate assessments), rather than insisting on 1% and 2% rigid caps on the number of students allowed to take alternate and/or modified assessments;
· Implement state assessment systems that track individual students’ academic growth, and allow multiple measures of assessment to determine student progress;
· Regarding the Highly Qualified Teacher provisions in NCLB, multiple measures should be used to determine a Special Education teacher’s professional competence;
· Authorize additional funding to support and expand gifted education programs.

Why the Change is Needed:
As educators we strongly support NCLB’s efforts to ensure that students with exceptionalities are being held to high academic standards and are included in public accountability measures. The current legislation’s mandates, however, run contrary to some of the premises in the Individuals with Disabilities Education Improvement Act (IDEIA), which calls for individualized curriculum and assessments that determine success based on progress toward goals and objectives in a student’s Individualized Education Plan (IEP).

Changes in the current law are needed for the following reasons:
· Some students who meet the eligibility criteria for receiving special education services cannot, by definition, meet grade level proficiency expectations at the same rate as their non-disabled peers;
· Many students with disabilities are being blamed for their school’s inability to make Adequate Yearly Progress (AYP), which increases negative perceptions and discrimination toward an already vulnerable population, and is reversing some hard-won inclusion efforts;
· Allowable state assessment accommodations do not always match IEP accommodations;
· High-stakes standardized testing has in some cases increased the level of dropout rates and retention of students with disabilities;
· Curriculum for students with disabilities is being narrowed to increase remediation efforts in reading and math while eliminating diverse learning opportunities such as vocational/career readiness, functional life-skills, and electives that keep special learners engaged in school and prepare them for life after graduation;
· There are an estimated three million children with gifts and talents in the U.S. whose educational needs go largely unaddressed.

Impact:
I have witnessed too often the hurtful consequences of a rigid law that does not adequately address the needs of students with exceptionalities. Higher dropout rates, lowered self-esteem, lack of interest in a narrowed curriculum, and humiliation of students with special needs are merely a few of the unintended effects of NCLB. The recommendations outlined above have the potential to improve educational outcomes and facilitate engaged learning opportunities for all students with special needs.

Timely Test Results

Needed change:
Provide assessment information to teachers in a timely manner so that it can inform instruction that will improve teaching and learning.

NCLB reauthorization frameworks must address the amount of elapsed time between each state’s standardized testing window and the date when student performance data is received. The timely delivery of test results must be an essential norm of standardized testing practice if educators are to effectively use student performance data to assess curricular programs, implement standards-based instruction, and report “Adequate Yearly Progress” as mandated by the current law.

Why the change is needed:
On a national scale, large disparities exist in the “timely” delivery of standardized test results to individual State Departments of Education, local school districts, and classroom teachers. In current practice, contracted and in-house scoring companies deliver test results to some states within thirty days of their respective testing windows while others await data for up to six months. States testing in October generally receive results between February and April; those testing in March receive results between July and September. Several states have canceled scoring contracts due to a lack of timeliness and/or inaccuracy in scoring. Others have reluctantly opted to remove most or all written responses in order to shore up reporting schedules, thus possibly limiting higher-level thinking components of their assessments.

Delayed reporting of test results also compromises the ability of state and local educators to utilize the data in proactive decision making. Evaluations of curricular programs, school improvement plans, and individualized student learning goals are subsequently devalued when any piece of the performance picture is missing. Classroom teachers know that frequent, accurate feedback promotes effective educational growth. Delayed feedback leads to learner apathy and inaccurate assessment of instructional practices. Although a systematic testing schedule is not needed in order for states to effectively utilize student performance data, timely reporting of such data is essential.

Impact:
Each year I encourage my students to do their absolute best on state standardized tests, yet many remain unmotivated by assessments results that remain a mystery to them until well after the school year has ended. As my students set goals for academic improvement, their enthusiasm wanes if these performance “snapshots” lack the appropriate visibility when compared to classroom or district assessments. My students invest in the here and now. In order for a test to be taken seriously, feedback must be timely and reinforce or redirect individual goals. My students are empowered to take charge of their education by understanding and utilizing their individual performance data. My colleagues and I take the time to help them own the results and to recognize that standardized tests depict only one aspect of their academic portrait. Once students are well-informed, they become increasingly vested in their overall growth.

Timely, accurate test data enables students, parents, and educators to make sound educational decisions. Regardless of state testing schedules, data reporting must be delivered to state and local educators in a timely manner in order to advance collaborative decision making and ultimately student performance.

Replace Sanctions

Needed Change:
Evaluate current sanctions and replace them with proven methods of enhancing achievement

NCLB must develop an intervention model for schools that fail to meet AYP that is consistent with current research. If we are to close the achievement gap in our country, we must create a network of assistance and leadership for students, teachers and administrators in schools of need. We must also recognize that failure to meet AYP benchmarks may stem from various circumstances, none of which will be remedied through punitive sanctions. Rather, challenging educational environments can best be overcome with focused goal setting, encouragement and monitoring of individual student growth, and professional development and support.

Why the change is needed:
Should schools be held accountable? Of course! Should they be penalized and demoralized in the process? Of course not! We must begin to address the socioeconomic and cultural issues of why schools are not meeting AYP. Sanctions need to be replaced with funding for prescriptive improvement, celebration of growth, empowerment of teachers, and opportunities to attract staff with leadership and exemplary teaching skill-sets. Sanctions are reactive measures that have shown little to no improvement in school performance. They often undermine school efforts by creating a powerless environment. Rather than spend funds to fix a problem, funds should be focused on prevention and development.

Present NCLB School Improvement Sanctions for Schools Receiving Title I funds are intended to motivate schools to improve academic performance of those students/subgroups failing to meet AYP. But rather, they are humiliating punishments that further drain an already taxed system. In accord with current brain research, we need to strive to create schools for students and teachers that possess a balance between challenge and low threat. “Excess stress and threat in the school environment may be the single greatest contributor to impaired academic learning.” (Jensen, Teaching with the Brain in Mind) Sanctions are threatening: to districts, which filters to administrators, then to classroom teachers and unfortunately to students. Schools failing to meet AYP are provided with no incentives to encourage improvement. Families in schools failing to meet AYP are offered Transfer/School choice options the third year of failing to meet AYP and tutoring provided by an outside source the fourth year with the sole financial burden for providing transportation and tutoring falling on the under performing school. Per the Gallop Poll four out of five respondents (80%) prefer offering help to students in schools in need of improvement. Only 17% prefer transferring those students to a different school. Schools with more sub-group populations also are at a higher risk of these sanctions simply by the make-up of their school, while other environments are rewarded with no sanctions simply as a result of a population that is more homogeneous. When an extremely diverse school boasting 25 sub groups fails to meet AYP in just one of those sub groups, the sanctions are the same. There is no mention of the growth and achievement of the students and staff in reaching AYP for the other 24 sub groups. The employment of these sanctions reeks of “placism”: discrimination against people based on where they live. This is not to suggest lower standards for sub groups or challenging learning environments, but rather flexibility, time and support in realistically attaining them rather than punishment and shame through sanctions that do not address the issues. We can recommend that every child reach minimum competency, but it is foolish to think they will all do it at the same rate given the disparity that exists in communities across our country.

Impact:
Painted Stone, one of the most a diverse elementary school in Kentucky, has increased their AYP from 13/14 subgroups to 18/19 subgroups in a one-year timeframe. This school is tailoring their services to meet the needs of their increasingly unique population. They are on their way to meeting the needs of all students in their school. Rather than celebrate the fruits of their labor, they incurred NCLB sanctions. It is defeating to school leaders, teachers and students who work so hard to make progress to be humiliated in district reports and local newspapers as failing. It also confuses parents and the community who are pleased with the education their children experience at that school. In addition, funds have been rerouted from other schools within the district that are meeting AYP to Painted Stone to enable the school to increase services. This weakens successful learning environments in the process.

A neighboring district, less than 10 miles from Painted Stone Elementary in Kentucky, boasts the highest per capita income in the state and has no significant populations to report as subgroups. The media gave them front-page headlines reporting that they have been successful in meeting NCLB standards in their schools. That is deceiving to the public, who has little knowledge of how scores are reported.

The fifth year of failing to meet AYP requires the school be restructured with one option being to replace all or most of the school staff, including the principal. The TOY from Illinois recently met a young man who attends Southern Illinois University and attributes much of his success to his teachers at Sherman Elementary School on Chicago’s South Side. He credits them with having a direct positive influence on his life, keeping him on the straight and narrow. He ascertains that he was able to find a way out because of his teachers. Should he return to Sherman Elementary, he would not find his teacher there. They were the first school in the US to remove every faculty member and administrator from its payroll. NCLB and sanctions incurred from not achieving AYP are all about numbers, but any successful educator (or parent) knows that learning occurs through relationships, which unfortunately cannot be quantified into AYP data.

Parent Involvement

Needed change:
Develop and fund programs that promote meaningful parent engagement.

There is an irrefutable positive correlation between parental involvement and student achievement. The influences of the home are fundamental to a child arriving at school ready to learn. Parents plant the seeds for all future learning and instill in their children attitudes which will help them in their school careers. Involved parents who work together with teachers and demonstrate the importance of an education can make the difference between a child who succeeds, and a child who performs poorly. Teachers know that parents are doing the best they can with regard to raising their children and being advocates for education with the resources that they have available. No Child Left Behind needs strengthen this important home/school connection by funding parental education programs that will help children thrive. Furthermore, legislation needs to be developed which will provide working parents with paid time off for school visits, parent conferences and for volunteer activities in the schools their children attend.

We realize that, as professionals, we need to find new ways to reach out to parents. Spanish immersion programs for teachers must be funded to increase the number of bilingual teachers. Attendance advocates can help parents get truant students back in school by overcoming the obstacles that too many families face (transportation issues, daycare for younger students, lack of medical care). Family rooms in schools would provide educational materials, access to community resources, and even educational programs (such as English classes) to parents.

Why the change is needed:
There is great emphasis in America on teacher quality, and on how teacher quality is the single biggest factor impacting student success in the classroom. Parent effectiveness is no less important. Parents who read to their children, help with homework, attend parent conferences, demonstrate positive attitudes about schooling and education, volunteer to work in their child’s school and encourage hard work, ensure their child’s success in school, and ultimately in life. American parents work hard. Parents of disadvantaged students often work more than one job, thus making it difficult to attend school events and reinforce learning in the home. Children whose parents do not value education have no reason to value it themselves. Programs need to be funded which will provide parents of struggling students the information and strategies they need to be effective parents. Parental involvement needs to begin at birth and continue through high school. After all, children do not come with instruction booklets. Parents, particularly those of struggling students, need to learn how to be effective with regard to their children’s educations, so that our nation does not have to pay the price later in the form of welfare or incarceration.

Impact:
In Omaha, the Family Room at Gomez Heritage Elementary school is always buzzing with parents reading to younger children, making educational games, or talking with a family advocate.

Parent conferences occur throughout the year in all public schools, however many parents do not or cannot attend a conference. Too many parents come to conferences and can’t even talk directly to teachers because they don’t speak the same language. Teachers report having conferences with high achieving students’ parents, but seldom see the parents of students who aren’t achieving. In addition, homes of disadvantaged students are often being run by just one parent whose time is very limited due to work and household responsibilities. Many parents of struggling students were struggling students themselves, and need support and encouragement with regard to helping their own children be successful in school. Parents need to know what is happening in our public schools, yet they often do not attend school events or volunteer to help out in their child’s school. They just cannot find the time or do not know what to do. Parents who are granted paid time off from work would be able to form the home/ school connections successful students are fortunate to enjoy. In addition schools need the funding and support to offer tutoring classes to parents whose children can not demonstrate basic skills. This measure will significantly improve student achievement in America’s public schools.

English Language Learners

Needed Change:
Modify assessments and set realistic goals for English Language Learners.

As a result of a large number of ELLs performing poorly on standardized assessments, many schools fail to make AYP and are subject to a series of corrective actions. By definition, ELLs are not proficient in English. Consequently, ELLs will struggle with any assessment that is written in English. Also, very few ELLs are represented in the norm sample of state standardized assessments. Moreover, ELLs exit the subgroup once they attain English language proficiency. For AYP calculations, these students are counted for only two additional years in the ELL subgroup. Demonstrating improvement on annual standardized assessments for ELL subgroups is extremely difficult due to the constant ingress and egress of group members.

Why the change is needed:
Understanding how students acquire a second language can help explain the poor performance of ELLs on standardized assessments. NCLB mandates ELLs to be assessed in reading and writing after just one year in U.S. schools. Second language acquisition research shows it can take the average ELL five to seven years (or more depending on the student’s formal education in his or her native language) to develop full academic language proficiency in English.

We propose including ELLs in the NCLB accountability system in a more appropriate manner. First, allow states to use AYP growth models that acknowledge progress in student achievement within the year or over time. Second, permit the use of alternative measures to provide a multidimensional perspective of student growth such as performance-based or holistic assessments. Third, increase research and investment in reliable and valid assessments for ELLs, including native language assessments. Additionally, until a normed and field tested English Language Arts assessment (with representative samples of ELLs) is developed, allow states to use the English Language Proficiency test to meet federal requirements. Lastly, states should also be allowed to incorporate additional measures into an accountability index to assess ELL performance in schools (NEA 2005). Such measures could include attendance, graduation and dropout rates, percentage of students taking honors and AP classes, and results from other state and local assessments (NEA 2005)

Impact:
I watched a third grade ELL who has only been in this country a little more than a year struggle with the reading passages on the state assessment. As per his accommodation, I orally translated each lengthy passage in Spanish. He was unable to employ good reading strategies such as underlining key information and referring back to passages to answer test questions. His responses included some written words in English with many linguistic errors. To a certain degree, his responses were a measure of his English proficiency rather than his academic aptitude. Additionally, a test section that would normally take an English native speaker two hours to complete, took this ELL student an entire day. It is important to note that ELLs are not guaranteed accommodations. For example, if a school is unable to find a translator for a particular language, the ELL is required to take the assessment without translation. Moreover, if a student does not receive a passing score on the assessment he will suffer academic consequences.

Highly Effective Teachers

Needed change:
Ensure every student is taught by a Highly Qualified Teacher who receives ongoing professional development.

This model should include these components: commitment to all students, the ability to manage and monitor student learning, and capacity for reflection. Effective teachers need to model lifelong learning by engaging in professional research, development and learning communities. Let us look to teachers demonstrating their effectiveness in the classroom rather than just the qualifications for entering it. Teacher effectiveness should be measured on two key indicators: improved student achievement that is measured by individual growth model assessments and evaluations by their principals or peers.

Why the change is needed:
Current NCLB legislation focuses on a teacher having the right certification to enter the classroom. This focus leaves little room for evaluating a teacher’s current effectiveness based on multiple forms of assessment. In continuing to meet the diverse needs of our students, including students in special education and English Learners, we have to go beyond content knowledge to a teacher’s proven effectiveness in raising student achievement.

Impact:
Susanne Frensley is an amazing teacher who was selected as Tennessee’s 2007 Teacher of the Year. We have so many dedicated teachers across our country that to be selected as the best in your state is an incredible and humbling honor. Put yourself in Susanne’s mindset several years ago. Because of her dedication to reach all students and her commitment to find alternative ways to make that happen for students who aren’t “turned on” in some of the traditional course offerings, Susanne pursued coursework to be able to offer art history classes as an alternative fine arts course for the students at her high school. As students took the course, they found a teacher that could communicate with them, who demonstrated enthusiasm, a commitment to learning, and the ability to create a welcoming and safe environment for all. As a result of her efforts, the courses have been offered for several years with waiting lists to get in.

Now fast forward to today and put yourself in Susanne’s classroom. You will see a teacher who is no longer considered a certified or highly qualified teacher under the current NCLB definitions as interpreted by her state. Just a few months after having been selected as the top teacher in her state, she has had to have two letters sent to the parents of her students letting them know that their child’s teacher is no longer considered certified or highly qualified. All but two of the courses she is teaching will need to be dropped for the following year. When sharing her experience, she says, “The real loss is experienced by the students. They thrive in these classes, and there is a place for all children in my classroom and I can now no longer offer them that opportunity.”

The current NCLB teacher quality section states that each individual state must have a plan to ensure that all teachers of core academic subjects are highly qualified. If a teacher is deemed not to be certified or highly qualified, parents are to be notified. The school has to establish annual, measurable objectives to ensure that they meet this requirement and report that information to the state. We would agree that being highly qualified is essential for valued results in the classroom, but Susanne’s story demonstrates that the intent of the law is currently at odds with its application when it comes to determining a highly qualified teacher. The opportunity is at hand to embrace the changes needed so that Susanne’s story doesn’t get repeated and our children are not cheated of what they deserve.

Effective Leadership

Needed change:
Include language in NCLB that addresses the need for administrators to become instructional leaders who conduct regular classroom observations and provide productive feedback to teachers.

No Child Left Behind will close the achievement gap if the law recognizes the importance of outstanding administrators. Their quest will be to lead our nation’s educators to challenge all students to utilize their higher order thinking skills to reach their maximum potential. The new legislation must address the lack of wording in the current document to develop a definition of both a highly qualified and highly effective administrator. The law must also construct a mechanism that will provide continued support in both training and time that will provide administrators with the resources necessary to create an environment that is conducive to learning. NCLB legislation should include the development of a national certification program for administrators.

Why the change is needed:
Current NCLB legislation is focused solely upon the educator. The importance of having an effective teacher in the classroom cannot be under valued. Teachers are in direct contact with the students on a daily basis, and should be held to the highest standards. However, the most important central figure in the learning community remains the administrator. An administrator has the ability to change the climate of an entire building or district in either a positive or negative manner. Administrators do have a direct impact on the lives of the student population. Schools require strong leadership to thrive.

The role of administrator is challenging. Schools are filled with students who require an enormous amount of personal attention. In many cases, it is the school administrator who shoulders the brunt of that responsibility. This leaves little time for administrators to focus upon instructional leadership. Much less time is available to develop programs or relationships that will foster the growth of a positive and productive learning environment. As a result, educators work as individuals instead of a team. Equations like this yield negative results. Administrators become burnt out and unproductive. Teachers are more likely to become frustrated and ineffective. In the end, it is the students who suffer the most.

Presently, many new administrators are unprepared to take the jobs they are filling. A degree from a graduate program is not enough to prepare them for the rigors of an administrative position. There is a definite need for a formalized mentoring program that will give administrative prospects the foundation they need to find success. Additionally, there is the need for ongoing training and the time to develop programs that will lead to the creation of a positive climate at the building level. It is imperative that both administrators and educators be included in the development of this model. Their experience and input is crucial to the effectiveness of the implementation of the final product.

Impact:
The development of legislation that helps produce strong instructional leaders will have an immediate impact on the learning environment. Administrators will have both the ability and the tools required to help all members of the learning community create a focus and a vision that will challenge our children as never before.

Teaching for Tomorrow

To this point, we have discussed how No Child Left Behind must change to better meet the present needs of the students, parents, teachers and schools who make up our educational system. We’d like to close our statements by taking a moment to discuss how all of us – families, educators and policy makers alike – must work together to shape our children’s future.

Thomas Jefferson wrote that “institutions must go hand in hand with the progress of the human mind” and advance to keep pace with the times. To prepare our children to meet the social, political, economic and environmental challenges of their times, education needs to expand its vision beyond traditional constructs. Policy and practice must reflect our need for responsiveness, vision, innovation, and collaboration. The curricula and methodologies we choose, the teaching we practice, and the assessments we use to measure our success must all work toward this goal.

Teaching for tomorrow means going beyond the core curricular focus of the industrial age. Success in the 21st century will require a flexibility of thought, an ability to identify problems and create solutions, and a willingness to change on personal, professional, and societal levels. Our curriculum must enable our students to think creatively as well as critically about their ever-changing status as civic participants, family members, and workers. It must foster the entrepreneurial spirit needed to thrive in a rapidly changing global market. It must engender a willingness to tackle complex social, political, and environmental challenges. It must develop information and communications literacy and corresponding ethics – critical areas in a global society whose every means of thinking and knowledge building are already being transformed by technology. Finally, our curriculum must teach the health, wellness and life skills necessary to become personally and socially responsible global citizens.

Already, we as teachers incorporate these new elements into our practice. Our work itself reflects the change we seek. We collaborate. We question our assumptions and challenge our own beliefs. We incorporate the development of artistic and creative thinking into all areas of teaching. We create curricular models that respond to the needs of our communities. We embrace technology as a tool, and study its effect on thought and communication. We view education as a lifelong process of growth in response to ever-changing needs.

We are educators. We know how to create the conditions for successful teaching and learning within our schools. To teach in the way we must, however – to ensure that all children, schools, and communities are equally prepared to face the challenges which lay before them -- we must also work to achieve Jefferson’s vision of holistic institutional change. This can only be done in full partnership with leaders and policy makers. Today, we invite our leaders and policy makers to join our effort.

For No Child Left Behind to truly help prepare all children for the world before them, it must rise with us to this challenge. Education policy must embrace a broadening of content, and assessment systems must measure learning and growth comprehensively. They must assess the development of creative thought, interpersonal and intercultural communication, collaborative knowledge building, cross-contextual awareness, and other skills areas not readily measured by today’s standardized instruments. They must enable communication of knowledge in a broad spectrum of media. As a whole, they must be authentic – as closely connected as possible to the learning context and purposes.

We cannot afford to hesitate. Our global competitors have already begun developing and implementing curricular models and assessment systems which acknowledge this 21st century need for flexibility and creativity. In a sense, these conditions highlight the very need we’re describing – to address our weakened global standing in education, our educators, leaders and policy makers must think creatively, flexibly, and collaboratively about what we teach, how we teach it, and how we measure achievement.

To be sure, this is a tremendous challenge to all of us in education. But it is a challenge which plays directly to our strengths as a nation – a challenge to respond to a critical national and global issue with the vision, innovation, and creative spirit. America has always been at its best when responding to such challenges. We believe that by working together, we can become the change we seek.

Teachers of the Year
Supporting Statement on
NCLB Changes and
Teaching for Tomorrow

Cameron Sharbel McKinley
Ina Bouker
Joserose Jyothibhavan
Kristin Bourguet
Justin Minkel
Alan Sitomer
Susan Ryder
Christopher Poulos
Caridad Alonso
Githa Natarajan
Conney Dahn
Jami Muranaka
Michael Clabby
Joseph Fatheree
Anna Shults
Jan Keese
Joshua Anderson
Susanne Burkhardt
Carol Price
Brittany Ray
Michelle Hammond
Kimberly Kyff
Lee-Ann Stephens
Lee James
Darryl Johnson
Madaline Fennell
Melanie Teemant
Karen Ginty
Tamra Tiong
Marguerite Izzo
Diana Beasley
Marlene Srocki
Acelia Castro Dela Cruz
Eric Combs
Linda Hasler-Reid
Jackie Cooke
Lois Rebich
Isabel Rodriguez Santos
Catherine Davis Hayes
Jennifer “Buffy” Murphy
Charlotte Mohling
Susanne Frensley
Dana Boyd
Kim Schaefer
Kathleen Sullivan
Valrica Bryson
Susan Evans
Sarah Morris
Terry Kaldhusdal
Mark Nethercott

My Dad's Dog "Chips" and Other Beasts: a Speech

2007-06-25T09:51:00.000-04:00

This is the text of a speech I gave to Kanawha County's first year teachers on May 8, 2007...

Good evening. I am honored to be in the presence of so many dedicated educators on this exciting evening—-mentorship and enthusiasm are key in our profession, and I congratulate those of you are seeing the end of your very first year. I’m here to celebrate with you, but first, I’d like to share some stories about my family, myself, and lessons in learning.

Unfortunately—-or not-—it was my experience that I learned far more in the world around me than I ever did in the classroom, and most of that is because I grew up in a family of teachers. I don’t mean to say that my family members are trained educators in the official sense, though my grandmother and her sisters were, as are some of my cousins. What I mean is that my family cultivated in me the attitude that learning experiences are in the world around me and not limited to the discussion that takes place in a classroom. From a young age, I have learned that lessons are everywhere, and, more specifically, that lessons are most often found in stories.

My dad was born in 1945, and he spent much of his childhood in a rural area of Marion County. In his day, unless a boy was exceptionally intelligent or exceptionally wealthy, when he graduated from high school his career options were limited to the mine or the military. Because my father wanted my mother, and my mother didn’t want a miner, my dad joined the air force. After one term there, he returned home, worked a blue-collar job, and eventually retired at the management level. Still, his limited formal education did not and does not limit him from teaching lessons. My family of teachers is also a family of storytellers, and, looking back on my own learning, maybe the greatest of these is my father.

When my father was a kid, he lived in a hollow called Plum Run. On Saturday afternoons, he’d walk a mile to his cousins’ house, and then they would accompany him a few more miles into the nearest town, Mannington, to see a matinée, or maybe a double feature. As the days grew shorter, in the winter, those few miles home from the show on double feature afternoons often took place in the dark. Being adolescent boys, their favorite films were Westerns, but they also liked horror films. You can imagine the kind they might have watched—think The Wolfman, Boris Karloff, Dracula, Vincent Price, Orson Welles.

On one particular evening, after a horror movie double feature, three boys, hyped up on too many Good n’Plentys and Nehi sodas, made their way home under a darkening sky. Two boys came to their house and said goodbye, leaving my father, twelve years old, jittery from sugar and scary movie paranoia, to walk the last mile, alone, in the dark. He was OK for the first few minutes, until he heard a rustling in the brush behind him. As he walked, the sound grew louder, and he realized that something was stalking him.

Mustering up all his courage, he turned to look, and not far away were two shining eyes reflecting in the moonlight. Dad knew that if he ran, the animal might well chase, so he sped up his walking pace slightly. The animal sped up too; he could hear its footfalls, he could hear its breath, and sure enough, when he screwed up his bravery enough to glance back over his shoulder, those two yellow eyes were just a little closer than they had been before. So he sped up again. For several minutes they continued this pattern, Dad and the eyes, until they reached the field across which my father’s house sat, and Dad decided to make a break for it. Sucking in his breath, he sprinted across the clearing, not looking back, but sure the animal came after him anyway. He could hear it breathing hard, panting as he was panting, outpacing him, and when he reached the light of the windows, he sprang on to the porch, swung open the door, turned to see the creature that had been stalking him, and was met face to face by his dog, Chips, who often followed him to town, and who really liked to play chase.

To hear my dad tell it, Chips was a strange little dog. A beagle mix, Chips was my father’s constant companion and pal, who followed him all over the hills and hollows in the summertime. During the school year, Dad attended a one-room schoolhouse, Plum Run School, which housed the local first through seventh grades. In the days before public busing, all kids walked to school and back, and my dad was accompanied every day on his walks by Chips. On really cold days, the teacher allowed Chips to come in and warm up by the potbellied stove. Even on days my dad was sick and stayed home, Chips walked to school without him, waited, and walked home at the end of the day. Other students and parents marveled at Chips’s behavior, and on one occasion the teacher remarked to my grandparents that Chips was “the most educated dog in the county.”

Now, sometimes it takes time to make sense of the lessons in the stories we know, and sometimes those lessons change as time goes by. I spend a lot of time thinking about family stories, ones that create a shared history, a family culture, and I’ve shared these stories that came from my father with you because they’ve come to mean much to me in their relevance to teaching and learning. Allow me to explain.

In the first story, my dad found himself running from something he loved, a familiar face distorted by fear, paranoia, and tricks of the moonlight and darkness. When we allow ourselves to become overcome by our fears, we sometimes run from the things that can help us. Right now, at my school, the familiar beast in the darkness is WESTEST. With assessments looming just two weeks away, we—like about every other school in the state—are frantically fumbling, trying to ensure that our kids will test their best when the moment comes. And although we’ve been preparing them all year, it’s at this time that panic threatens to get the best of us. Our fears can lead us to believe that standardized tests punish schools, systems, and teachers, and it can be true that they do. It’s a momentary picture of a single standard test; it can’t possibly measure the growth of a child’s mind, but it’s the tool we have. I don’t need to remind you that if we know the tests and use them to our advantage, they provide us with valuable information about what our students need and what we are succeeding at teaching. If we confront and prepare for assessments, our students shine and we are all rewarded for what we do well.

Maybe our most daunting responsibility to recognize the beasts in the darkness and confront them. Seven years ago, I was just about to begin my search for teaching jobs. I was terrified of the principals I faced across enormous desks in interviews. After I was hired, I couldn’t sleep before the night of my first day, afraid that the faculty at my school would not accept me. On the first day, as I stood waiting in front of my classroom door, I was trembling, and don’t even ask me about my first parent-teacher night. Now, I know that my administrators believe in me immensely, my colleagues are some of my closest friends, and my students are a constant source of humor and joy. Well, they are sometimes, anyway. I also have found the value in enlisting families as part of a learning community. Still, at the start of every year, it’s difficult to not allow irrational fear to give way. We must also face the bigger beasts: drugs, abuse, apathy, failure, tragedy. And we do, and we go on.

The second story illustrates very clearly a nineteenth century model for education. I’ll bet that if Chips were given the WESTEST, he probably would not have reached proficiency. Just because a dog faithfully attends school doesn’t necessarily mean he’s learning anything, nor does it mean every dog has his day; whether Chips had remediation, special support, or modified testing conditions, I think he probably would have been a testing liability, which goes to show, all joking aside, that showing up is just not enough. For our kids, or for ourselves. I know from experience that most of us don’t learn from sitting quietly. The best learning, for me, occurs when my inner mind is allowed to come to the forefront in the experience. My students are this way, too. If I am sitting still in a classroom, it’s most often because my mind is somewhere else. In high school, in classes that required silence, I usually had a novel tucked inside the text I was supposed to be reading. Thinking back, I can’t believe my teachers didn’t know. Sometimes it’s easier to ignore the quiet kid who’s not paying attention, or the troublemaker who’s gone to sleep, or the one who’s doing her math homework and hoping you won’t notice. Confrontation is sometimes required when asking kids to take responsibility, and unpredictable situations that might ensue are frightening. Another familiar beast in the darkness is the moment of discomfort that leads us to growth, and we owe it to our kids to take them there, to challenge what they think they know, to pose questions, to seek answers, and to demand the same of every student we meet.

Teaching is hard. Teaching is scary, too. Yet we must not forget that every moment is an opportunity for learning. We are teachers in the classroom—and out. It is our responsibility to prepare our students for a future in the unknown—things we can’t even imagine will come to pass before the ends of our careers, and yet here we are, together in the darkness, facing our fears, and sharing our stories. You’ve almost made it through this year—it’s time to make a break for it, sprint across that field, and see your struggles in the light. Know that your kids and your colleagues are with you. And know that your irrational fears now might--someday--make great stories.

Earthquakes

2007-01-03T15:23:00.000-05:00

In June 2006, I was honored to participate in the Japan Fulbright Memorial Fund teacher program. Through this Japanese government funded opportunity, I explored Japan for three weeks, visiting schools, homes, businesses, beginning to know the people of that country in their own element. I have a clearer vision, now, of myself as a citizen of the world, and I will share with my school and community my experience in Japan. However, I learned another valuable lesson through this experience—about myself as a teacher, and about the possibilities in all of us.

On the ninth day of my stay in Japan, I sat at the desk in my fourth floor hotel room looking out onto the street. It was early, and I had just returned from my morning run. Tokyo’s streets had not yet begun to fill with the rush of traffic and people going to work, and as I sat at the window writing in my journal, I noticed a lone bicyclist riding his way to some downtown destination.

At that same moment, my chair shifted. The coat hangers on the wall rack behind me began to clack together, and the desk moved, causing me to scratch a jagged ink line across the page. The cyclist, still in the street below my window, had dismounted from his bicycle and was standing beside it on the sidewalk, patiently waiting. The whole earthquake lasted maybe five seconds, but, in those five seconds, my heart leapt, my pulse quickened, my breath caught in my throat. When it was over, the man in the street got back on his bike and pedaled away as if nothing unusual had happened. I was also expected to continue normally, to get on the bus to tour a school, to fulfill my day’s agenda as if nothing had happened—and yet the world had changed. Geologically something outside my hotel room had shifted, and I felt as if something had shifted within me, too.

Later, at the end of my visit in Japan, at the closing reception the evening before we all departed to our respective homes in the United States, I looked around the room and saw 200 exceptional educators. All of us had written successful applications to be awarded such an opportunity. All of us were dedicated to our students, our communities, and our worlds—we were the top of our field at that moment. But I also knew, as I looked around the room, that I was seeing 200 ordinary people who had been given the opportunities they needed to become excellent teachers. We are only ever an opportunity away from excellence, and the line between excellent and ordinary is tenuously thin.

I am where I am because of very little I alone have done. I am not special. I am a dedicated professional, a hard worker, and a self-directed learner, but I am no different from any other teacher I know. I am merely a product of the opportunities I have been given. I am very fortunate to have been hired into a school and community that foster learning and effective teaching. My school is a greenhouse for new ideas, for innovative teaching, and that has made me the educator I am. I believe wholeheartedly in the pursuit of everyday excellence—finding meaning in the ordinary—and that real learning is the marriage of encouragement and insight.

My environment allows ordinary teachers to become extraordinary by allowing us to be teachers, learners, and members of a community of other teachers and learners. I have been given the freedom to teach subject matter that is important to me and to my students in ways that are meaningful to me and to my students. I have been given the freedom to pursue meaningful professional development. And I have been fortunate to be a part of a network united in doing what’s best for our kids at our school. That’s not to say our system is without problems, but we have developed the flexibility to adapt when necessary, and the self-reflective ability to recognize when something’s not working. I’m lucky to be part of a school that works. I am successful because my school has helped me to be.

The success of any one of us is directly related to the efforts of every one of us. None of us is in this alone. We must rely on one another to successfully educate the students of West Virginia. We are a unique state, and we face difficulties that others do not. We must work together to create a future. Regardless of what natural resources or industry West Virginia has, our youth are our must valuable resource. Our kids are our future. I have learned more from my students and my colleagues than I could ever learn from any book, and it’s more than any test could measure. I am part of a network of teachers and learners, and we are all critical to the outcome of West Virginia’s educational system. Students should go out into the world learning everything, touching everything, living everything that they can. This is the reward of real education. Real education provides the learner with new ways of making meaning in all the world, and the world—not just the learner—is made richer for having that knowledge.

Like that earthquake I felt in Japan, change can occur in a split second. It’s natural, but it can be frightening. It can be a shift in a person’s construction that can take years to integrate. Or it can set off a wave of new tremors, leading an entire community to be transformed completely. We are tiny earthquakes in the lives of the students who love and trust us. Paradoxically, we are also tiny earthquakes in the lives of the students who mistrust us. Whatever we do has an impact, and that impact can strengthen our structure or it can bring destruction. Good teachers recognize and adapt to shifts in students, in systems, in themselves, and then they help to ease and integrate those shifts. Good principals lead by measuring the activity of school communities, providing students and teachers with meaningful opportunities, leading the way to shared academic vision. Good school systems adapt to the vibrations of their parents, students, and communities. I am an example of the possibility in each West Virginian teacher—a product of a system and a school that works. We must all provide the opportunities for ourselves and for students to make seismic shifts in knowledge, understanding, and learning. If we work together, we can feel the vibrations around us, adapt to them, and take our schools and communities from ordinary to excellent.

The Twenty-ninth Annual School Homecoming

2006-12-27T14:29:00.000-05:00

On September 30, 2006, I witnessed a gathering of community like none I had ever seen: The Twenty-ninth Annual School Homecoming was held at CaCapon State park. Each year, former students of Mt. Wesley, Bath District, and Berkeley Springs High School meet on the last Sunday in September to enjoy lunch and to reminisce about their days as students.

I was honored to attend such an event and to be recognized by such a group; Morgan County’s teacher of the year is invited each year, but, as West Virginia Teacher of the Year, I was able to see just how many people were aware of and proud of me—I truly felt, witnessing the fellowship of a population of students and teachers, the support of the community in which I live. When I entered the building, Jay, one of the organizers, and her sister, Liz, immediately greeted me. Jay is a formidable woman, a former school librarian, with piercing dark eyes and an intense intelligence. Liz is fair haired and smiling, but equally sharp and a warm conversationalist; she was my escort for the entire afternoon, pinning a corsage to my sweater, showing me around, introducing me to guests, and generally making me feel very much at home.

The group gathered first to mingle in various parts of the lodge, drinking coffee and visiting with one another. As people were lined up to enter the dining room, I realized just how large the group was, and this came even clearer once we were seated. All the tables were filled in the very large room. The Class of 1956 sat at the head table, with 31 members in attendance. This year, they were guests of honor since 2006 marks their fiftieth anniversary; this was the first year they were invited to attend. The classes of 1946, 1936, and beyond were also recognized. Given that I graduated from high school only fourteen years ago, the idea of a fiftieth reunion is amazing to me. More amazing were the numbers of other classes represented, including two members of the class of 1928!

The meal was nice, standard fare for a buffet: salad, beef and chicken, potatoes, vegetables, rolls, coffee, and cake. The program was wonderful, including recitations by a member of the class of 1936, and introductions of the alumni of honor. When I was introduced and presented with an apple, the whole room applauded. Later, I walked to my car, stunned. I was touched to be recognized by such a community, awed to be in the presence of so many years of learning and experience. They are the legacy of education in Morgan County, evidencing its effect on generations past, and providing hope for the future.

The Aftermath

2006-12-27T14:28:00.000-05:00

The morning after the banquet, I ran along the Kanawha in the pre-dawn breeze. I saw geese, a heron, and no other people. The realization of my new, more public identity began to sink in. So my fifteen minutes had arrived.

I returned to the hotel, showered, and met my parents for breakfast. They told me they had seen my interview on television, and they picked up two copies of the local paper, my face staring out from the page. The photographer caught me in the middle of speaking, mouth open. As we boarded the elevator to return to our room, a guy getting off it grabbed me by the arm: “Hey!” he shouted, “I just saw you on TV!” The drive to my parents’ house consisted of my father fiddling incessantly with the radio dial, searching for news coverage of the announcement. I finally gave up listening and crashed out on the backseat.

Immediately following the banquet, my principal had set the phone tree in motion, so everyone at my school would receive the news before morning. It was nice to see the lines of communication used for something besides weather emergencies and cancellations. As a result of this and the press coverage, there was a barrage of new messages in my e-mail congratulating me. I spent about forty minutes replying to them all. My voicemail was full of messages too, some from people whom I didn’t even know had my number. My ex left a message: he had heard my voice on the radio while he was sleeping, thought he was dreaming, and had gone back to sleep, only to wake up to the same voice speaking the same words an hour later. “Guess you answered the Miss America questions better than you thought,” he concluded.

When I arrived at school the next day, my colleagues had filled my classroom with confetti, balloons, and flowers. There was a huge candy bar on my desk—dark chocolate, my favorite—and a card from the rest of the English department. Inexplicably, I sat down at my desk and cried; I felt frightened and thankful, eager and afraid, all at the same time. I barely realized the kind of year that lay ahead; I had some serious learning to do.

My students posted a photograph from the local daily paper on the whiteboard. It was a photo that had been taken for an interview that covered the county announcement of Teacher of the Year and my selection as a finalist for state. It was an acceptable photo the first time it had been in the paper. The problem this time, as it was recycled for the state TOY coverage, was that it had been cropped to show only my face. No hair, no neck. I was not smiling; my face was shiny in the fluorescent lighting. Instead of looking serious, as I had in the complete picture, I looked like I was about to hit someone with a brick. My English 12 class thought it was hilarious: “Look!” they screamed, “you got arrested for DUI!” It was at that point that I knew I had to learn two things I hadn’t expected: to wear makeup, and to smile. I remembered learning that majorettes and models put Vaseline on their teeth to keep their smiles intact. Yuck. I didn’t want lubricated teeth, but I also didn’t want to become the poster child for the cranky English teacher stereotype. How much more did I not know?

The couple of weeks that followed the announcement were full of interviews, invitations, congratulations, impromptu conferences in the grocery store. One man jumped in front of my car so that he could congratulate me as I pulled out of the school parking lot. Once, while I was on a date, people kept stopping to congratulate me (my date knew I was a teacher, but didn’t know about the award); it was an awkward explanation. Two huge banners were hung on the front and back of the school building, and my students started calling me “state teacher of the universe.” I received cards, flowers, and candy from students, my peers, and from retired teachers. The president of my bank sent me a note, as did other community figures. I also received letters from my union representatives, from professional organizations, and from state senators and congress people. I had extensive interviews with reporters from different newspapers, and a significant amount of press coverage on the county and state websites.

My state support team promised me a work session in about a month, once the excitement had ebbed a little. I tried not to panic as I began to realize that I needed their help immediately—once things settled down, it might be too late; I might have already made a complete fool of myself. My life had changed, and I had to adapt in ways I had never anticipated.

The Events Leading Up...

2006-12-27T14:23:00.000-05:00

The events leading up to my selection as West Virginia’s Teacher of the Year, 2007 could be described as uncertain and chaotic at best. At the end of the 2005-2006 school year, I had been selected as my school’s teacher of the year by my colleagues, which meant a lot to me. In the day to day life of a school, one’s colleagues see what happens in spite of appearances, so their selection of me was touching and sincere, a true acknowledgement of my hard work.

I did not know that selection at the school level would be followed by a fairly extensive amount of paperwork for eligibility at the county level. In the weeks that followed my school TOY announcement, I completed a series of essays elaborating on my teaching philosophy, my educational background, and my goals for my students and myself. When I was finished, I think I ended up with about ten pages of response to a series of about five questions, all geared toward the county selection team.

Soon, reports started to come back to me about my application documents. One colleague commented that someone on the selection team had told him that I was “head and shoulders above the rest.” Another colleague reported that my essay about how I became a teacher had moved someone else to tears. I shrugged these reports aside. I was inexperienced (in years if not in classroom know-how) and a fifth year teacher in my county. Besides, I had bigger things to worry about: I was going to Japan.

I had been chosen earlier in the spring as a 2006 Japan Fulbright Memorial Fund awardee. This meant that I would be traveling to Japan in June to attend workshops, visit schools, stay with a family, and explore the country. I would be joining 199 other American teachers for this journey on June 11, and I had a heck of a lot to do as that date approached. In addition to the obvious (packing), I had to have a physical, get shots, fill out a bevy of documents, and design a broad-ranging follow-on plan for classroom implementation of the knowledge I would gain while in Japan.

At the end of the first week of June, as I was frantically scrambling to finalize grades, to buy gifts for my hosts in Japan, to complete my follow-on report, to pack, and to stay semi-sane throughout it all, word came from the superintendent that I had been selected as Morgan County’s teacher of the year. Great news! In the Fall, on opening day of school, I would receive an award, money for my classroom, attendance at a conference or professional development of my choice, and the much coveted Teacher of the Year bench—an annual gift from Tom Seely Furniture, a local fine woodworks manufacturer. The bad news? The state level documents were due June 30, the day after my return from Japan.

Over the next few days, I forgot about sleeping. Instead, I set about revising my essays, scheduled a session with a photographer, collected three letters of reference, signed the appropriate forms and collected the other appropriate signatures, and impossibly popped the application documents—which totaled about 17 pages—into the mail the day before I left for Japan.

I boarded the plane on June 11, and was transformed by my experience. I didn’t think about the state application again until the first week of August, when a representative for the West Virginia Department of Education called to schedule an interview. I was one of eleven finalists. About a week later, I drove to Charleston, the state capital (a little over 200 miles away), and checked into my hotel room. My interview was scheduled for noon the next day, Friday, August 11, 2006. I called a good friend, and we went out for Mexican food. Fun led to more fun, margaritas led to more margaritas, and I returned to my hotel room a little later than I had planned. “Why worry?” I asked myself. “They won’t pick me.”

Too soon, I dragged myself from restless sleep, attempted to sweat it out at the hotel gym, choked down a plain bagel, a banana, and several cups of coffee, and headed to the beautiful capital complex to face the grilling of my life. I arrived too early, and I drank a diet cola in the cafeteria, reading and re-reading the speech I had prepared, and trying to settle my nerves. At ten before noon, headache under control, I forced myself to the elevator and rode to the personnel office. I wondered about all the people who were hoping for me to do well, counting on me to shine; although I would do my best, I knew that I had only the smallest chance of success. Besides, the accolades I’d received were already more than I’d expected—the reward I had already received was more than enough. I knew that the people who were with me every day appreciated me. What else is there, really?

I faced five panelists in what felt, to me, a grueling interview. It was all I could do to not respond to their questions with a blank-faced shrug. I didn’t know—I still don’t know—what we can do in public schools to compete with private schools; I’m not even sure we should compete with them. I don’t know what is the biggest problem we face in public education today; I know my classroom and my school, but I’m not sure there is one big problem that exists across the board. I answered as thoughtfully and as honestly as I could. I felt more and more lost each second. Maybe I did want this…

Then, I shared my prepared statement. I spoke about Japan, of course. While there, I experienced an earthquake, and it became a metaphor for me. I worked out a speech based on this idea—teaching and learning as seismic events in one’s life—and I was sure it was good. I am a strong reader and speaker, but I was nervous. When I finished, the faces of my interviewers were blank. “Thank you,” they said as I shook their hands, “see you at the banquet in September.”

I drove home, consoling myself. I blew it. I took off my blazer and threw my pumps into the backseat, driving in my bare feet, blaring the stereo. I didn’t even know I wanted it until the moment it was over. And I blew it. Nothing could be done now. Still, I would be OK, I told myself; whatever I had—my classroom that shouts thinking and individuality, my colleagues who like and respect me, my students who learn from and with me—was enough for me.

And So It Begins...

2006-12-27T14:19:00.000-05:00

It is September 12, 2006. I arrive at my parents' house to pick them up. After two hours on the road myself, the three of us will drive an additional 170 miles to Charleston, our state capital, for the annual Teacher of the Year banquet. I have apprehensions about attending. I am a finalist, Morgan County's teacher of the year, one of eleven who made it through the written application process and an excruciating interview with a selection committee. I have spent a whirlwind summer traveling, learning, teaching, and building a significant amount of anxiety for this very event. I have mixed feelings about this: uncertainty in my own ability, frustration from what I feel was a botched interview, even a slight amount of indecision concerning whether teaching is actually something I want to do for the rest of my life... Tonight, the state teacher of the year will be announced, awarded, and celebrated, and I will be off the hook, free to return to normalcy.

As I walk in the door, my parents offer me a gift. It is a necklace, jade. It is a miniature Inuit symbol, called an inushuk: these are signposts, used to mark dogsled trails in Alaska. "So you don't lose your way," my mom says. Uh oh.

At the pre-dinner reception, I feel myself shaking, tense smile plastered on my face as I clutch my water glass. I am joined by my superintendent, Mr. Temple, and principal, Mr. Ward; their company, and that of my parents, makes me feel less alone. I speak with last year's winner, who is vibrant, dynamic, extroverted--so different from me. Dinner is simple, but good. Tension builds. The speech I have wadded in my pocket--just in case--crinkles every time I move. I feel silly, too young, too inexperienced. I want this to be over. NOW.

My friends at home are all pulling for me. I have told them not to unintentionally tempt fate: "Don't wish for me to be selected," I say, "wish for what's supposed to happen to happen." They look at me askance. They see how hard I work, believe in me so much. I think that it is community that created me as a teacher; my colleagues are like family, and we all work hard together. While I do feel that I am a good teacher, in a career well suited for me at this moment, I work with so many good teachers that I do not feel exceptional. We are all exceptional, and we have built a school around ourselves that reflects this drive toward excellence. Doesn't every school do this? How am I not like everyone else?

The lights dim. One by one, each county teacher is called to the stage to receive recognition. Not all 55 are here, but many are. Then, each finalist is called, and each receives a plaque. When it is my turn, I cross the stage, handshaking and smiling. I return to my seat, relieved I have not fallen over something. Now I'm done.

Or not. When the announcement comes, I look at my mother, and her face is inexpressibly joyful. Mr. Ward bangs his fists on the table. My dad is calm--his normal Zen self. Mr. Temple, I can tell, is not surprised. I stand, stunned, focus on one foot in front of the other, make my way to the stage for a second time this night. I pose for photos, accept accolades, present my speech without a stutter. I speak to reporters from TV, radio, newspapers. I am smiling on the outside, and inside terrified. So begins my year as West Virginia's Teacher of the Year, 2007.