If you don’t get frustrated, then you don’t care.
I keep saying it like a mantra, it makes me feel a little better.
It’s the first week of December and I’m frustrated.
As the holiday music blares from the car radio and we feel compelled to sing about the wonderful time of the year, we’re also now into the not-so-wonderful part of the school year.
Assessment time. The first quarter has passed and people want numbers that will indicate our success at the front of the room.
In my county, we use benchmarks created by someone I don’t know in a far away office. This person has created a series of questions that will determine whether my students have grasped what I have taught them these last few months.
All of this is really important to some really important people I suppose.
Of course you could just ask me and I could tell you who has grasped the learning – no lengthy, confusing test is needed I assure you. I’ve been at the front of my classroom, after all, since early September.
Regardless, computer schedules have been determined, class schedules have been rearranged, and then the hold-our-breath begins as the scores roll in.
It’s then that percentages appear, heads are scratched, eyes are rubbed, and groans are heard throughout the building.
Each of us then finds our colleagues we trust enough with which to have a candid conversation. We lament, we commiserate, we voice our displeasure, we let our colleagues know how our students could have done so much better.
We carry on the way we do, because, well, we care about our students’ success.
Even if those computers keep shutting down and booting off our students. Even if my third graders, who have enough of a hard time concentrating, now have to sign in to their assigned Chromebook like it’s Fort Knox. Even if they can’t remember where their pencil just dove off to when they turned their head.
These same 8 year olds have to remember multiple procedures to begin an assessment that often aren’t even developmentally appropriate.
I care about my class’s scores, I care about my team’s scores, and I care about how our school is doing. The problem is that I only have control over one of those populations.
Well, control is a relative concept.
I’ve done my best to motivate my students.
I’ve logically explained why strategies work. I’ve highlighted to my students the future and why doing one’s best is in their best interest.
I’ve even talked about real estate values once or twice and how they’re tied to a school’s scores – I know, I know, that was probably over their head, but I couldn’t help myself.
I repeatedly tell my students, because again I can’t help myself, that each of them has the ability to overcome any challenge. I share that I care about them as soon as they were put on my class role. I tell them that I believe in them.
So what to do when you’ve taught all the right strategies that worked in the past, yet the students fail to do as you’ve asked?
What to do when students rush even after you’ve told them to double check – at least a hundred or two times?
Where to turn when it seems that all that time sharing life lessons seems to have fallen on deaf ears?
Here are some solutions worth considering.
1) Beat your head into your classroom wall until the result is that you’ve passed out and awaken later to only vaguely determine the square footage of the ceiling tiles – holding true to your desire to bring creative approaches to teaching state standards. Arise and continue.
2) Go home and refuse to return until all assessments have been cancelled for the foreseeable future. Wait for all computers to be adequately equipped to work properly when called upon. This waiting will of course continue into the very foreseeable future and your students will progress into the next grade without your influence.
3) Climb onto the roof of your building and take it upon yourself to strengthen the bandwidth of your building’s internet signal by erecting the largest set of rabbit ears conceivable. You will of course be labeled a hero (like Don Quixote attacking the windmill) although the monstrous antenna will certainly not be seen as an architectural adornment.
4) Lastly, and I think the most prudent solution is this: hold fast to who you are and your care for your students.
Certainly not all will take to our instruction regardless of our desire for our students’ best efforts.
Our students may not yet understand that we care for them as individuals. Our students may not yet trust that what we teach and desire for them to do is in their best efforts.
Hold fast to your efforts to continue down the path that you know will lead to success.
Let’s not let an assessment that unnerves students of all ages to change the course that we know will be effective.
Teaching is not easy. Teaching is not selling widgets. Teaching is a craft that takes more than a quarter of a year.
Learning is determined by untold variables and cannot be assessed by one benchmark alone.
Hold fast my colleagues. I will do the same.