Monday, September 25, 2017

"Zeroing" in on the problem...

Another instance for me to file away in my "ideas that administration thinks are great but don't work in the real world, yet they force them on teachers anyway" just came up this week at one of the schools I visit - no zeros.

Yes, teacher friends and friends of teachers, the administration at this school said that teachers are no longer allowed to give zeros when students fail to turn in their work.

I was fortunate enough to be at the meeting where this sweeping policy change was announced.  Every face around me was blank, as though no one could comprehend what had just been said.  

A brave soul raised his hand.  "I'm not sure I understand how this is going to work."

"Teachers will no longer put zeros in the grade book," the obviously helpful assistant principal said, as though she hadn't just said that a few seconds ago.

"Right.  And what will they put in instead?"  This teacher was no fool.

"Students will be reminded that they haven't turned in the work and they'll have until the end of the term to turn it in for reduced credit."  The principal nodded approvingly next to her.

I heard angry muttering happening all around me.  I wanted to raise my hand and ask my own questions, but as district personnel who was merely visiting the campus, I figured it was better if I raised my concerns privately, to keep my own ridicule from being obvious.  

The questioner wasn't going down easily.  "What if they don't turn anything in, ever?"  

"This is to give them the opportunity to get the work done," she explained obtusely.

"I understand that, but some students will NOT turn in the work, regardless.  What should we put in the grade book then?"

The assistant principal said, "You should put in 50 percent."

Now the muttering was louder and angrier.  "That doesn't make sense," another teacher said.  "We put in a 50 even if they haven't done their work?  No work equals no grade."

"Plus," the instructional specialist piped up, "that doesn't make it clear if the student is failing because he or she hasn't done the work to earn a grade, or if the student gets low grades because he or she is struggling.  Those issues are now going to be harder to clarify."

Principal clearly hadn't anticipated this.  "Yes, well, we can make decisions on individual students later..." Now he was being drowned out by the increasingly loud NOT-muttering sounds.  

I know why schools do this.  It makes their grade point averages look - well, maybe not good, but better.  They think it's helping the students, but it isn't.  It's piling work on the teachers who now have to try and chase down the students and grade an assignment weeks after it was due, it gives parents a false idea of how the kid is doing in class, plus - what the instructional specialist said.  The assistant principal looked at me for help, but I shook my head.  I didn't want to be dragged into the nightmare they created. 

Parents, a no "zero" policy is just fudging the numbers.  Many schools do it.  And it ain't good for anyone, for all the reasons listed.  But schools that are on the downhill slide will do it to try to redeem themselves in the district's eyes.  

So the school instituted the policy.  You know how teachers got around it?  They entered a "1" in the grade book for a missing assignment.  No alert went to administration, who in turn didn't look closely at it, and grades didn't change.  Don't screw with the teachers, or they'll screw with you. 

Monday, September 18, 2017

I can tell SOMEONE isn't worried.

So I was helping a student today who is struggling through an English class.  The class has a significant test coming up, and the format of the test is an in-class essay.  I've worked with this student off and on and like him; he's not that great of a writer, but he's willing to work hard to try to get there.

I know his teacher fairly well, but I'm not saying that in a positive way.  Knowing what a lazy grader she is, I was surprised to see that she gave the class a relatively detailed rubric for the in-class essay.

"Okay, do you know what the essay topics are that you might cover?" I asked.

Yes, he did.  The teacher had given them a list of possible topics, and mentally I blessed her for not leaving the students entirely in the dark.

"She says it has to be a five-paragraph essay," he said hesitantly.

"So, okay - wait, what?"

"A five-paragraph essay," he repeated.

I looked at him, aghast.  "How long are your classes?"

"Uh, it'll be 45 minutes that day, because of the assembly.  And she says we need 3 pieces of quoted evidence per paragraph."

"Okay," I said.  "Can you use your book?"

He looked relieved.  "I asked that too, but she said no."

So, in 45 minutes, the teacher is expecting the class to crank out a five paragraph essay with 15 pieces of quoted evidence in it?  That's some high expectations, in my opinion; so high, in fact, that I was surprised she didn't already have a nosebleed.

 "Are you supposed to memorize the quotes?" I asked.

He shrugged.  "She says we can't paraphrase.  Then she told us not to worry about it.  I mean, she actually said that if we didn't have it all, we'd get points taken off, but not to worry about it.  She says we don't need a really high grade for this first test."

They don't, huh?  Wow, this teacher is incredibly helpful, precise and insightful.  I wanted to ask if she showed up fully dressed each day, but thought it was better not to.

You know what's sad?  In my new role, I see a TON of this: Teachers who give out instructions to students that are impossible to follow, or that don't make any common sense.  These same teachers say crap like "don't worry about it" because the teacher hasn't - apparently.

We worked on a skeleton structure, and I wished him luck.  What I really wanted to tell him was to count on a B for his grade.  Knowing her like I do, she won't read past the second paragraph anyway.  So he shouldn't worry about it.

Monday, September 11, 2017

Out of the mouth of madness!

Found a diary entry from my time at Crappy ISD that I thought everyone would find humorous, especially if they've been drinking heavily for the last couple of hours and their expectations are extremely low...

Jan 15

I went to training at the district offices for a spanking, brand-new software program that will solve all of our low achievers' problems.  If we (meaning me and the other hapless teachers who are forced into this) just deploy this system correctly, our students’ scores will go up, their work ethic will improve, and they’ll change into entirely new people.  If we do it incorrectly, we’ll hurt their reading comprehension, scramble their brain cells and have them leave the school as broken, nonfunctioning members of society.

No pressure, obviously. 

I love the idea that new software is the answer we’ve all been looking for.  “It’s so seamless, even an idiot can use it, an idiot like you!” is the implied message when any new system is introduced.  It’s nice that our school system has no faith in us.  I can’t tell if they think we’re just lazy and stupid, or if it’s a reflection on the people at the top, who are lazy and stupid and want something that does their job for them. 

By the way, this training came a day before I had to give my semester finals - in my yearbook class.  Yes, yearbook, where every final is a project that takes hours to grade, pore over and improve before submitting it to the yearbook company.  I went to my assistant principal and begged to get out of it, reminding him of the testing and all I had to do around the school, duty-wise.  He answered that the district was requiring this training.  He seemed to forget that that’s why I contacted HIM, to ask him to use COMMON SENSE and realize that pulling a teacher at a time she needs to be doing end of semester work that is REQUIRED is a BAD IDEA.  

Once again, my expectations were way off.

Did I mention that they decided to use one of my sick days for this training without telling me?

Looking at this entry, I still can't figure out why they were surprised when I turned in my resignation. 

Monday, September 4, 2017

Copy that! No, really!

“Can you do me a favor, Mrs. Marlowe?”

I looked up from my desk, where I was sitting and inputting grades during my conference period.  Glenda, a geometry teacher, was standing in the doorway.

“What can I do for you?” I asked pleasantly.

She held out a sheaf of papers.  “Can you make these copies for me?”

Stunned, I stared at the papers, then up at her.  I said the first thing that popped out of my mouth.  “Why can’t you do it?”

“I have a meeting with the principal in about ten minutes.”  She did look a little frantic.

I looked up at the clock.  I only had ten minutes left in my conference period before the students came in for fifth period.  Glenda had never been rude to me, and she did seem a bit out of sorts, but seriously, make copies for her?  I wasn’t an administrative assistant, and I had my own classes to worry about.  Still, it never hurts to build up some goodwill with another teacher.

“Um, I guess, if it’s just a few,” I said, rising slowly.

“Well, see, I need 30 copies of these, and then 35 copies of this one, but it has to be collated…”

“Glenda,” I interrupted, “there’s no way I can get this done before my class starts.”  I knew that the teacher’s lounge was always flooded with copies during fourth period. 

“Yes, but I really need these!”  Now she sounded whiny and slightly angry.

“I understand, but I won’t be able to get back to my class-“ I began, but she interrupted me, clearly upset. 

“Never mind,” she barked.  “I guess I just won’t have them in time.”  She glared at me at stomped off down the hall.

I sat down again, baffled.  What on earth was she mad about?  And why would she ask me to do this with so little time left?  Shaking my head, I saved my gradebook changes and made sure I had everything ready for fifth period.

I was twenty-five minutes into class when a student knocked on my door.  I opened it and said, “Yes?’

It was Bridgett, a senior who was an office assistant.  She looked at the floor as she said, “Mr. Simmons said he needs you to make these copies for Mrs. Asper.”

What?  I stared at her.  “I’m in class,” I stated. 

She shuffled her feet.  “He said she really needs them.”

“He wants a teacher to LEAVE HER CLASS to make copies for another teacher?” I said, enunciating every word clearly. 

“Well, see, he, um…” she looked around at my now very interested class who was quiet as they looked at her.  “Never mind, I’ll tell him you’re busy.”  She turned and closed the door behind her. 

The room was still quiet as I turned back to the class.  Then Jeremy piped up, “That was weird, right, Ms. Marlowe?”

“Sure was,” I muttered. 

The day went by normally, but when school was over, and I was packing up to go home, Nick, the US History teacher, stopped by my room.

“So guess what?” he asked.

“I hate it when people start conversations that way,” I grumbled, and he laughed.

“You’re right, and you’ll never guess this one,” he said.  Nick went on to explain that he was in the grade-level chair meeting with Glenda, the principal and two other teachers when she complained that she couldn’t get her prep work done because Ms. Marlowe wouldn’t make copies like she was supposed to.  Apparently, Mr. Simmons agreed because he sent Bridgett with the papers for me to do my “job.”

“Who decided that my job was to make copies?” I asked, aghast.

Nick shrugged.  “I think it’s because you’re the journalism and newspaper teacher and your room is right next to the teacher’s lounge.”

“But we have an office assistant to do that!”

He raised an eyebrow.  “As we told him.  Glenda went off about you, and Charity and I asked her why she was asking a teacher to make copies for her, particularly during her class.  When Bridgett came back, Mr. Simmons said he would talk to you about it later.  So I came by to see if he did.  Did he?”

I shook my head.  “Not yet.”

He never did, and Glenda glared at me the rest of the year but never came to my room again.  I still wonder about this incident – the bizarre assumptions of an apparently disorganized teacher, the idiocy of a principal who believes what he’s told without regard to common sense, and the availability of the office assistant who actually could have made the copies.  I decided that the next time I needed to make a bunch of copies, I’m going to drop them on Glenda’s desk with a note and a smiley face.