Mr. Metcalf’s Reflections on Teaching

photo by kevin rawlings

After 10 years the No Child Left Behind Act still continues to generate much discussion and debate in education policy circles.  The components of this legislation spurred a lot of “movement” in educational communities.  Pretty impressive, considering that our founding fathers allotted no power whatsoever to the federal government to influence the education of our country’s citizens.  However, the real child who is being left behind is not the one who struggles to learn or the one who refuses; it’s the child who is diligent in completing coursework, carefully attends to classroom instruction and meets or exceeds standardized testing benchmarks.

Educators generally know very little about economics, and it appears from the state of our economy that politicians know even less.  Having been thoroughly immersed in the subject in college and business school, I believed I’m qualified to explain the concept of scarcity and its impact on resource allocation.  When a group of people need a specific amount of food, let’s say, to survive and an amount only equal to that is available, there are only two allocations that can exist:  either each person receives an equal share of the available food, or some receive enough while others do not.  This is analogous to teacher attention in the classroom.  A teacher’s attention is a finite resource – it cannot be increased, only allocated.  That’s a problem administrators and policy makers all too often choose to ignore.

Ideally, a classroom teacher would like to allocate her (or his) attention equally among the students because she cares about each one equally.  It’s rarely possible for this allocation to exist for several reasons.  The need for teacher attention, like other needs, differs from student to student.  There are many reasons a student might need a level of teacher attention that is more than “average”:  cognitive or learning difficulties, behavioral or emotional problems, lack of sleep or nutrition, struggles with particular curriculum content or sometimes just “I need a dose of TLC.”  These are all areas that most teachers address every day in the classroom.  If teacher attention is the fertilizer that spurs learning growth, all of the classroom flowers need it or they will wither.  But not all flowers are tended equally.

If our education system truly left no child behind each student would receive every bit of attention necessary for them to flourish as learners.  However, I think most educators within smelling range of the front line trenches of actual working classrooms would agree that there’s not enough to go around when there’s 25+ students in the room.  That forces a resource allocation problem.  Who gets allocated a larger portion?  Students qualifying for services or covered under the requirements of IDEA, ELL and 504 do.  So do students who demand a larger portion by being disruptive in the classroom.  Parents who are strong advocates (squeaky wheels, for better and worse) for their child do, too.  So who’s left that get the remaining crumbs of their teacher’s attention?  Non-disruptive students with less engaged parents who are not covered under some acronym.  By allocating our scarce resource in this way are we doing the right thing for all students?  I don’t think so.  Some of the “attention orphans” progress successfully through school and get good grades, while others do not.  It’s possible to argue that the ones who progress successfully don’t need much teacher attention, but I don’t agree.  A strong student can achieve even greater heights with the coaching of an attentive teacher.  And, his/her parent pays taxes to fund education, just as all parents do.  Why should that student be forced to go it alone if he/she wishes to go above and beyond successful?

I don’t have the magic answer to the resource allocation problem.  If I did, I would write a book and get rich.  I just know that it continues to be a source of stress, frustration, anger and sadness for me and many great teachers with whom I’ve worked.  It would be easier to endure if more administrators and education policy makers would even acknowledge the problem.  Too often this elephant in the room is ignored through pretense that we can always give more attention to one student without removing some from another.  Who loses in that situation needs to be considered.  At least until we can honestly look each other in the face and claim with conviction that no child is left behind.

It’s been quite awhile since I have indulged in writing in this venue.  It’s not that I stopped writing, but my thought bandwidth and writing activity have been devoted to other arenas, not the least of which is my doctoral dissertation.  However, given that my doctoral studies involve educational leadership and policy, I do continue to think regularly about the organization and operation of schools, districts and ed policy makers.  Having spent quite of bit of time in recent months with school principals and assistant principals at every level, I realize that schools, like businesses, are run according to varied management philosophies.  There are two with which I have some experience, and they have the same acronym:  MBI.  Management By Intimidation, and Management By Inspiration.  Both philosophies are represented in my school district, and I suspect they are in many others.

Management By Intimidation (MBI #1) involves getting things done through fear and uncertainty, probably because those who use it are driven by fear and uncertainty themselves.  It often gets results in the short term at the expense of long-term success.  MBI#1 can be characterized by selective or incomplete communication,  frequent changes in direction (Keep ‘em on their toes!) and a clear understanding that it’s every man for himself.  MBI#1 bosses pride themselves on how fast they can shovel received material downhill, and they welcome parents, students, teachers, staff members, etc. coming their way like an esophagus welcomes a flu germ.  Those who operate through MBI #1 are, in my opinion, a cancer on the particular community they claim to be leading.  Their negative energy saps the fortitude of everyone around them, and ultimately they succeed in getting the bare minimum from those pathetic souls who are unable to move to greener pastures.

Management By Inspiration (MBI #2) relies instead on the amazing productive capacity people have when they feel valued, cared for and truly important to the community as a whole.  Those who follow this philosophy are confident in their own ability while understanding the diverse abilities of others in the community.  They lead from a place of security, certainty and optimism about the community’s growth.  MBI #2 can be characterized by open and sincere communication and consistency with regard to the “important things” and a commitment to trust the value and expertise of others.  MBI #2 bosses are fiercely protective of those who look to them for leadership, and act with a sense of honor even to the point of personal detriment.  These leaders are on the bow of the ship constantly scanning the horizon for new capacities and are on the front line meeting any potential threat to the health of their community.  Their positive energy fuels long-term loyalty and maximum levels of effort and risk taking.  Their employees will walk through fire for them.

It doesn’t take long to categorize someone as an MBI #1 or MBI #2 boss.  You already know which type you work for.  The only problem is that MBI #2 leaders seem to be an endangered species at the school level right now.  I don’t mean to imply that there are none – I am personally familiar with a few.  It may be that MBI #2 adherents find it difficult to be motivated in a larger MBI #1 environment, and they too move on to greener pastures.  As my school prepares to select a new leader, I fervently hope that MBI #2 dominates the candidate pool.  I’m getting to be too old a cow to graze in the MBI #1 pasture.  Moo.

Statistics on adult and childhood obesity reported in the popular press have highlighted what we all intuitively know about our “fast food” generation – the dietary habits of many Americans today have had a detrimental effect on their health and productivity.  I believe that this shift in lifestyle has affected other aspects of our lives, especially the education of our children.

It’s alarming to witness the number of students who participate in what I call Drive-Thru Learning – a mechanical orientation to “doing school” that belies a void of contextual understanding about the purpose of knowledge acquisition and the connections needed to develop critical thinking skills.  To these students, learning appears to be simply receiving a task direction, completing it with minimal cognitive engagement in the shortest time possible, and ejecting the required product without reflection or introspection.  They want to drive up and order the #1 combo (upsize it, please!) and move on to the next item on their checklist.

The results of Drive-Thru learning are troubling.  Learning products are submitted, but when questioned about them, students cannot coherently discuss their work.  Problem-solving skills do not develop.  Students can’t process abstract concepts and lack creative thinking ability.  when faced with an unfamiliar situation, these students display the human equivalent of my computer’s “blue screen of death.”  Tilt.

Schools are partly to blame for this phenomenon.  With the increased politicization of education over the past 25 years, many teachers have adapted by engaging in “Drive-By” teaching.  In order to confidently claim to instruct students in an impossibly large number of curriculum standards, most teachers have internalized the curricular equivalent of the understanding that there is no free lunch (free and reduced may be available, however) – one can either teach a subset of required standards in depth, or teach the complete set in a superficial manner.  Many teachers, facing accountability overlords at every level, choose the latter.

Drive-By teaching leads to worksheets, study guides, multiple choice tests, disconnected lessons that whipsaw young brains and preclude meaningful knowledge retention, and a lack of significant instructional differentiation for diverse learners.  It’s not all doom-and-gloom, though – it does produce strong scores on standardized tests focusing on lower-order thinking skills.

The sad thing is my recognition that this shift in instruction and learning mirrors the shift in the job composition of the american economy.  The vast majority of new jobs being created today are low level service jobs.  The kind of jobs that don’t value critical thinking ability, simply the ability to mindlessly process basic tasks repetitively without question or complaint.  Robotic jobs.  Maybe education is serving the appropriate purpose for the needs of these times.  As a history teacher, though, I realize that the complex problems that will face our society in the future will need intellectual MacGyvers who can analyze and question and innovate and evaluate.  Those are the kinds of workers I want to prepare for the adult work force.  There is no drive-thru window in my classroom, and I offer no combo’s to my students.  Sit down, listen to the day’s specials, and enjoy the meal.

Although country music is really the only genre that I can’t listen to (okay, that techno-ick is pretty bad, too),  I found myself a while back watching a few minutes of the Country Music Awards.  While some balding guy with a cowboy hat and overtight jeans on strummed a guitar I was reminded of the old classic song “Mommas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys.”  Since I have always liked cowboys and western movies, I wondered why cowboys are not to be role models.  Then I decided that Waylon Jennings  was wrong.  In many ways, a parent should be proud if their child could become a cowboy (or cowgirl!).

Cowboys are typically solitary figures.  In fact, Waylon reasoned that they are always alone, even when they are with someone.  But cowboys are also the masters of their own destinies – they plot their own course through the pasture of life.  They aren’t swayed by fads, fashions, or the fickle nature of the crowd.  Cowboys have figured it all out, probably thanks to all of that quiet time riding on the range with only their thoughts and some unpleasant smells for company.  They have a firm grasp on what is important to them, what isn’t and what they need to do.  I’ve  heard it said that they know when to hold ‘em and when to fold ‘em.

I’ve invested a lot of effort this school year nurturing independent thinking in my students.  It’s hard to imagine a more iconic independent thinker than the American cowboy.  John Wayne  didn’t look to others to determine what’s right.  He might have listened to Katherine Hepburn, but he always made up his own mind.

To me, independent thinking doesn’t involve stubbornness, resistance to new ideas, or arbitrary contrarianism.  If it requires going against the grain, it’s more like being a rebel with a cause.  It does, however, embody the idea that all people have the right and the responsibility form their own opinions and to act in accordance with those opinions.  Now, as a parent I definitely make efforts to shape the opinions my own children form to benefit them in specific ways (such as the belief that illegal drug use is extremely harmful), but as a teacher I feel that the way I can help my students most is to help them develop the ability to assess a particular context, evaluate the relevant facts and form a well-reasoned point of view.  And,  like roping cattle, the only time-tested way to do that  is to practice, practice, practice.

That’s why I typically respond to a student who shows me his work and asks me “Is this good?” by replying “What do you think?”  And why I so often answer a student question with another.  And why I feel proud when students challenge me in ways that show they have been thinking about something.  And why I try to always model for them by thinking aloud for myself.

Because I am charged this year with teaching American history to my school’s entire fifth grade, I am constantly reminded that independent thinkers are the people who created our country, who forged a path that was new and different, and who were the drivers of nearly every turning point that shaped our modern society.  I want my students to make the connection to their own lives.  They seem to be a bit early of the learning curve, but I intend to help them move as far up as possible before the end of my time with them.  Us mommas and papas need to help them grow up to cowboys and cowgirls.

There always comes a time during the school year when the economist in me finally peaks out and I take a moment to teach my students the concept of finite resources.  The basic idea is that there is only so much “stuff” to go around in the world, and that this is the source of competition.  Because it’s pretty safe to assume that every child in my class has watched Animal Planet and/or the Discovery Channel, I refer to lions and antelopes.  I tell them that it’s much more enjoyable to live your life as a lion than as an antelope.  Lions go out and get the “stuff.”  Antelopes are the “stuff.”  Another way to extend the metaphor is to understand that not all lions get enough antelope.  Some lions are fatter than others, but even those lions have it better than the antelopes.

I share this concept with my students because in some sense they are in the process of deciding whether they will become as an adult a lion or an antelope, and I want my students to be the lions in life.  I want them to control their own destinies and get more than their fair share of the finite resources available in the world.  But how does this apply to adults?  If a person is already an antelope. can he or she subsequently become a lion?  Or is the rule “once an antelope, always an antelope?”

I wonder about this because it seems to me that teachers have been conditioned by a set of increasingly powerful forces to be antelopes.  There is a rich body of educational research documenting the de-professionalization of teaching as an occupation.  Today teachers have less autonomy over what they teach, how they teach and when they teach it.  Teachers face an increasing amount of administrative, non-teaching work tasks.  They fund many instructional costs out of a paycheck that is universally regarded (well, except for those who use our tax money for nearly everything under the sun except compensating teachers) as inadequate.  Teachers increasingly work in uncomfortable conditions such as limited air conditioning, and in some places unsafe conditions associated with crumbling building structures.  To top it all off, politicians who couldn’t pull more than a C-average when they were students claim that the holy grail of school reform is better teacher quality.

In this context, teachers sure look like antelope to me.  Maybe if I were a teacher all of my adult life I wouldn’t even notice it.  Maybe I would just wring my hands, grumble in the faculty lunchroom and then just close my classroom door and keep taking it.  But my previous careers were in the realm of lions.  I was bred to be a lion, and it was necessary because the antelopes were very quickly eaten.  Consequently, I’m having some trouble going down now without a fight.  The big challenge for the few of us remaining lion teachers is how to show the antelopes that it doesn’t have to be that way.  The decisionmakers in education are counting on them remaining antelopes, because lions would be a threat.  Lions would challenge them and refuse to be victims.

So what’s it going to take?  How can this shift be brought about?  I wish I knew.  I just know that “If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you’ve always gotten.”  We need to change how we do things.  All teachers need to stop accepting the status of the victim and assert ourselves as professionals.  I became a teacher because I believe teachers, by virtue of their nurturing relationships with their students, are the most important citizens in our society.  We have to start acting like it.