Edubabble and other Blither

School should be fun tomorrow. The secretaries and aides are going on strike after three years of negotiating. Meetings were had, letters were distributed. We are not to do anything that would usually have been done by a secretary or aide. I plan to stay in my room all day.

We have a sub all week for our math teacher, whose father died. The sub's a really nice lady, a hard worker, but she needs to be a little harder on some of the kids. I had to kick ass on the entire second period class after a T.S.S. approached me, angered by the kids' behavior.

I've been doing this a long time. The kids like me (or at least I seem to think they do...), but I've developed a great ability-- I can walk into a class, stand there expectantly like Queen Victoria, and the whole class falls silent. I think I've developed this due to an utter refusal on my part to EVER need someone to kick ass on my behalf. (I did need that, I will admit, once while subbing. I vowed never again.)

I drove to the funeral this evening with our guidance counselor and history teacher. The guidance counselor said our principal was concerned about the value-added scores. I sighed. I just don't care anymore. Not about testing. It's like chasing your tail-- we will never get it right. The whole system is orchestrated to prevent it.

Value-added is a good concept-- it looks for growth, not just a score. So, if Johnny's a genius and gets good state assessment scores, that might not be something to celebrate. Why, you ask? Well, if he's capable of scoring 2000, but only scores 1600, we failed him educationally. On the flip side, if Johnny's only expected to score 800, but instead scores 900, that shows that he DID indeed achieve, even if he didn't make the "proficient" cut. Great theory, and I was all on board six years ago.

Since that initial enthusiasm, I've watched as our elementary schools cut instruction in social studies, science, health, etc., to focus on nothing but reading and math for months before D-Day. Those kids, therefore, score well on the math and reading. We celebrate those students, those teachers, and those elementary schools. The students, then, are predicted to score very high on the next state assessment. (It used to be 5th, 8th, and 11th grades; now it's 3rd through 8th, then 11th.)

Fast-forward from 5th through 8th: new school, hormones, harder material, and a school day that just doesn't permit (and nor should it, in my opinion) tossing other course content aside to frantically prepare for the tests. The students may or may not score at that predicted level, and when they don't, they have negative value-added assessment scores. We've gone from bemoaning low scores to now bemoaning high scores if they're not high enough. Chasing our tails.

I say, "Stop the insanity!" I'm trying. This week my kids have learned a lot about writing. I very subversively chose to have them write narratives. The state tests, you see, now test writing in the informative and persuasive modes only for 8th grade. Narratives are superfluous and very adequately covered in elementary school, where the kids learn to write 5-paragraph essays that begin with a not-so-probing question. Questions as leads have been banned from my classroom. I'm a rebel. I'm also a real pain-in-the-ass for those students who've been praised for beginnings like Have you ever been so proud you thought you might burst?

I wrote with them this week. Seven years ago I wrote a draft for my seventh grade classes about the time Paul Galileo dumped me at a junior high dance. I shared that with them, and dragged them along with me as I revised it-- thinking aloud about how my original lead is interesting only to me, not to my middle school audience; how the whole paragraph about my first seventh grade boyfriend has nothing to with my story; how I need more active verbs, but my flashback opening kind of prevents that; how I can get very, very wordy, and I need to simplify. I was in heaven. I even have a picture of him, as I'm sure does Professor Girl, in all his corduroy-coat-wearing-chapped-lipped-fly-away-hair glory. The kids, when they saw it, groaned appropriately.

That's what I was trained to teach. That's what I'm good at teaching.