Central Office is Coming

“Today, personnel from state departments of education are about as welcome in public schools as vultures. A wake of vultures seldom attacks healthy animals but prey upon the wounded or sick,” Lawrence Baines and Rhonda Goolsby

“So, how are you differentiating for gifted learners?”

The question was recently raised to me by an administrator during one of my CLT meetings. My school has opened its doors to education consultants from the private sector and administrators from central office. I’m not entirely sure why this is happening, but to be honest the reason doesn’t matter that much to me. As a teacher, I’m used to being told what I’m not doing well enough and what techniques I should employ in order to improve. Just like students.

That said, these sorts of observations and interactions still make my stomach ache. The second the experts walk in, I feel like a kid. I wither under the scrutiny, stumbling over words, and making careless mistakes. It’s like I’m back in school and the teacher has just slapped a pop quiz down onto my desk. My training, my experience, my professional reading and writing all disappear. All that remains is the feeling of not being good enough.

In Eleven, a magnificent short story written by Sandra Cisneros, the protagonist explains how misleading a birthday can be. When you turn eleven, she says, you’re still ten. And nine, and eight, and seven, etc. Just because I turned 35 last November doesn’t mean the difficulties of youth and inexperience are completely behind me. I still carry the emotional residue and muscle memory of three decades’ worth of triumphs, disasters, and everything in between. When it comes to school, I’m used to acquiescing to anyone higher than me on the chain of command.

Returning to the administrator’s question, I had a choice in how I responded. I could have inquired about the question itself. For instance, why are so many children identified as gifted? Why do many of them come from white families with dual-earner incomes? Was that person aware of the larger history of the gifted and talented movement? Of white supremacy and colonialism and class anxiety and the various ways certain funds of knowledge are prioritized while others are denigrated? I could have engaged in a conversation about ability groupings and tracking and heterogeneity. Or about the research on the effects of race, class, gender, and family education level on student achievement. But I didn’t.

I also could have used that time picking the expert’s brain to try and figure how to improve my teaching. Maybe they had advice about finding engaging mentor texts without spending my weekends hunched over my computer. Or how I can use issues of social justice to inform my pedagogy. I could have mentioned my concerns about my district’s new remediation mandate. Or how the absence of grades and tests in my class makes family communication problematic. I didn’t say any of that, either.

Instead, I provided a rote answer to a rote question. Was I differentiating? Yes. Leveled texts, scaffolded support, and differentiated assessments.

Schools socialize. We learn which behaviors get us rewarded and which get us punished. We learn to recognize who is above us on the ladder and who is below us. For teachers and students, identities within a school are demarcated and negotiated along the familiar lines of seniority, content, and job title. As a teacher, I listen to mandates, close my door, and find a way to make it work. I don’t push back and I don’t cause a ruckus. And I don’t expect my administrators to, either. While it’d be nice to hear that the leaders of my school and district are pushing back against irresponsible and unfair mandates, I don’t count on it. It’s not part of the job description.

Maybe they do and I simply don’t hear about it. For the most part, we remain in our boxes, using the tools granted to us by historical precedent and the prevailing discourse of our profession. Administrators wield data, push down initiatives, and support teachers in reaching various technocratic goals. In return, I use the standards, measure learning, and stay up to date on instructional strategies.

This is not an anti-administration post. They’re doing what they’ve always done, and I’m doing the same. We are playing the roles bequeathed to us from the last 100 years of American public education. The central office administrators will be back with their questions, and I’ll be prepared with my answers. We’ll continue doing our jobs as if nothing happened at all.

 

 

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3 comments

  1. Joy Kirr

    Oh, so dire, Peter! Is this the January slump? No worries – it DOES get better, I believe. Of course, I work/live/breathe in a system that supports what I want to try in my box. And, as you get older, you learn how to not acquiesce so much. You learn how to ask other questions (just as you wanted to) to push thinking a bit further. Take care of yourself, and take care of your students, and you’ll all be better off for it. 🙂

    Like

  2. Jeffrey Anderson

    Read the latest post, which is a little defeatist (I think that’s a word). It opens to the non-specialist reader the question, How are G&T students identified, and when? Is there some analytical process, a particular test? Or are they identified by a consensus of their teachers? Isn’t there a fair amount of anecdotal evidence for people who are truly gifted not doing well in regimented school systems? I, of course, agree that the students tagged as G&T are ones who simply display certain behavior patterns based on class and class expectations. Just another brick in the wall.

    Savneet just came behind me; she’s read the piece and found it to be “very good.” Several comments apparently struck a nerve.

    On Thu, Jan 12, 2017 at 3:47 PM, Mr. Anderson Reads & Writes wrote:

    > Peter Anderson posted: “”Today, personnel from state departments of > education are about as welcome in public schools as vultures. A wake of > vultures seldom attacks healthy animals but prey upon the wounded or sick,” > Lawrence Baines and Rhonda Goolsby “So, how are you differenti” >

    Like

  3. Pingback: So, What’d You Like? Asking Students about My Lessons | Mr. Anderson Reads & Writes

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