Concluding Post: The Wire

Standing at the top of the stairs, Assistant Principal Donnelly stares at the blue front doors of the school.  A custodian walks down an empty gray hallway carrying a broom.  The sound of clanging metal serving trays carries from the other side of the cafeteria where lunch-aids organize food at the lunch counter.  Mr. Pryzbylewski stands in the front of his classroom looking out onto rows of mismatched desks and chairs.  Assistant Principal Donnelly then checks her watch, makes the sign of the cross, and sighs as a bell rings out a long sustained tone.  A man in police uniform opens the doors and a crowd of children rush through.  Instantaneous noise floods the school's entry way as students make their way up the steps and into the halls.  "I love the first day" says one student to his friends, "everybody all friendly and shit."

Season 4 of HBO's "The Wire" takes place in Baltimore, Maryland.  It is a riveting portrayal of life in one urban city and explores the various communities that create the everyday life and culture there - government, bureaucracy, schools, streets, prisons, and media.  Once desensitized to the overly used and arguably unrealistic gratuitous language, the show's dialogue presents a thoughtful and complex storyline that is severely fascinating and thought provoking.  It provides a multi-layered portrayal of the lives of those in an urban community, which is often unrecognized by mainstream culture.  Superb acting elicits instant believability and situational drama stimulates quick character development.  The interconnected plot lines support a creative and intellectual challenge to viewing the season in isolation.  These compelling narratives work together to reshape or question our definition of friendship, courage, survival, and childhood.

Creator, David Simon, explained that the compelling incident that caused the creation of the Peabody Award-winning drama series, was viewing Baltimore through the lens of an ex-police reporter and seeing a very drug-saturated city try to arrest their way out of a drug problem.

"When you devote yourselves to street-level drug enforcement," he told President Obama in a 2015 White House interview, "when you try to win the drug war, you only have a limited number of resources.  And I watched the police department in Baltimore, and then I noticed it in other cities — other cities with the same sort of problems of drug use — they stopped doing police work. They were arresting people for drugs, and that was presumptive police work, but actually it wasn’t."  What started as a "cop show" quickly became something much greater as the show began to analyze and give voice to the much deeper and systemic causes to the problems of our inner cities in the larger context of our society.   "Perhaps one of the most moving sections of “The Wire” was that whole depiction of the schools in Baltimore" noted President Obama.  "If kids are left so far behind that they don’t have recourse, they’re going to see what else is available to survive."

Survive is an interesting and telling word choice.  In cycle one I stated that "I agree that there is a case to be made that we do need to pause and step back from the direction that we are moving in [a more controlled and monitored childhood].  The overwhelming research presented about the value of free play or even "risky play" helps to justify giving kids more autonomy."  Yet, when presented with the narrative of an alternative culture, one that does not align with my white, middle-classed privilege, it puts a very different perspective on this issue.  Children of color who live in lower economic urban areas, like those depicted in "The Wire," are subjected to constant risky play every day - interacting with gang members, being confronted by cops, playing behind buildings in abandoned lots, riding in the streets, unsupervised walks across town to and from school.  And even if we step back and recognize some of the benefits of this play, (for example the economic and business knowledge gained from running a corner), the play is still surrounded in actual life threatening danger and can cause severe trauma to their development and ability to function in the public setting (like in school).  Furthermore, this type of play, as viewed by law enforcement and much of the greater society, is considered vandalism, destructive, or loitering.  They are kicked off stoops and out of alleys, but given no alternatives of where to play.   Their white suburban counterparts are viewed through a completely different lens - where good intentions are assumed.  A white kid with a hammer is about to go and build something.  A black kid with a hammer is about to go and destroy something. 

As an educator, who believes that all students deserve a quality education, this brings to light the importance that we have in providing students with a safe space for play - where risks can still be taken allowing the freedom for failure, but where these risks are supported and ultimately scaffold for success.  In "The Wire," the show depicts the professional growth of a new teacher, Roland Pryzbylewski's (Mr. Prezbo), who attempts to do just that.  In one example, Mr. Prezbo incorporates the dice game craps into his math lesson.  On the street, the game carries the potential risk of heated conflict over money, falling into debt, or being caught and criminalized for gambling.  Yet, by bringing it into the classroom and not viewing it as immoral or corrupt, but instead positioning it in terms of academics or as a high-level task requiring advanced mathematics and probability, Mr. Prezbo has not only created a safe space to partake in this play, but has valued the culture of the students who can relate to this game that is played in their streets.  In the dominate culture, street gambling is viewed as criminal, yet it is accepted and lawful in large privately owned and established casinos.  Look in any mainstream probability curriculum, and gambling is never mentioned as an application for understanding probability.  To be clear, I am not arguing for teaching students how to gamble, but I do believe that this forces us to question why we are teaching what we are teaching.  We must recognize that standard curriculum dictates what is valued and those values often match the culture of the dominate group while disenfranchising and negating the culture of others.

Mr. Prezbo's journey highlights many of the unique aspects and challenges of urban education.   While at times stereotyping the experience, the overall tone seems to try to authentically point out many of the inequities and injustices that urban education faces as well as the emotional highs and lows of being an educator.  Still, it is important to recognize that this is a scripted version of reality, one that has been romanticized where a fresh new teacher who stumbles at first, finds his footing and success in this challenging urban setting.  This should be viewed with severe caution.

When first hired, Mr. Prezbo enters the main office where Principal Withers and Assistant Principal Donnelly are discussing the shortage of teachers they will be facing at the start of the school year. "We are short two in math and four in science" Donnelly says.  Mr. Prezbo enters and explains he won't have his certificate until next year but that the resident teacher program fast tracked him because of staff shortages.  "Jesus," Donnelly sighs, "lambs to the slaughter here."  Principal Withers asks him what he did before he decided to teach and Prezbo responds that he was a police in the city.  The principal's exchange looks and Donnelly stands up, shakes Prezbo's hand, and hires him on the spot.  The reality of urban education is that there are limited incentives for quality educators to seek out employment in such challenging conditions.  To fill the void, the schools rely on programs like Teach for America, who "enlist, develop, and mobilize asmany as possible of our nation's most promising future leaders to grow andstrengthen the movement for educational equity and excellence" (teachforamerica.org, 2016).  Notice anything wrong with that mission statement?  The focus is completely centered on the teacher and what they will gain from this experience.  Absent is any focus or even mention of students or their needs.  Programs like this reduce the profession of education to a simple two week course and are predetermined for failure for the simple fact that they believe teachers can be trained.  Education is not merely something that is done, but rather, something that is created.  In an environment that needs the best of the best, the most highly creative and thoughtful educational professionals, they instead must settle for unprepared teachers who have not spent the time required honestly learning and reflecting about their own identity, their students' unique needs, or the complex issues of education pedagogy and practice.  All the while, the students are left with a mediocre learning experience and fall further behind academically, emotionally, and socially.  Yet, if I feel so strongly about urban schools deserving quality educators, what am I doing in the suburban, well-funded district of Okemos?  Am I not simply a talking pundit null of credibility for my lack of action? 

My MSU undergraduate experience was filtered through the Urban Educators Cohort Program, where issues of race, privilege, power, and educational pedagogy and policy were discussed and debated in great detail.  My pre-teaching experiences were placed in urban settings and I was mentored by other urban educators.  When it came time to find my first job three years ago, I had only just started to look when Okemos reached out to me.  Two interviews later they offered me a job.  I was thrilled to have found employment in Michigan at a time when so many colleges were having to move out of state to find work, but unease and uncertainty quickly set in as this was not an urban district.  Would I be denying a community I had spent so much time thinking about and pledging to join and work with?  I shared this dilemma with Dr. SonyaGunnings-Moton, Assistant Dean for the College of Education at Michigan State University and UECP advisor.  "Okemos is a great district Adam," she said.  "Did you know that my son went there?  And Adam, they didn’t know what to do with him - a big black boy in the back of the room.  It wasn't until middle school when he started to play sports that he was actually accepted.  The things you learned in UECP won't be limited to just an urban setting.  Our nation's schools are becoming more and more diverse every year - and the teachers out there, especially the ones in the suburban settings, are unprepared for how to teach ALL students.  You could provide that leadership."  And there has been truth to her words.  Okemos, while it does not face the harsh challenges of urban districts represented in "The Wire," does present with a wide range of racial and socio-economic diversity.  This has given me the daily challenge of honestly and authentically supporting ALL students as well as having numerous opportunities to provide that mindful and pedagogical leadership to others in my school and district.

In one example, a fellow colleague warned me at the beginning of the year that the mother of one of my future students liked to play the "race card" and would never admit her child's faults.  I can only speculate as to how this teacher would define "playing the race card," but this mother and I had numerous productive conversations about race and how that has impacted her son's education thus far.  The child, a large black boy, whose actions had been stereotyped into fitting a preconceived idea, was misrepresented and misunderstood.  For example, a previously documented aggressive behavior had resulted from being teased about his family.  For this student, family was valued above all else.  It was the foundation of his culture.  He regularly visited his grandma, had weekly "family days" where he and his family would go out together or volunteer somewhere, and his extended family was massive and met regularly throughout the year.  Certainly having your family insulted would upset anyone.  It comes as little surprise then that punitive recourse was ineffective and instead, when I was able to talk with him, getting to know his values, and reinforce the development of coping strategies, his conflict resolution skills increased and he developed behaviors that matched the school's dominate culture resulting in less conflict.  Taking the time to understand a student's culture is imperative to understanding their needs as an educator and in building a positive relationship.  One morning, after NBC's live performance of "The Wiz" had broadcasted, I played "A Brand New Day" for our morning music and his ears perked up - "Is this from the Wiz?" he asked.  "You know about that?  I watched it with my whole family last night!"  Understanding the importance of representation in my classroom and validating his culture / self-image in the room, provided an open door for relationship building, trust, and greater understanding.  As teachers, we must understand that each of us has a “cultural lens” or values, norms and traditions which affect how we, as individuals or as a particular group, perceive, think, interact, behave, and make judgments about our world.  We must acknowledge and embrace that our cultural views are not absolute! Through an enhanced level of self-awareness, we can understand how our unconscious biases affect our interactions with students, parents and peers. 

This message is supported in "The Wire" though Mr. Prezbo's journey of getting to know his students, understanding their home life, and having a willingness to care.  This is best exemplified by his relationship with "Dukie," a young boy whose family would sell his things causing him to have to wear the same clothing for days at a time. Mr. Prezbo discretely investigates to find out about Dukie's home life.  Upon hearing about his situation he offers a dignified and respectful solution by opening the locker room early so that he can take a shower and also provides Dukie with a laundry bag in the locker, so that he can take home Dukie's dirty clothes, wash them, and return them the next day.  Certainly, this goes beyond the typical role of a teacher, but it speaks to the reality that a teacher's role goes beyond the classroom.  In my classroom, every month I ask students to fill out a student activity calendar.  It is a space for them to write what sports they are involved in, what extra-curricular they participate in, or what they do outside of school.  Not only does this expand my view of their identity, but it also gives me the opportunity to go and support them at their outside of school functions.  Being able to see a student who is struggling to write a sentence be an all-star on the basketball court, offers a unique opportunity to reshape my perception of them.  It provides an alternative narrative - something "The Wire" stumbles over.

 

The continuation of the cultural exaggeration and over-represented narrative of the white savior coming to help save the poor black child was a general observation about the program I found quite troubling.  In the media, represented in films like "The Freedom Writers," "The Blind Side," "The Ron Clark Story," "Up the DownStaircase," "Conrack," "Blackboard Jungle,"  "The Principal," "Dangerous Minds," this repeated plot of a white inexperienced teacher coming to change the hearts and minds of marginalized students of color - to help them realize their true potential - is damaging and promotes the continuation of a biased perception of reality.  It further degrades the culture as inferior, inept, and inadequate and in need of saving. 

As a white educator, how do I avoid perpetuating this narrative?  Part of the answer is simply in recognizing that this issue even exists - that privilege is a real and institutionalized mechanism and that it can play a large role in society and in the classroom.  It becomes important then to be aware to not discredit a student's culture or home life, but to still provide them with access to the public world.  In relating this back to the thoughts of Richard Rodriguez, this becomes a bit more complicated because while his example of language shows how it can be changed and learned to join the public life, race is not as fluid.          

"My complexion assumes its significance from the context of my life" (Rodriguez, 1982, p.150).  Because he had entered the world of power, his race was not viewed as threatening.  In "The Wire" one could see examples of this in the difference simply between a black man in a government office and a black drug slinger.  It is assumed that the government official has escaped a life of crime and poverty, while the drug slinger has succumbed and failed to it.  This idea is further complicated by the fact that even if a black man has made it out or has lived up to the expectations of the culture of power, he is still an "other."  Colored skin persists to be viewed as "non-normative" in our culture.  When describing an American, it is assumed that they are white unless their race is marked or identified.  This is problematic as it promotes this idea of "other" - not truly part of the culture of power, but let in because they have assimilated to the best of their ability. 

In an educational context, we as teachers must understand these systems of power that work in and out of education and how different dominant or repressed groups are defined within these systems.  We have to examine the question of why some succeed and others don’t.  As a teacher, not only do I have the responsibility to teach my students about "the more fundamental issues that arise as different groups negotiate community" (Nieto, 1994, p. 6), but I have an opportunity, together with my students, to "highlight injustice of all kinds - racial, gender, class, linguistic, ethnic, national, environmental - to make explanations and propose solutions" (Bigelow, 1999, p. 4) and put forward actions that will create real positive change.  

References

Bigelow, B. (1999). Why Standardized Tests Threaten Multiculturalism. Educational Leadership, 

          56(7), 37-40.

Nieto, S. (1994). Affirmation, Solidarity, and Critique: Moving Beyond Tolerance in Multicultural 

          Education. Retrieved July 14, 2016, from http://www.sonianieto.com/OLD/PDF/Moving
          %20beyond%20tolerance%20Mult%20Ed%201994.pdf

Rodriguez, R. (1982). Hunger of memory: The education of Richard Rodriguez: An autobiography.
          Boston, MA: D.R. Godine.

Teach For America. (2016). Retrieved August 15, 2016, from https://www.teachforamerica.org/

US White House, (2015). President Obama Interviews the Creator of “The Wire”David Simon. 

          (2015). Retrieved August 15, 2016, from https://medium.com/the-white-house/president-
          obama-interviews-the-creator-of-the-wire-david-simon-40fb7bd29b18#.k1vwurcci

Cycle Three: The Relationship Between Schools and Homes

Siebert Marks Time

By Jenni Glenin of the Daily News

A gift to the future and a glimpse of the past united alumni, retirees, students and faculty at Siebert Elementary School.  The group gathered Friday afternoon to view the contents of a time capsule buried in 1976 and replace it with a new one representing the present school year. 

Retired teachers and students from the 1975-1976 school year returned for the opening of the time capsule.  Most of them couldn’t remember what they contributed to the capsule, but the former students recalled it as an important event in their school years.

The unveiling of the 1976 time capsule revealed a collection of newspapers, letters, photographs, and stamps.  "It's really cool what they did because you can look back at the past and say "This is awesome," said student council secretary Adam Clements.

The current students selected the items for the new time capsule by class votes.  The new time capsule contains Pokémon cards, Jolly Ranchers, a Siebert T-shirt, and a yearbook, among other items.

The current student council officers and the other students aren't sure where they will be in 25 years, but several of them want to return to see their time capsule opened.  "I'm hoping that I'll come back because this year's been one of the best," Clements said.  "Our fifth grade class is like one big family."

That young fifth grader, famously quoted in his hometown paper, was me. 

Fifth grade was a very special year for me.  It was the year that I memorized every state and its capitol.  It was the year I dissected a chicken wing and figured out how tendons work.  It was the year that I expressed myself through similes and metaphors.  But above all else, it was the year that I felt a part of a family.  The community that was cultivated in that 5^th grade class was unlike anything I had experienced in school.  Being dyslexic, I could write freely knowing I wasn't going to be ridiculed for spelling beautiful without the a.  Being quite uncoordinated, I could play basketball at recess and feel like a part of the team even though my skills rarely aided in any victories.  I was valued for my unique capabilities of creativity.  I was accepted for being me. 

As I entered my collegiate study of education, much of my tasked reflection of my own schooling experiences centered on this unique ideal learning environment.  I pulled forgotten memories to the forefront to analyze looking for some answer to how this classroom family was created.  I quested every aspect of that year.  Why did this class have such a strong sense of inclusion, acceptance, and comradery?  What did the teacher do to impact this?  Why was this year of my elementary education so vividly memorized?  Was it just the make-up of students in that class?  Had I simply romanticized that year and those interactions? 

Looking for more concrete answers to these questions, I reached out to my 5^th grade teacher asking her about how this sense of community came to be. 

She responded:

"So....your question about classroom community....it is a question that I am not sure how to answer...It seems to just evolve around the way that I do things...I think that having fun together in a classroom builds that sense of family, along with role modeling respect for one another. I have zero tolerance for tattling, drama, bullying, hurting feelings, etc. I have always tried to talk to the students in the same way that I would talk with a grown up. It is important to me to have the classroom be an emotionally safe environment, as that is the best environment for learning. I share things that happen in my life so that I seem like a human being to the kids. I would have to ask you what you remember about that feeling of "family" - how that felt, what it looked like to you as a ten-year-old? It really is a great compliment to me and I thank you and apologize for not having a better answer for you!"

Following this response, she invited me to come spend the afternoon in her classroom. As I entered the room, my soul went into nostalgia overload.  Floods of familiar feelings filled my heart and forgotten memories came to my mind.  It was as if time had stood still, and yet nothing felt outdated.  Watching her teach was a surreal experience.  No longer was I viewing her through the eyes of a student, but instead, now I observed through the eyes of a colleague. 

In language arts, they continued a shared reading of the text "Rules" by Cynthia Lord.  Before starting, one student expressed that they didn't have their book and without pause, multiple other students offered to share or to get them an extra copy from somewhere else in the room.  After finishing the book, the class engaged in a deep conversation about empathy, understanding, and appreciation of differences that would rival any college lecture hall.  They willingly shared personal feelings and connected their life experiences to the text.  Their discourse was respectful, yet they still managed to critically challenge ideas. 

At the end of the day, after students had gone, that teacher and I had time for a conversation.  I was so amazed at the mastery I had just witnessed and I was looking forward to finding out how she was able to create this learning environment.  But what followed was not the conversation I had anticipated.  Instead of a teacher who was aware of just how unique and special her teaching was, I listened to a teacher inundated with stress from an overly demanding and demeaning administrator, overwhelmed by ungraded standardized assessments she hated giving, and plagued by frustration for refusing to teach "the given curriculum" that did nothing for her students.  Here was my introduction to the reality of the current education system - one overrun with conflicting policies and purposes progressively conforming to a business or industrial model that treats students as scores in a gradebook and neglects the artful teaching that skilled educators are capable of.

"Adam, it used to be like Disneyland," she said.  "I couldn't believe they actually paid me to come do this job.  Now, I just don't know how much longer I can do it.  I feel okay when I am with the kids, but you know that is only part of the job.  The rest has just become too much.  I feel like sometimes I just have to close my door and do what I know I do best."  It was disheartening to see your idol, the model for what your motivation is driven to recreate, so defeated by the negative restrictions placed on her work environment. 

    

When I returned home, I wrote a thank you note expressing my gratitude for allowing me to visit. 

"Thanks for letting me visit!  I appreciate your openness and willingness to share.  I know you feel like you weren't doing anything but you really were.  I was able to see the exact same respect and sincerely interested teacher-student conversations that I remember were so unique to me in 5th grade.  You have a masterful way of connecting to students, making them feel important, special, and worthwhile."

The sense of hopelessness, the weight of realizing the enormous task of changing the current system, of impacting it, is not hard to feel.  Yet what was apparent was that even though she felt defeated, the outsider perspective was clearly able to see that through the tangled restrictions, community prevailed.  A sense of home had been established and profoundly impacted the learning environment.  So many of us recognize the need for our classrooms to be more - to deliver a quality learning experience beyond just the core academics, but are lost on how to accomplish this or perhaps dare not to even try for fear of punitive and disciplinary measures.  Yet, if we fundamentally envision this better schooling, shouldn't we be brave and simply do it?   

This past year, my principal subbed for my class in the morning after students got back from specials while I stepped out for a 20 minute curriculum meeting.  His sub plans were to run morning meeting - a time in our day where we participate in a community builder, share lift ups recognizing what others have done well, and share good news and announcements about our personal lives.  When I returned they were in the middle of a fun conversation about soccer and the nervous energy building inside of some of them in anticipation for the big tournament that was coming that weekend.  The class was alive, engaged, and connected.  As I came back in to take over and relieve him from subbing, he stayed for another five minutes to finish morning meeting.  As he headed for the door to leave, he turned and animatedly commented on how positive he felt and questioned me why every teacher in the school did not do this.  A bit surprised and amused by his uncharacteristically energetic demeanor, I explained that it impedes on an overly scheduled academic day and can conflict with the demands of completing all the required curriculum.  "I guess," he responded, "but this just seems too important to skip." 

Small changes.

Cycle Two: Schooling, Cultural Assimilation, and Social Mobility

Certainly with enough time, motivation, and unlimited word count, I would find myself writing an entire book in response to Richard Rodriguez.  I found myself agreeing on one page, and disagreeing on the next - then questioning many of my own attitudes and beliefs about education - specifically for those students who do not match my own identity (white, male, middle-class - the top of the privileged food chain).  This is something I have continually, consistently, and - to the best of my ability - thoughtfully grappled with since day one of my teacher education.    

In one of my early undergraduate teacher education classes through MSU, we were required to complete a service learning experience at the Refuge Development Center.  After getting off the bus and walking through the busy intersection of Michigan and Pennsylvania, I walked into the large brick building that had been a church in a past life, yet still provided sanctuary for refugees looking for resources and education.  Before working with the students, the group was directed to meet with the supervisor who would be instructing an orientation.  Near the end, she explained that we would be listening to a final presentation and quizzed at the end.  Our success on the quiz would determine our ability to volunteer and attain the credit required by service learning.  She gave the floor over to a different woman who as she opened her mouth, unfamiliar words began to pour out.  She was speaking in a completely different language.  We all began to look at each other, confused and increasingly feeling the stress of the situation creep up.  The speaker began asking questions - only discernible by her non-verbal cues and the inflection of her voice.  "Ni nyekundu hii?" she kept asking while pointing randomly around the room.  Collectively our heart rates increased and the air became thin.  We didn't know the answer to her questions - we didn't even know the questions.  She became agitated with our incompetence.  Her voice began to increase in volume.  "Hii ni nyekundu!" she shouted.  And then it stopped.  "Focus on this feeling you have right now inside of you," she said - in prefect comprehensible English.  This is the life of a refuge - instantly expected to understand a world so unfamiliar, so new, so unforgiving.  As teachers, if we do not take time to understand someone's experience, how can we ever expect them to learn?"  She then began to speak in the unfamiliar language again, but this time it was different.  "Nyekundu," she said and pointed to the red carpet.  "Nyekundu," she repeated and pointed to a red dress.  "Nyekundu," she said and pointed to her red shoes.  Nyekundu meant red.  "Nyekundu?" she asked as she pointed to the red hat worn by the guy three rows ahead of me.  "Yes," we said collectively, "Nyekundu!" 

That experience has been a constant item of reflection whenever I encounter students for whom English is their second language.  Rodriguez in great personal detail, describes his own experience of learning English.  Along with feelings of inadequacy he brings up the perspective of ownership.  His initial struggle with English was not solely caused by his unfamiliarity with it, but because he felt disconnected from it and that it wasn't his to use.  It wasn't until he felt belonging to the public that he opened up and began to accept that new language as part of his identity.  However, in his experience and reflections thereof, I believe he has stratified his concept of language.  He admits that bilingual educators "do not realize that while one suffers a diminished sense of private individuality by becoming assimilated into public society, such assimilation makes possible the achievement of public individuality" (p. 26), yet I question his use of the term public.  Through his other examples and journaling, public becomes synonymous with power - the language of power and opportunity.  Yet I don't believe all experiences operate through this simplified idea.  Rodriguez went to a mostly white school with white classmates where the public language or the language of power was well defined.  Yet, how does his argument change when the population is mostly Hispanic - when they share the same culture and background?  We can still defend the idea that English is the langue of power (nationally), but how can we argue that it is still the public language - that it provides power in that setting?    As a white non-Spanish speaking male, if I was to go and teach in a school like this, I would be the outsider.  Should those students be expected to learn under my English-only teachings?  This certainly seems problematic (even though it happens regularly in schools across the country).  Why would I not be forced to learn the public language of the school?  Wouldn't Spanish provide me with power in that setting or at least cultural and social capital I wouldn't have otherwise? 

This brings back the issue of public individuality.  I will not argue against the fact that there are systems of power in our society that give privilege and discriminate at the same time - In order to play the game,one must understand the rules.  In fact, I fully support making sure kids understand the systems of power that work in and out of their lives and have the tools to navigate through them or change them.  However, Rodriguez uses this idea to help support immediately learning the language of power.  He describes the success he found in learning English and how that contributed to his later success in life, but at every turn of the page he exemplifies the harm that this can cause to one's family or one's own identity.  He comments on his feelings of separation from his family, the strengthening distance between them, and their inadequate relationship.  He describes feelings of betrayal and guilt. He mentions self-conflict with his own identity.  He remembers embarrassment and frustration of his family's inability to help him with homework, a resentment towards their mispronunciations.  True, he was able to achieve a new public identity and was able to navigate through the dominate crowd, but at what cost?  This becomes my focus of question - as teachers how do we help English Language Learning students gain as sense of belonging to a new culture, while also keeping pride and value of their first language/culture?   

References

Rodriguez, R. (1982). Hunger of memory: The education of Richard Rodriguez: An autobiography.
          Boston, MA: D.R. Godine.

Cycle One: The Culture of Childhood

As a kid, I loved camp.  Our church growing up had a camp site on Wixom Lake near Beaverton and I can vividly recall two very different experiences there.  Out on the water, past the point where it goes over your head but where the seaweed just tickles your toes, is a wooden diving platform, sometimes covered in seagull… well you know.  In my late middle school years (so maybe I was 12 or 13) I volunteered to be a counselor and help supervise elementary aged campers.  During swim time, I would run through the shallow sandbar and dive into the water headed for the diving platform.  Once there, it didn't take long for it to be surrounded by 8 and 9 year olds.  Being the youthful adolescent that I was, I remember taking the campers and throwing them off the platform watching them splash into the water.  When they came back up, breaking the water's surface, they were laughing and would energetically swim back to the ladder to repeat the process.  During the summer before my senior year of high school (so I was 17), I organized a camp for economically disadvantage kids (3^rd - 5^th graders) at the same campsite.  When it came time for swimming, my friends, who I had gotten to help volunteer as counselors, rushed through the shallow water and headed right for the diving platform.  My insides unexpectedly began to tighten.  Confused at my body's response, I ignored it and proceeded to watch the campers follow the counselors out to the platform.  My pulse began to quicken.  Alarmed at my physiological state, I took a few deep breaths.  As I was breathing in, I witnessed one of the counselors throw a camper off the platform and into the water.  My breathing stopped.  Automatically I shouted, "Nope!  No throwing anybody off that guys… someone is going to get hurt."  Startled at my response, I explicitly remember questioning what I had just done.  An inner debate began to fester inside my mind.  "But you did the same thing as a counselor and it was awesome," I said to myself.  "I know… but I am responsible this week.  What if one of those kids gets really hurt or what if a parent tries to sue me?"  I argued back.  "Is this what being a parent feels like then?  True responsibility?  This feels awful."  I concluded.  "But wait, you were prepared for this.  You have red-cross certified lifeguards right over there.  You have a medically trained ER doctor right over there."  I questioned.  "I know… but is it worth the risk?"

My camp experiences mirror the dramatic shift that has unmistakably occurred in our society as a whole.  The 1950s parenting style of "be home before dark," compared to "no… you can't go over there honey...  Jamie's mom doesn't buy organic," is striking.  Certainly when labeled with these over generalized examples, the nostalgia for what was certainly plays to a greater audience.  However, I have to question it.  I am not arguing for the rigidly scheduled, creatively constrictive, and overly monitored childhood that is visible today, but do we really want to go back to uninvolved, absent, parents who don’t know where their child is going or what they are doing?  Shouldn't we value a parent who is actively involved in their kid's experiences and helping to guide them through critical thinking and thoughtful reflection?  It also stands to to assess these different styles of parenting by the adults that they produce.  True, this is unfair as this current generation is still in childhood, but did the children of the 1950s turn out that great?   

I agree that there is a case to be made that we do need to pause and step back from the direction that we are moving in.  The overwhelming research presented about the value of free play or even "risky play" helps to justify giving kids more autonomy.  A parallel can be drawn to the classroom - that many times as educators, we just need to get out of the way.  I draw on numerous classroom discussions that my students and I have had about various topics.  More often than not, a classroom discussion is directed by who?  The teacher.  But why?  Yes, we have our desired learning goals and standards to meet, but more often than not, it is because we are afraid that unless we control the conversation, things are going to get out of control.  In my experience, this fear couldn't be more unsubstantiated.  In fact, it is when I give the discussion over to the students that they are able to engage with one another more effectively, are more willing to share, provide deeper insights, and make stronger connections to the content. 

Still, I question how advancing an agenda towards child autonomy is even societally feasible when everyone from the mailman to your waiter has an opinion on how you should be raising your child.  We live in a world that instead of empathizing with the trauma experienced by a mother whose child fell into a gorilla enclosure, we blame her as unfit and demand that CPS take that child away.  Yet, what kid doesn't have an "I was lost in the store" story?  I can easily remember hiding in the circular clothing racks of Target, or looking up from the PlayStation stand and play console at Best Buy and not seeing my mom next to me anymore because she said we were leaving 3 minutes ago. 

Clearly balance is needed and any extreme can have negative impacts on a child's growth and development.  I still struggle to know what that balance looks like, but recognizing that there isn't a simple answer, or that a gray area exists, is helpful when making conscious and reflective-based decisions as a teacher, and possibly someday in the future as a father.

Introductory Post

Hello TE 822ers.  My name is Adam Clements.  Originally I am from Midland, Michigan.  I attended Michigan State University and majored in Elementary Education with teaching specializations in Language Arts and Math.  (Certified: K-5 All Subjects / 6-8 ELA and Math)  After graduating, I completed a few of my master's credits overseas in South Africa on an amazing study abroad experience.  Aside from bungee jumping off the world's highest commercial bungee bridge (216 m), or riding an ostrich, the best part of that experience was being able to learn and work with a 3^rd grade class of about 50 students.  Following that experience, my internship year was at Attwood Elementary in Lansing, Michigan with a fantastic 5^th grade class.  I was then hired by Okemos Public Schools in Michigan and have been teaching 4^th grade for the past three years at Hiawatha Elementary School.

This course marks the more than half way mark in my journey through the MATC program!  I am now focusing on the concentrations requirement coursework and have chosen Socio-Cultural Perspectives in Teaching and Learning.  My goal for this course is to have the opportunity to critically reflect on the relationship between curriculum and culture and the impact they have in the classroom.  For example, how does the expectation of teaching a single curriculum with fidelity effect the many different students with diverse backgrounds, abilities, learning differences, and interests in a classroom?  I fear that a vast majority of curriculum is designed with a specific student in mind which often has damaging and inequitable consequences for many students who are already marginalized outside of our school systems.  How do we better meet the needs of ALL our students and what role can curriculum play in this?   

When I have a moment of free time, or when I am procrastinating grading something I often turn to Netflix!  I love movies and TV shows - I think that some of the best writing can be found in movies and TV - writing that provokes conversations and incites self-reflections.  It is less common now, but every so often you run into someone who says they don't have time for movies or TV - often said in a dismissive tone.  And that is okay… more for me!

When asked to think about one of my favorite TV shows that portrays teaching, perhaps it is the elementary in me - but my mind went to "The Magic School Bus" staring everyone's favorite science teacher… Miss Frizzle.  I have vivid memories of watching the show as a kid and being so engaged in the color and whimsical voice of Lily Tomlin.  What kid didn't wish that Miss Frizzle was their teacher - I mean they went on a fieldtrip every day… and not your basic fieldtrip to the planetarium or the natural history museum, but to the moon or to the Jurassic age!  Even later in my educational carrier when I found myself sitting in high level science courses, small fragments of science concepts that I had learned from that program had been retained and I was able to recall them.  As I reflect on the show through a teaching perspective, Miss Frizzle emulates the standard for quality teaching.   She skillfully provides students with opportunities for discussion, asks purposeful leading questions, guides students to construct their own conclusions, engages her students in lessons (even Arnold always comes around eventually), cultivates a classroom environment that students feel safe to take positive risks, designs hands on experiences, and engages in multiple high-leverage practices like eliciting and interpreting individual students’ thinking, building respectful relationships with students, and coordinating / adjusting instruction during a lesson.

I am looking forward to this course and learning with everyone.  

I included a video I used to introduce myself in a previous class.  Enjoy!