A Place at the Table

I’ve finally found the time to read Malcolm Gladwell’s New Yorker essay on predicting success in quarterbacks and teachers. He follows football talent spotter Dan Shonka as he scouts college athletes for professional football teams. Shonka admits that it’s something of a crapshoot:

This is the quarterback problem. There are certain jobs where almost nothing you can learn about candidates before they start predicts how they’ll do once they’re hired. So how do we know whom to choose in cases like that? In recent years, a number of fields have begun to wrestle with this problem, but none with such profound social consequences as the profession of teaching.

With all due respect to an often intriguing writer, it seems to me that Gladwell fumbles the analogy.

Shonka is picking and choosing among the top quarterbacks in the country. In screening players, he doesn’t even consider walk-ons. Most of the screening, in fact, has already been done for him. Even so, we learn that success in picking future NFL stars is far from certain. So why does this situation suggest to Gladwell that “a degree and a pulse” might be sufficient qualifications to give someone a chance at their own classroom? Where, in the teaching scenario, do we see the middle and high school coaches and college recruiters who long ago sifted through the walk-on quarterbacks and weeded out the totally unsuited? We don't. Instead we would see (in Gladwell's scheme and in all too many "emergency" school staffing programs) legions of walk-ons with no training or specific skills getting a try-out as your kid’s teacher for the next 200 days.

Resources also make a difference in the successful transition to pro ball. Players get top notch equipment, training and support as they begin their careers as pros. They aren’t asked to share helmets, they don’t take their uniforms home to wash before the next game, and they aren’t expected to word-process the gameday programs, make the travel arrangements, tally up tickets sales, or sell concessions during halftime to fund the new Astroturf. Still, success is not guaranteed.

Professional development is ongoing and specific. There is plenty of time set aside to practice, and the quarterbacks don’t spend that practice time on tackling drills just because data driven assessment indicates the defensive line didn’t hold last Sunday. Coaching is targeted, intensive and based on a cycle of observation, practice, and feedback. Before a franchise walks away from its investment, resources are amassed and incentives are offered for improvement. Still, success is not guaranteed.

Football is a team sport and while quarterbacks matter, their success is dependent on the linemen that give them coverage and the receivers downfield. Think of linemen as the administrators who must create a protective pocket in which a teacher can work (rather than trying to tell him how to call the plays). Think of receivers as students who are ready to learn (rather than being expected to play without proper protective gear, a decent pre-game meal, access to the team doctors and trainers, or to face a stadium full of people who assume they are born to lose).

Some other not-quite-random thoughts about football and teaching:

• In the sport of school, 100% pass completion is considered a reasonable goal, and please don't expect any allowances to be made for any downfield interference. We tend to blame the quarterback for just not really trying if there is not a 10% per game improvement in receptions.

• Read a few biographies of professional athletes and you'll quickly learn that they don’t play just for the joy of the game. They expect to be compensated. Here we have something in common. Teachers don’t teach just to make the world a better place, and while we don't sign multimillion-dollar contracts before our first game, we think it would be reasonable to expect financial security after ten years of proven performance.

• Many teachers don’t find performance pay unthinkable, but they do expect “value added” to include some measure of how they and their receivers (students) perform on the actual field of play. And it makes them anxious when people who don't understand the game want to make compensation decisions based entirely on the final score.

Gladwell points out that even Shonka, with all his savvy and experience, has difficulty predicting success because the context and the specifics of quarterbacking are different in college and the pros. It's just very, very hard to determine in advance who will have all it takes to do the job well.

In teaching, the implications are even more profound. They suggest that we shouldn’t be raising standards (for teaching). We should be lowering them, because there is no point in raising standards if standards don’t track with what we care about. Teaching should be open to anyone with a pulse and a college degree—and teachers should be judged after they have started their jobs, not before.

By this logic, should we not give every college quarterback a chance at the NFL? You know, suit them up, send them out on Sunday afternoon, give them the ball, and see how they play. Of course this won’t happen in the NFL because the risk is too high--they might lose the game! Notice--- that’s GAME. Isn’t the welfare and education of our children a higher stakes situation? Shouldn't we attempt to do everything we can to lower the potential for failure by setting the best standards we can on the front end?

To be fair, it seems that Galdwell’s real point is that we still haven’t defined what makes successful teachers. He recalls the research of Jacob Kounin who attempted to define teaching “withitness” as “a teacher’s communicating to the children by her actual behavior.” Quick research reveals this as a technical research term combining “eyes in the back of the head” and “the look.” Is it instinctive, sort of like knowing how to throw a ball? Maybe. Does this mean that teacher preparation, like football coaching, is superfluous fluff? Very likely not.

Gladwell also points to research at the University of Virginia’s Curry School of Education that is attempting to quantify the skills of highly effective teachers. “Regard for student perspective” and “feedback” are among the dispositions of successful teachers that are captured and recorded from tapes of how teachers adapt content and pedagogy as they interact with students. This is not rookie good luck. What the researchers are capturing is expertise built on knowledge and experience refined through practice and reflection.

Actually, I think Gladwell gets it. Effective teaching is not easily quantifiable. Context and human interaction matter. So how come when he says teaching is a mystery, the pundits say “Ahh!” But when teachers say their work is complex, and we argue that our effectiveness should be validated through submission of a portfolio assessment based on actual practice, the pundits say “Nahhh!” How come we laugh about armchair quarterbacking but take armchair educating seriously?

The realities of supply and demand dictate that we will never invest the same effort or interest in choosing teachers for someone else’s children as we do in selecting quarterbacks for our own football teams. But for the record, I’d like to point out that our schools are filled with pros. They demonstrate the same qualities that we recognize in great athletes. They are tough education warriors who go out there and play school every day.

They play school regardless of the "field" condition. They play school with old and broken equipment. They play school when management ignores their input and belittles their abilities. They play school when the fickle fan of public opinion boos from the stands. They play when the money’s not so great. When the chips are down and the pressure is on, they dig a little deeper, grit their teeth, and play on because they are professionals and they are passionate about the serious game of school.

Posted by Susan Graham at 3:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Sometimes the right thing happens for all the wrong reasons. This may be the last Christmas that little girls get Bratz dolls from Santa. Judge Steven Larson has ruled that Bratz dolls must be removed from the market.

If you have problems with Barbie, you haven’t seen anything yet. Statuesque Barbie, in the style of a 1950’s fashion illustration, has measurements that would make a Miss Universe contestant weep, is more than 50% leg, and has a tiny little pinhead. Back in the day, feminists worried that she would give our daughters an unrealistic body image.

Unrealistic body image is the least of the worries about the Bratz girls. Of indeterminate age, but targeted to the three- to eight-year old market, they are short, with a tiny waist, wide hips, and thrusting adolescent breasts. Imagine a risque cartoon of Dolly Parton as a fourth grader and you’ll begin to grasp the shape. Now put on an over-sized head with a little girl’s face, featuring huge, heavily kohl-lined eyes and Angelina Jolie lips puckered into a sensual pout. Top it off with enough hair to make Rapunzel look like a naked mole rat. Finally, dress this disturbing figure in clothing that can only be described as streetwalker chic. Bodices are off the shoulder with midriffs revealed, pants are low slung and skintight, skirts stop at the pantie line above fishnet stockings and are accessorized with thigh high platform boots. Finish off the wardrobe with a selection of evening gowns that would make a Los Vegas showgirl look demure.

I look at these dolls and wonder what kind of people make, sell, and purchase toys that sexualize prepubescent children and create personalities for them with "extreme super cool attitudes" that would make most rock stars seem like reserved young ladies.

Well, the Bratz are out of business, at least for now, but for all the wrong reasons. It seems that the Bratz babes were making moves on Barbie’s fashion doll turf and putting the smackdown on her ability to turn business on the fashion doll street. Barbie is a frumpy old hen compared to these hot chicks who have not just lunch boxes; but a TV show, a movie, albums, and websites among their merchandising arsenal. Mattel isn’t happy about sharing their corner with the new girls on the block, so they have sued MGA, manufacturer of Bratz, and won. The designer who conceived the dolls was employed by Mattel, owner of Barbie, when he began developing the Bratz. A California judge found their claim of ownership of the "intellectual property" of the Bratz dolls convincing. (Just for the record, I'd like to say that to call this intellectual property is an oxymoron, but then again, I don't understand exactly how LA Grand Theft Auto became a "game" for suburban kiddies in Kansas either.)

Which saddens me most? That our culture tolerates this kind of toy? That parents are purchasing these for things their daughters and sons? That years of work for women’s equality has been distorted into this idea of what feminism is? That crime is victimless? That it’s worth millions of dollars in legal fees to fight not over whether the dolls should be sold, but rather over who will profit from the sale? That parents need a warning label that a game about stealing cars might not be appropriate for their child?

At the risk of being a Grinch, I’d like climb down chimneys and gather up all of these dolls, grab all the Grand Theft Auto games, and a lot of other video games while I was at it. If the Whos down in Whoville had nothing left under their Christmas trees at that point, then shame on those Who parents. I’d leave notices behind from Santa’s Workshop stating,

Dear Children, Santa enjoys granting wishes and providing toys, but Santa doesn’t do things that harm children. I would love to bring nice toys such as American Girl dolls, Tonka trucks, Fisher Price playsets, Legos, and puzzles and board games, because these toys encourage children to be children. But Santa doesn’t deal in trashy toys, so if you wanted a Bratz doll or the Grand Auto Theft video game you will need to submit your wish list to the manufacturers’ representatives. However, my Little Ones, you may discover that, unlike Old Santa, these people don’t deal in bringing joy to good little girls and boys. They are only interested in lining their own pockets; and if that means peddling commercialism, sex, violence, and greed to the next generation they have no compunction about doing so. This is because they are naughty, not nice people and your parents ought to know better than to give them access to your minds.

Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Joyful Kwanzaa, and Peace on Earth to All Men, Women and Children of Goodwill.

Posted by Susan Graham at 6:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

During this annual season of teacher mugs and homemade fudge, I got and gave my possibly best Christmas teacher present ever. A couple of Sunday evenings ago I was busy multi-tasking (cooking supper and grading papers) when the phone rang. Mine was probably a less than completely gracious “Hello?”

“Is this my little Susie?” said the voice on the other end of the line.

I may be 58 years old, but I recognized that voice immediately. It was Mrs. Burnett, my sixth grade teacher.

It has been four decades since I graduated from John Tyler High School. We formed a reunion committee this year, and Jake, a classmate who is a retired teacher, set us up a webpage with personal profiles, a message board, a chat forum, and all sorts of social networking features. We’ve had a great time catching up on each others’ present lives and remembering our shared past.

Inevitably, the topic of teachers came up, and I was not surprised to discover that Mrs. Burnett, that sixth grade teacher who made such a difference to me, mattered to a great many of us. Much to our delight, we managed to locate her. She had remarried after Mr. Burnett’s death and been widowed a second time, but was still living independently at age 98. Since she had given up driving at 93, it was agreed that our classmate Reeves would escort her as a Guest of Honor to the reunion last month.

Since I live in Virginia, taking time off from school and going home to East Texas for two days just wasn’t feasible. While I was sorry to miss seeing my classmates, not being there to see Mrs. Burnett was the greatest disappointment. So I wrote her a long letter recalling her 100 prefixes and 100 suffixes and two vocabulary words for each -- and the poems she had us memorize, and the history notebook that provided us with both historical knowledge and geographical perspective, but also introduced us to culture. I wanted her to know how significant her teaching had been in my life and how it had influenced my own professional practice. I hoped she would be proud of me.

Reeves emailed, reporting that Mrs. B. was as sharp as ever, firmly in control of the evening, and had a grand time. She, like all the guests, went home with a class directory. And now, here she was on the phone, saying:

“Your class was one of those special ones where you see so much potential. You all challenged me as a teacher, but you were special. I still remember when I gave you the Paul Revere’s Ride assignment. Most of you learned more than I expected, but you, Susie -- you just kept going on through verse after verse after verse right through to the last line. I couldn’t believe you learned the whole thing.”

The assignment was to memorize as much of Longfellow’s poem as we could. The assessment was a group recitation. Mrs. Burnett, demonstrating her amazing recall, told me that it was sort of a spur of the moment decision to teach it this way. We talked about lesson design and student motivation. She thought the competition would challenge us and that starting out the recitation together would help those who were less confident. She knew about differentiation before differentiation was cool. She also believed memorization helped us expand our intellectual capacity and that the imagery and rhythm and rhyme of poetry would help us in recall. She understood something about the brain's learning processes before any researcher put it down on paper.

Then she said:

“I always tried to treat all my students the same, but you’re a teacher, too, so you know that you don’t feel the same about all of them. Some students really are teacher’s pets. You always loved words for their own sake, and you had so much intellectual curiosity. I always had great expectations for you, and I'm so proud that you chose to use your gifts in the classroom. You were one of my all-time favorites.”

Mrs. Burnett was my favorite teacher, and I was my favorite teacher’s favorite! This phone call may have been one of the best teacher/student gift exchanges of all time.

Merry Christmas, Mrs. Burnett.

Posted by Susan Graham at 4:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)