The Treasure Hunter

If you have been wondering why I am posting old pieces already posted elsewhere, it’s because school hasn’t started yet around here and even the news about education elsewhere has been sparse.   Bragging–just a little bit–I want you to know that I subcribe to two newspapers outside of Oregon just to find out what’s going on around the country.  The answer is not much.

What I hope to do, starting in mid September, is to visit the classrooms of teachers I know and others that have been recommended to me.  When I see good things happening in their classrooms I will take notes and report on them here.  Until then, I hope that my current readers will hang on with me and find value in my older articles.  If you do, I will  be rewarding you with a new essay tomorrow on the “other” purpose of education.

As I promised, I am beginning to write this blog once more. Since some readers may be new and others not familiar with my beliefs about education, I am starting with a dose of my basic philosophy of what schools should be and do.  Although I published this essay when I began this blog I have revised it, and for me at least, it is timeless. 

Though my years in the classroom are long past, at heart I am still a cranky old English teacher who bristles at some of the neologisms that have crept into our language but don’t belong there. I make it a point never to tack “ly” onto ordinal number words such as “third” or say “myself” when I mean “I” or “me.” And I never use “access” or “impact” as verbs because I consider them still to be only nouns.* Even so, I remain politely quiet when others commit grammatical transgressions. I figure they will learn what is right or continue to mark themselves as dummies.

But there is one word I dislike so intensely when used to express what education should be that I can’t remain silent under any circumstances: “rigor”. Part of my reaction is emotional, having learned that “rigor” is properly paired with “mortis.” My other reactions are logical, stemming from the literal meanings of rigor: harshness, severity, strictness, inflexibility and immobility.  None of those qualities are what I want for students at any level. And, although I don’t believe that the politicians, scholars or media commentators –who use the word  rigor so freely– really want them either, I still reproach them for using rigor to characterize educational excellence.

Rigor has been used incorrectly to promote the idea that American students need advanced course work, complex texts, and longer school days in order to be ready for college or the workplace. But, so far, the rigorous practices included in school reform plans have not raised test scores or improved high school graduation rates. Since I believe it is time for a better word and a better concept to drive American education to a higher level, I recommend “vigor.” My dictionary says it means “active physical or mental force or strength; healthy growth; intensity, force or energy.” And my mental association is to all the Latin-based words related to the word “life”.

How much better our schools would be if they provided classroom activities throbbing with energy, growth and life. Although school buildings have walls, they should not separate students from vigorous learning. To learn, students need first-hand experiences with real-world problems–not only in math and science, but also in civics and nutrition-, knowledge garnered from multiple sources–not only from textbooks and the internet, but also from talking to people of all ages and backgrounds. They also need a variety of useful skills: at least a taste of those of farmers, craftsmen, mechanics, athletes, business managers, and sales workers.

Instead of aiming for higher test scores, a vigorous school would care more about what students do with what they have been taught. At all grade levels a school should foster activities that allow students to demonstrate their learning in real contexts, such as serving in the school lunchroom, checking out books in the library, organizing playground games for younger students or reading to them, making items to sell at a school store, creating a school vegetable garden, painting murals in the hallways, adopting a nearby road for clearing its trash quarterly, and school recycling of re-usable materials, such as cardboard milk containers.

Schools should also encourage students to use their abilities and interests beyond the classroom and beyond traditional extra-curricular activities. They should have opportunities to create a musical group, write and perform poetry or drama, draw and post political cartoons and humorous comic strips, make artistic or informational videos, and work with adults on community projects. As a result of the vigor that those activities exemplify, there will come the intellectual intensity, precision, critical alertness, expertise and integrity that the critics of education are actually calling for when they misuse the word “rigor.” These habits of mind, body and spirit are the true fruit of educational excellence. In the end, vigor in our schools is the evidence of life, while rigor is the sign of early death.

*If you don’t believe me, look them up.

On August 21, 2015, Diane Ravitch’s blog posted an article by Joanne Yatvin:  A Sharp Contrast Between the U.S. and Korea in Attitudes Towards Public Education and Children.  Click on link to read.

Not long ago three respected university presidents wrote a commentary for our local newspaper, The Oregonian, suggesting that the high schools of the future need to be far different physically from those today. Under the provocative headline,“It’s Time to Throw Out the High School Classroom,” they assert that existing school buildings no longer fit students’ needs and will become more unsuitable every year.  Interestingly, their call for a new type of high school is based on more than the size and structure of current classrooms and lecture halls; it is also based on what those facilities imply about the essentials of teaching and learning.

The writers believe that the roles of both students and teachers have changed in recent years and will change more in the future. Although they cannot describe those new roles precisely, they feel confident about the directions in which they will move. Below are their predictions:

“The days when teachers imparted their knowledge to the students, seen as empty receptacles, are long gone.”

“Teachers will have to be guides, interpreters and access points to the vast and varied sources of knowledge…around the world.”

“Schools need to be reimagined …as places for gathering, collaboration and exchange.”

“More learning will be self-directed and draw on information and knowledge far beyond the teacher and the school.”

“Experiential learning, both inside and outside of school, will become much more important”.

“Students will need space designed for hands-on construction or   manufacturing…or running a micro business or social enterprise.”

“Some (students) will work in a collaborative study space on a group project.”

“And some students… will be out getting practical experience.”’

Reading this commentary I wanted to open my window and shout, “A better day is coming!” to the world.  My only quibble with the authors is that they neglect to suggest similar changes for elementary and middle schools. Younger children can learn to read, write, do math, plan projects, and think independently and creatively in organizational structures and processes much like those proposed for their high school counterparts. They may need only a bit more guidance and support from their teachers.

Finally, I want to name the heroic university presidents who are thinking and speaking far beyond the banality of The Common Core Standards and the insanity of America’s testing regime:

Joe Robertson, President Oregon Health and Science University

Melody Rose, President of Marylhurst University

Wim Wiewel, President of Portland State University

I congratulate them, and you should, too!

I will begin this blog with two pieces I wrote long ago that were published elsewhere. The first is my definition of a good school; the second is my view of “vigor” and “rigor” in schools. Although I realize that some readers may have read one or both pieces before, I am taking the liberty of reminding them where I stand on education. Here’s the first dose of my philosophy. I will administer the second dose to those still standing a few days later.

In my view a good school mirrors the realities of life in an ordered society; it is rational and safe, a practice ground for the things adults do in the outside world. A good school creates a sense of community that permits personal expression within a framework of social responsibility. It focuses on learnings that grow through use–with or without more schooling–such as clear communication, independent thinking, thoughtful decision-making, craftsmanship, and group collaboration. It makes children think of themselves as powerful citizens in their own world.

In contrast, an effective school, as defined by today’ standards, looks at learning in terms of test scores in a limited number of academic areas. It does not take into consideration students’ ability to solve real life problems, their social skills, or even their practicality. It does not differentiate between dynamic and inert knowledge; it ignores motivation. When we hear of a school heralded because of its high test scores, should we not ask what that school does to prepare students to live the next several decades of their lives?

A good school has a broad-based and realistic curriculum with subject matter chosen not only for its relevance to higher education and jobs, but also to family and community membership and personal enrichment. It uses teaching practices that simulate the way people function in the outside world. Children are actively involved in productive tasks that combine and expand their knowledge and competence. They initiate projects, make their own decisions, enjoy using their skills, show off their accomplishments, and look for harder, more exciting work to do.

The effective school asks much less. Children who put all their efforts into “covering” a traditional curriculum in order to “master” as much of it as possible are not seekers, initiators, or builders. They are at best reactors. The knowledge they dutifully soak up is not necessarily broad based or useful. It is taught because it is likely to appear on tests. It is quickly and easily forgotten.

Any school can become a good school when its principal and teachers have made the connections to life in the outside world that I have been talking about. It operates as an organic entity—not a machine—moving always to expand its basic nature rather than to tack on artificial appendages. A good school is like a healthy tree. As it grows, it sinks its roots deep into its native soil: it adapts to the surrounding climate and vegetation; its branches thicken for support and spread for maximum exposure to the sun: it makes its own food; it heals its own wounds; and, in its season, it puts forth fresh leaves, blossoms, and fruit.