Tamiko stood outside the doorway of room 415, nervously rocking back and forth as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, clutching her assessment binder. The assessment meeting was supposed to be during the second part of her third period prep, but it seemed that the school leadership team was still conferring with Joan, better known to the children as Miss Fields. Joan was another new teacher that Tamiko had developed a friendship with. “It probably won’t be that bad”, Tamiko said to comfort herself. “After all, I’ve only been teaching on my own for two months. They’ve got to cut me some slack. I’m still learning.”
And it had been the most exasperating two months. During those eight weeks, all of Tamiko’s expectations about the profession had been dashed to the ground by the professional expectations of the organization for which she worked. She thought her experience as a teacher would be vaguely similar to that of the teachers who had taught her. Tamiko thought she would have the chance to create and innovate in ways that would inspire her students to learn. She thought she would be a part of an open dialogue with education professionals, who would respect her ideas and observations, and who would help her to improve her practice, however, in reality she found herself in a totally different world.
There were curricula and calendars that were written in stone, to be administered in a specific sequence. The Writing Unit on Narratives had to be exactly three weeks. The Core Math Addition/Subtraction unit ran exactly 4 weeks. It didn’t matter if there were children who were not getting the concept. If they didn’t get it in the time allotted, it must be due to poor teaching. Lessons were scripted, with the Literacy coach and lead teachers not suggesting, but demanding that she use certain words and phrases when she spoke with the children. She had to begin each lesson with the phrase “Yesterday, we… and today, we are going to…” Tamiko had to end every lesson with “So, today and every day, you can….” Every classroom had to use the same color chart for discipline. Every lesson had to be done using the workshop model, even if it were an exploratory lesson. You must have the connection, teach, active engagement, link, and share. Even if the lesson was a read-aloud and didn’t really conform to this structure, you had to make it conform. Read-alouds had to be done using the Expressions curriculum. That meant Tamiko could only read stories like Chrysanthemum by Kevin Henkes, or A Chair for My Mother by Vera B. Williams. She couldn’t introduce her students to books written by other authors. Authors that looked like them, that experienced life from a similar perspective. And you couldn’t close your door and shut out administrative interference. The coaches and the lead teachers were constantly there, observing, providing feedback, so much feedback, you barely had enough time to digest it all. It all made Tamiko feel as if she was a factory worker. There was nothing of her at all in her classroom or in her teaching. She just did what the curriculum writers, the literacy coach, the math coach, and the older teachers told her to do. And then there was the nightmare of assessments.
There were four assessments that had to be administered individually to each student on a monthly basis. With 24 students in the class, the assessments would take at least two weeks to administer. By the time she finished an assessment, analyzed it, and incorporated information into her lessons plans, it was time for the next round of assessments. Sometimes Tamiko felt she spent most of her time assessing rather than teaching. But at least the people were friendly, and they seemed to care about her development as a teacher. Suddenly, the door opened and she heard the sound of laughter and congratulations, before Joan came bouncing out cheerfully.
“So how did it go?” Tamiko half-whispered eagerly.
“It went great, but I’ll tell you more about it later. I gotta go set up my room for math before I have to pick up my kids from art”, replied Joan before she hurried away downstairs.
Her friend’s appraisal of the situation made Tamiko optimistic about her own imminent date with the school leadership team.
Tamiko went into the room and was stupefied by all of the people present. There was the principal, Mrs. Stone, the assistant principal, Mrs. Nettlenerves, the lower school literacy coach, Charlotte Booker, the lower school math coach, Milton Resnick, and the lead teachers all assembled together to discuss the progress of her students with her. The presence of so many to discuss what seemed so intimate a topic was more than a little intimidating for Tamiko. She felt as if she was taking the stand at a trial and she was the defendant in question. After greeting the team with a timid “Good afternoon”, Tamiko took a seat at the long conference table that placed her furthest from all of the other participants. The inscrutable expressions on their faces set Tamiko even more on edge than she already was.
“Miss Bynum, lets take a look at the data on your students, shall we?” began the ominous Mrs. Steele the first grade lead teacher.
“We’ll start with your students progress in literacy. You have 24 students, and last month, you began with 4 students below level in reading, 15 on level and 5 students above level for this time of year. Now you have 5 students below level, 13 students on level and 6 who are above level. On average, the children in your class have moved 1 level, however the average movement for the teachers on your grade level has been 2 levels. Are you noticing anything so far?”
Before Tamiko could answer, the assistant principal chimed in with an observation of her own.
“I’m noticing, that children aren’t really moving in this class, and it concerns me a lot. Especially the fact that your bottom 4 students haven’t shown much progress at all.”
Tamiko was stunned. The assistant principal who often came around with her happy-go-lucky demeanor now seemed so stern and even accusatory with her words. Tamiko, however, would defend herself.
“Actually, they have shown some progress. When these bottom 4 students came into my class, they didn’t even know their letters or sounds. Now they have made some progress in that area, even if they have not moved up into reading text yet. And they’ve only been in school for 2 months.”
“That’s all well and good,” added Booker, the literacy coach, “but a child does not need to know all of his letters and sounds to begin reading text. If you’ve read Clay, it’s very evident.1 There are other teachers who are in the same situation, and have managed to get children with similar backgrounds up to level 2 by now. We all know about the children and where they started. What we’d like to know is what you’ve been doing to help these children?”
Tamiko was stunned by Charlotte’s condescending and critical tone. In her role as literacy coach, Charlotte had observed her on more than several occasions since the beginning of the school year. In follow up evaluation meetings, Charlotte would always tell Tamiko about how great her lessons were. Charlotte was always positive and reassuring. She thought that they were friends even! Looking across the conference table from her now, it seemed as if she had morphed into another person. How could Charlotte question Tamiko about what she was doing to help her students? Most of the things Tamiko had been doing were what Charlotte had recommended. Tamiko definitely felt like she had to speak up for herself, but she would exercise tact.
“As you’ve suggested, I’ve been pulling the neediest children in small groups for strategy lessons that are tailored to their unique needs. I even work with them during some of my preps. I have been giving them homework that is different from that given to the other children so that they can build the skills that will allow them to catch up to their peers. I have called their parents and discussed how they can work with them at home…”
“But that’s just it. You say that you are working with them in small groups and you have tailored lessons to their unique needs, but we’re not seeing any change. It makes me wonder just how you’ve been using the data you’ve been getting from your class. The whole point is not just to execute lessons, but to plan effective lessons”, Principal Stone interrupted.
“I must agree. And it’s not just the children at the bottom levels that worry me. Every child should be making pro
gress based on his or her individual capabilities. I know that you have some very bright children who are above benchmark who could be pushed higher. For example, you have Jasmine Evans. When she left my kindergarten, class last year, she was a high level 16 and so far she’s only moved one level. I’m concerned that you may not be differentiating instruction for these higher-level students”, put in Charity Fontaine, the kindergarten lead teacher.
Tamiko was floored by what seemed to be the open hostility of the panel. It sounded to her as if they were trying to tell her that she wasn’t a good teacher. If she wasn’t, what accounted for those A’s in student teaching? Even if she wasn’t the greatest teacher, that didn’t justify the outright animosity in the tone of these so called professionals. It wasn’t like she was giving the children worksheets all day. She stayed up until after 10:00pm most nights planning lessons and preparing materials. Tamiko was doing her best. In fact, Charity was insinuating that Tamiko was ruining the good work she had done with Jasmine last year. Taking advantage of the situation to toot her own horn at Tamiko’s expense. “Don’t jump to conclusions”, Tamiko warned herself. The point of the meeting is to help me find ways to improve, not to judge. But it certainly felt as if they were judging.
“What I think we need to do is to plan some ‘next steps’ that are going to help you lift the level of your teaching so that your children can move to the next level”, suggested Mrs. Steele casually.
“But most of my children are already meeting the current benchmarks for first grade.”
“Just because they’ve met current benchmarks doesn’t mean you can just leave them to teach themselves while you take a break…” Mrs. Stone spat out.
“What we mean is,” Miss Steele intervened coolly, cutting off the principal, “every child should make at least a year’s worth of progress. That means, for many of our students, simply meeting current grade level benchmarks or even meeting end of year benchmarks isn’t enough. It’s our duty as educators to take them as far as they can go. We don’t know what kind of education they’ll get once they leave this school.”
Tamiko couldn’t argue with what the woman was saying, even if she didn’t like her very much.
“Not to mention it’s the Chancellor’s Regulation”, Mrs. Nettlenerves added. “This school is being judged by the amount of progress students make in a given year. At this school, we have the reputation for helping children to make a year and a half’s worth of progress in a school year. We’ve been fortunate enough to receive the “Well Developed” Rating two years in a row. This year we’re aiming for the “Outstanding” rating and we have to have every teacher on their “A” game if we’re going to get it.”
“If you’d like, I can come into your class and observe you for a while, and when necessary, provide demonstration lessons in areas of literacy that you may be a little weak in”, offered Steele.
This was just what Tamiko needed. More observations, more judgments. She reminded herself that she needed to keep an open mind.
“That sounds fine…”
“I think it’s an excellent idea, and Charlotte can help you and Rosalyn work on scheduling the observations. I’m also going to schedule you for several informal observations, before the big formal in April. That way, you can get the feedback you need to develop your teaching skills”, said Nettlenerves.
“I will come to you during your first period prep tomorrow, and we’ll work on the details”, said Steele.
“Thank you for coming in Tamiko. And remember, that the purpose of these meetings is to learn and to improve the practice of teaching. That’s what’s best for the school and the kids”, Nettlenerves said to end the meeting.
Tamiko merely nodded and left the room deeply despondent and dispirited.
Commencement Page 19
