Life in Schools

One of the things that I like the best about myself is that I'm all-boy...and I have been since the day that I was born.  I'm the kind of guy who eats his mac and cheese straight out of the pot rather than have to wash a plate and who could entertain himself all day long with nothing more than a good pile of dirt.

I live, eat and breathe sports.  I'll gladly spend hours arguing with you about why Duke has no business winning National Championships.  I remember clearly where I was when Brett Hull cheated to steal the Stanley Cup from my Buffalo Sabres over a decade ago and the phrase "wide right" still makes me cry. 

(Say nothing, Giants fans.  Nothing.)

Heck---I even had my wedding in the middle of March Madness so that our after-party could involve shooting some stick and watching hoops.  Wife wasn't happy, but just how else are you supposed convince your buddies to show up for your nuptials?

My clothes miss the laundry hamper nine times out of ten---a fortuitous twist of fate considering that I'm likely to wear everything more than once.  I've got a
shed full of power tools and a chain saw.  I'm loud, I can't sit still
and I NEVER ask for directions!

That means I'm a breath of fresh air for many of the boys that roll into my middle school classroom.  Having spent the better part of their school careers locked into desks trying to be quiet and growing tired of being misunderstood, they quickly fall in love with the guy in me.

Now don't get me wrong:  It's not that the ladies who staff the majority of elementary classrooms aren't trying to create learning environments that work for boys.  It's just that when a sixth grade boy sees a guy who loves learning AND shooting spitwads in the lunch room, their eyes are opened to new possibilities!

And I unapologetically use that leverage against them. 

They watch me write constantly and hear me talk about how important language can be as a tool of persuasion.  They listen to the questions that I ask and learn how important it is to be creative and curious.  They know I'm passionate about knowing and that I'm willing to work hard to grow smarter.

Most importantly, they know we are going to read every single day.  "I don't care what we get done today," I'll say, "but we're not skipping silent reading." 

And we don't. 

Ever. 

View this photo

A part of my commitment to silent reading, I'll admit, is selfish.  As an avid reader, I love that my job makes it possible to sit still for 30 minutes every class period with my nose buried in a book.  I churn through tons of titles every year----I just finished Speaker for the Dead and started Man on a Wire---and get paid to do it. 

It's beautiful.

But more importantly, it gives me the chance to show my boys that even booger-picking, interception grabbing, body check throwing dudes can get lost in a good book.  I love that they see me curled up in a chair in the back of the room completely oblivious to the world around me because I'm reading.

I love that they hear me tell stories about what I've read and explain why I've chosen particular titles.  I love that they can look at my reading web to see the kinds of diverse topics that catch my attention and I love that they don't have to feel weird about reading because their favorite guy teacher loves it too.

Before long, I have many of them convinced that real men read. 

It's my own little Jedi mind trick.

And it seems to be working:  On Friday, one of my favorite former students---a boy who is in ninth grade now---text messaged me from the bookstore.  "Mr. Ferriter," he wrote, "What book should I read?"

How awesome is that?!

I couldn't decide what I was happier about:  The fact that he was at a bookstore, or the fact that he thought to text message me for help in choosing a book! 

While sending him a list of suggestions, I realized that y'all might be interested in knowing the kinds of titles that I recommend to the squirrels in my life.  After all, the chances are good that you've got 'em rolling around your classrooms, too. 

So here are the three titles that I texted back:

The Secret Life of Houdini: The life story of one of America's greatest magicians, The Secret Life of Houdini captures the imagination of my athletic boys like almost no other book.  And I guess we shouldn't be surprised---Houdini was a nonconformist, too!  He took chances, showed people up, competed and imagined...behaviors that resonate with any teenage boy. 

If you're teaching middle schoolers,  Escape--The Story of the Great Houdini is an age-appropriate alternative to The Secret Life of Houdini

Into Thin Air:  Another genre of books that I try to turn my athletic boys on to are tales of mountaineering disasters.  After all, there's a survival streak in almost every guy.  That's what makes Into Thin Air a title that I'm always willing to recommend to high school boys. 

Recounting a disaster that struck a climbing party on Mt. Everest in 1996, Into Thin Air has it all:  Moral dilemmas, daring rescues, powerful emotions ranging from elation to devastation.  It's the kind of book that forces boys to think about who they are as people and what they'd likely do when faced with critical circumstances.

If you're teaching middle schoolers, Peak is an age-appropriate alternative to Into Thin Air

Ender's Game:  I gotta say, I hate science fiction.  In fact, I hate fiction period!  I almost never read it, and I find that by the time they get to middle school, many of my boys hate fiction, too.  I guess that's what happens when you're forced to read seven bajillion fairy tales in the span of five years!

Which is why Ender's Game caught me by surprise.  It is a great read about a group of boys who are living and training together in a military school in space, preparing for an inevitable war to protect Earth against "the Buggers," a heartless tribe of insects that have already invaded once. 

Ender's Game has everything an active middle or high school boy could ask for.  The main characters compete constantly---as individuals and as members of child armies that fight against each other regularly. 

The lead characters are all boys, and they work through situations that resonate.  They try to be tough, but they have emotions.  They want to fight, but their scared at the same time.  They love their friends, but are afraid to show it. 

If you're teaching middle schoolers, The White Mountains or Invitation to the Game are age-appropriate alternatives to Ender's Game

The best part about all three of these books is that they're likely to lead my former student into genres that he hadn't considered before.  If The Secret Life of Houdini catches his attention, I'll recommend biographies about Truman, Joesph Stalin or Robert Oppenheimer to him.

If he likes Into Thin Air, I'll suggest any of a number of titles about climbing the world's highest peaks---Alive by Piers Paul Read would be the first----and if he can't get enough of Ender's Game, I'll recommend Ender's Shadow---a recounting of the same events told from the perspective of Bean, another character in the book. 

I just hope he keeps asking me what to read!  I live for those moments, after all.

This is why I teach!

One of the greatest shames that I carry with me is the one year that I spent working outside of suburbia.  Needing a professional change, I transferred from a school where less than 10% of my students were living in poverty to a school where just over 30% were living in poverty.

Now, I know what you're thinking:  "This guy's lost his mind if he thinks that a school where 30% of the students living in poverty is a difficult place to work."

But even working in a school that many of my peers in more challenging buildings would describe as "easy," I knew that I'd made a mistake from the day that I walked in the front door.  You see, we had a faculty meeting where the results of our state's testing program were announced and my new staff celebrated wildly over the fact that they'd met---rather than exceeded---the state's testing expectations for their students.  That meant every teacher would earn a $750 bonus.

For me, though, that meant a $750 pay cut because the students in the affluent suburbs where I'd spent the previous 10 years of my career always exceeded the state's testing expectations, earning teachers a $1,500 yearly bonus.

It didn't take long for naive little me to figure out why meeting expectations was such a cause for celebration in my new school. 

The work was HARD.  My classes were full of small handfuls of students struggling through the social wreckage that poverty inevitably causes.  I had kids who were homeless or whose parents were imprisoned.  I had kids who'd never been to museums or to libraries.  I had kids who came to school hungry on a regular basis. 

Life was a fight for each of them---and that fight constantly spilled over into my classroom. 

Having fallen behind their peers academically, an all-too-common pattern for students living in poverty, many of the kids in my classes struggled to draw from background knowledge to understand new topics, to apply basic skills to new situations, or to produce sophisticated final products. 

While many had the potential to do well, it took high levels of commitment and determination to complete tasks that students living in middle or upper middle class neighborhoods worked through easily.

The result:  Complete frustration. 

I'd have students who could quickly calculate just how much effort it was going to take to get through assignments and then quit, not seeing the value in killing themselves to learn about geology or space.  I'd have students who would flip their desks or curse me out instead of looking foolish and slow in front of their more advantaged peers. 

I'd have students who simply couldn't believe that there was ever a chance for them to be taken seriously as knowledge creators, so they'd start punching the time clock, just waiting for the bell to ring at the end of every day.

Not being a guy to give up easily, I worked hard for my students.  I turned in to this weird hybrid professional:  Part cheerleader, part social worker, part cop, part guidance counselor, and part teacher. 

I'd create a thousand variations of every assignment, trying to find some way to motivate my students and to give them a different avenue to approach new content.  I'd design remediation lessons designed to build the background knowledge that was missing because of missed opportunities. 

I'd counsel kids after blow-ups in the hallways.  I'd try to pair kids with other school professionals who might be able to provide support.  I'd reach out to parents, trying to explain the routes that they could take to help their students reengage with school. 

But these efforts carried real costs:  I'd go home every single day completely discouraged and exhausted.  For every small step that I took forward, I'd have to expend more mental, emotional and professional energy than I had to give.  I felt like a modern day Sisyphus

My relationship with my wife suffered, my health suffered, and my ability to be fully present with my family suffered.  I'd crossed the line between a "career" and a "calling," and that wasn't a sacrifice I was willing to make.  And that's why I'd decided by January to make my way back to the 'burbs.

Maybe I SHOULD be ashamed of myself.  After all, I gave up.  Walked away.  Took the easy route.  Threw in the towel.  Raised the white flag.  Quit on my kids.

Heartless, huh? 

Being an accomplished teacher, though, I knew just how impossible the circumstances were in the building where I was teaching. 

No one gave me any extra time to plan with colleagues or to contact parents even though both of those tasks were far more time-consuming for me than they had been when I was working in the suburbs. My classes were as large as ever, making it difficult to provide the kind of focused and targeted attention that students with a huge range of strengths and weaknesses needed to be successful. 

Compounding the problem, I had no extra training opportunities in working with students who had learning disabilities or who came from communities struggling with poverty.  There were no extra resources in my building---textbooks, trade books, remedial collections, digital tools---that I could use to reach my low-income students, and there were no extra people----nurses, guidance counselors, social workers, police officers----that could help me to pair families with the kinds of supports that the kids back in Neverland never really needed.

Which is why I'd almost certainly be one of the 50+ percent of teachers on this year's Met Life Survey of the American Teacher who questioned whether every student really can succeed academically.  

Now don't get me wrong:  It's not that I think students of poverty have limited potential.  There are far too many examples of students and families who have overcome their life's circumstances to succeed regardless of the challenges that they face. 

I am convinced, however, that those examples are the exception rather than the rule simply because the schools children of poverty attend are often places where teaching and learning is nearly impossible. 

Yet in spite of mountains of evidence that high poverty schools are struggling to provide a sound, basic education for every child, policymakers and influential parents continue to march through life believing that with a bit more determination and a commitment to holding teachers accountable and setting high expectations, every child---regardless of how challenged their circumstances are---can succeed. 

Sounds beautiful, don't it?  Almost too good to be true?

That's because it is too good to be true. 

The truth is that success is often dependent on opportunities----and students living in poverty just don't have the same educational opportunities as students from middle and upper middle class homes.  Their teachers are overworked and under appreciated, causing all but the most committed to flee to easier schools. 

Their classrooms are so full of students with huge ranges of abilities that delivering targeted instruction is impossible.  Their schools are understaffed, unable to provide the kinds of professionals necessary to support families and students in crisis.  

Nope.  I don't think every student can succeed academically. 

But instead of being the result of unmotivated or incapable children, that's a direct result of the callous and under-informed approach that policymakers take towards addressing the challenges of students living in high-poverty communities. 

Their unwillingness to invest tangible resources---dollars, people and time---equitably instead of equally is evidence of our unwillingness to care for other people's children as much as we care for our own. 

Maybe I'm not the only one who should be ashamed. 

When Barack Obama was elected and subsequently named Arne Duncan the Secretary of Education, I had real hope that we’d see meaningful improvement in our schools and communities. 

Change we could believe in, right?

But aside from the occasional speech where Bam and Arne say interesting things about promoting innovation or ending testing, the past year has been nothing more than a long series of serious disappointments.  The most recent failure:  Bam’s comments defending the decision of a Rhode Island school board to fire every teacher in a high poverty high school. 

Speaking at an event where he promised to send more federal cabbage to districts that shake up their lowest achieving campuses, the wise one said:

"If a school continues to fail its students year after year after year, if it doesn't show signs of improvement, then there's got to be a sense of accountability…And that's what happened in Rhode Island last week at a chronically troubled school, when just 7 percent of 11th-graders passed state math tests -- 7 percent."

See, Bam, here’s the thing:  Is it really just the school that is failing students in high poverty communities year after year after year? 

Couldn’t “chronically troubled” be used to describe the neighborhoods of many poor students, too?  Aren’t you ignoring the truth when you place the burden for rescuing children living in poverty completely on the shoulders of classroom teachers?

Let me give you some examples from my own career.  Well over a decade ago, I had a child who was abused by her mother’s boyfriend.  When the social workers got involved, her mother refused to leave her boyfriend despite his complete confession and subsequent incarceration.  Instead, she blamed her daughter for breaking apart their family and turned her over to the state.

Needless to say, that girl failed her exams.  Was I really the one who failed her?

Around the same time, I had another student whose mom and dad sent him to live with a babysitter all week long because they were too busy to care for—or about—him.  They’d drop him off at the sitter on Monday and come back to get him on Friday night.  During the week, he had no contact with them at all.  He was so angry about being abandoned that he’d regularly flip desks and hurl curse words at teachers and other classmates.

He failed his exams too.  Was I really the one who failed him? 

I’ve taught more than one child during my career who has been homeless—living in shelters or out of the back of their cars.  I’ve taught more than one child during my career who was responsible for babysitting little brothers and sisters from the time that they got off of the bus to the time that their moms got home from second and/or third jobs.  I’ve taught more than one child during my career who had seen parents or close family members neck-deep in criminal activity during the course of their lives.

I’ve had students arrested for selling drugs.  I’ve had students who’ve died of overdoses.  I’ve had students hospitalized for alcohol poisoning after spending all night stealing booze from their father’s liquor cabinet and partying with friends. 

I’ve had students jumped into gangs.  I’ve had students convicted of crimes ranging from assault to homicide—the tragic consequence of living in violent neighborhoods where protecting yourself means hitting before you’re hit. 

Most of them failed their exams, too.  Am I really the one who failed them?

I won’t argue that someone needs to be held accountable when students are failing year after year after year.  Bam’s got that right.  But at least SOME of that accountability has to be placed on a society that has intentionally chosen to ignore the plight of the poor

Asking schools to treat the symptoms of poverty on their own—especially during a time where budgets are being slashed and where social services are becoming scant at best and nonexistent at worst—is just plain ignorant.

Being a bit of a data junkie, I really look forward to the release of the MetLife Survey of the American Teacher each year.  Working to collect the kinds of tangible information that policymakers can use as a window into our profession, I see The Met as one of the most important tools that us teacher-types have when advocating for change in our profession. 

Part one of this year's MetLife survey was released this week and it covers a topic likely to be near and dear to the hearts of anyone working in a school:  Effective teaching and school leadership.  Collecting the perspectives teachers and principals working across grade levels and social demographics, the results paint an interesting picture of the state of collaboration within the American schoolhouse.

While there were dozens of findings that caught my eye, none was more important than this:  Principals and teachers STILL see core issues like "empowerment" and "teacher leadership" quite differently. 

Need proof?  Then check out the response rates to the following two statements:


Download Met Survey Table

Talk about shocking, huh?!  Anytime you've got perception gaps ranging from 20 to 30 points, there's DEFINITELY a problem.

The thing is that in almost every survey where the perceptions of principals and teachers are gathered, the same kinds of gaps exist.  North Carolina's Teacher Working Conditions Survey is a great example.  Similar questions to the Met's are asked every two years, and every two years, principals are consistently more positive about the levels of empowerment and shared decision-making in their buildings than teachers are.

Now, I'm not surprised by the disconnect.  Principals are, after all, generally good people who are working hard to create the kinds of schools that attract motivated teachers and that tap into the human capital of their faculties.  Most principals understand that shared decisions are more informed---and more reliable---than those made by "the boss."  They also believe in the ability of their teachers.

But I'm also not naive enough to overlook the consequences of this disconnect, either.  When principals strongly believe that they are empowering their teachers and creating schools where shared decisions are common, little is going to change.  Can we really expect to see more attempts to empower teachers when most principals are already convinced that their teachers ARE empowered?

In the end, these kinds of discrepancies between the perceptions of principals and teachers are collaboration killers.  Teachers recognize early on whether investing time and energy into crafting shared decisions or into shaping the direction of a school is worth their while. 

When true empowerment exists---represented by a balance between teacher and principal perceptions on the kinds of questions that the Met is spotlighting this year---there is a synergy around schools that is contagious.  Every adult checks their title at the door and works together to drive change.  Innovative thoughts and approaches are encouraged and powerful new discoveries are common. 

But when empowerment is nothing more than a buzzword embraced by those who hold all of the power to begin with, innovation dies.  Rather than invest energies into shared decisions that are likely to be overruled and/or ignored, teachers retreat into the apathetic, blue-collar world that we've spent the past two-decades railing against---and students suffer.  

I guess my advice to school leaders would be simple:  Carefully reflect on exactly how empowered your teachers are.  Touch base with the most motivated teacher leaders on your staff and ask them whether or not your decision-making processes encourage collaborative efforts and innovation. 

Think about how the most important initiatives in your building were selected and implemented.  Did teachers have the chance to voice any dissent?  Were their thoughts actively collected and considered?  What would the consequences be if they chose to work in another direction?

When you're own hands are tied by decisions made at the district or state level and teacher voice is ignored through no fault of your own, make that reality transparent to your faculty.  Teachers are often too buried under the day-to-day reality of the classroom to see beyond the school.  Honestly pointing out the places where shared decisions are replaced by mandates that no one can ignore will raise awareness and decrease resentment. 

In the end, know that preaching about empowerment while making important decisions from the top---a trend that this year's Met data seems to suggest----leads to collaborative efforts that are likely to be half-hearted at best.

Does any of this make sense?


I’m a pretty voracious reader who tends to be consumed by biographies.  For some reason, studying the lives of real people—especially those who live in developing nations or who face conflict and turmoil—resonates with me. 

One of my recent reads—Tenzing and the Sherpas of Everest—crossed categories for me.  Not only was it a fascinating look into the life of Tenzing Norgay—perhaps the most famous Sherpa of all time—it also centered on the early attempts to climb Mount Everest, a topic prominent in my personal library. 

What made Tenzing and the Sherpas of Everest even more interesting was that every page seemed to carry new lessons for school leaders

Consider this excerpt, detailing Tenzing’s actions on one of the most strenuous parts of early trips to Everest, the tedious, months-long hike through intimidating terrain to get dozens of expedition members and porters—not to mention thousands of pounds of supplies—from the nearest accessible town to base-camp:

“Like the great sirdar Ang Tharkay, Tenzing walked with them in stages, talked to them, bought them rakshi (homemade liquor) and tea at small teahouses en route, and tended to them when they were ill or injured.

Although a classless society, Sherpas do have social strata.  Tenzing was not a wealthy man but…he was a famous sirdar and highly respected by all who worked with him or knew of  him.  When such a man physically assists and keeps company with porters and local staff it is an extraordinary boost to their morale and cooperation.”

(J. Tenzing, 2001, Kindle Location 910-917).

Interesting stuff, huh?  Tenzing didn’t have to walk with his porters.  He was the sirdar of the expedition—and a well known one at that.  No one had more experience than Tenzing in the mountains, and that experience made him the most important Sherpa on any trip. 

He could have easily taken advantage of his position, walking with light loads and spending time with European climbers instead of the human mules carrying equipment in exchange for meager salaries.  Instead, he carried heavy packs and made a deliberate choice to recognize and respect the efforts of his men. 

The most influential school leaders make the same choice.  Understanding that morale and cooperation—the only two levers for driving change in any human organization—are linked to the faith that teachers have in their leaders, they check their titles at the door, roll up their sleeves and lead from the pack.

Instead of giving orders and then sitting on the sidelines expecting their teachers to do the heavy-lifting, they visibly participate:  Joining in conversations, finding solutions to problems, lightening loads whenever possible.  No one questions the commitment of the best principals because that commitment is on display from the time that busses arrive until the time that the last teachers leave. 

Tenzing was also tireless, the first to provide comfort and support to struggling colleagues on almost every climb.  Consider this excerpt detailing his actions in the face of a crisis on the Lhotse Face:

“To make a sad situation even worse, three Sherpas—Aila, Da Norbu and Mingma Rita, who were roped together—had lost their footing and tumbled down 200 meters to the ice below. 

Mingman Rita suffered a broken collarbone and cracked ribs; Aila’s face was so badly damaged he was unrecognizable; but Da Norbu somehow managed to survive with only bruising.

Tenzing had not been with them when these accidents occurred, but when news reached him he immediately hurried up the mountain to take care of his Sherpas whom he knew would be devastated and afraid.”

(J. Tenzing, 2001, Kindle Location 1019-1024)

While teacher teams are never going to be in the kinds of life-or-death situations that faced Tenzing’s Sherpas, they will lose their footing and tumble from time-to-time.  Collaboration is difficult at best, requiring a set of skills and behaviors that teachers are rarely prepared for.  Initial progress is often painfully slow and setbacks are common.

The most influential school leaders spot struggling teams quickly and  hurry to take care of their teachers.  They might offer extra time and attention:  Joining in meetings, introducing new tools and structures important for successfully overcoming obstacles, finding training opportunities to ensure that teachers are better prepared for the climb.

Or they might just encourage and support:  Pointing out the successes that teams have already had, reminding teachers to save energy for the entire journey, applying “psychological bandages” to exhausted colleagues.  Either way, the best school leaders act immediately when they realize that a team is in trouble, drawing from their own expertise to keep everyone moving forward. 

Not all of the selections  that stood out in Tenzing and the Sherpas of Everest had to do with Tenzing directly, however.  Consider this rather humorous bit detailing the actions of a Sherpa asked to carry a backpack of rocks collected and categorized by Swiss geologists down from a camp high on the mountain:

One Sherpa was given the task of carrying down the valuable rock specimens…Each specimen was labeled and catalogued and carefully packed to take home to Europe for study. 

However, this particular Sherpa felt it absurd to carry rocks down from Everest, so decided to make life easier for himself and tipped out his load!  He then climbed down to just above Base Camp where he collected a new pile…which he dutifully handed over to the Swiss. 

One can only imagine the horror of the Swiss scientists!  The Sherpa, meanwhile, was oblivious to all the fuss and lost no sleep over the matter.

(J. Tenzing, 2001, Kindle Location 989-996).

How many confused Sherpas do you have in your school and/or system? While us teacher-types generally know that we’re responsible for carrying out the tasks assigned to us by school leaders—principals, superintendents, district lead teachers, school board members—sometimes those tasks seem to be just plain absurd! 

And while teachers will almost always do what we’re told, the end result of any effort carried out in blind obedience is likely to be scattered and careless.

(Don’t believe me?  Ask a Swiss geologist!)

That’s why the most influential school leaders are diligent about building awareness and commitment in their faculties.  Each time decisions are made, those decisions are carefully communicated.  Clear connections are drawn between the actions a building is already taking and the new tasks that teachers are being asked to take on.  No one is confused about their purpose or how their work connects to broader organizational goals.

In the end, Tenzing’s story was encouraging to me.  He was a simple man with little formal education.  He didn’t have any degrees in organizational leadership or school administration.  He hadn’t served in the military or gone to any officer training programs.

And yet he learned how to lead anyway. 

Better yet, Tenzing’s leadership decisions didn’t require anything other than common sense.  He accepted responsibility for his men, set an example that couldn’t be questioned, and saw himself as the intellectual and professional equal of his peers. 

The results were nothing short of extraordinary for Tenzing.  He quickly became the first-choice for expeditions headed to the Himalayas.  He organized trip after trip—and was paid well in the process.  He raised his family’s status and quality of life, was respected and admired by everyone—Sherpa and European alike—and ended up conquering a challenge that few thought was possible. 

Having worked for dozens of principals during the course of my career, I can tell you that the school leaders who make the same choices can be just as successful.

In one of the more interesting twists of digital fate, my recent post on interactive whiteboards has been making a bit of a splash in cyberspace over the past few days.  It was first picked up by Teacher Magazine.  Then, the Washington Post spotlighted it in their Answer Sheet blog

And while the majority of the comments in both places have been surprisingly supportive of my argument that IWBs are a waste of cash, there have been a few negative arrows slung my way.  One in particular---added to the Teacher Magazine post by a guy named Mr. D---caught my attention.

He wrote: 

I think the problems is that either you are
resistant to technology ie change, or you have not been exposed on how
to integrate it properly.  Bill
why would you give up so quickly in trying to implement it in your
classroom? Don't you have higher expectations for your students? Would
you let them give up so quickly?

What bothers me in Mr. D's comment is an attitude towards teachers that I see often in conversations about school change.  "Teachers all resistant to change and lazy!" the argument goes.  "If they'd just be persistent and determined, our schools would be saved."

I hear this kind of thinking across domains in education.  Talk about technology use---including some of my own posts here on the Radical---targets teachers who just won't "get on board."  Conversations about professional learning communities and collaboration are driven by those who "won't get on the bus."  The general belief is that teachers lack determination and commitment in almost every circumstance.

In many cases, that's a flawed assumption.  Want to know why your teachers "give up" in the face of new initiatives?  It's simply because the amount of effort that most changes take doesn't align with the corresponding benefits that change is designed to produce.


Download Slide_TransactionCosts

Like professionals in any field, teachers judge the transaction costs that change requires before taking action. When new practices or strategies require tons of investment---complicated planning, intensive research, sophisticated interactions with colleagues, specialized resources or tools---teachers must be convinced ahead of time that the benefits are going to outweigh these new costs of action. 

Take my whiteboard argument:  I "gave up" (to borrow Mr. D's lingo) because the amount of effort that it took to design truly innovative, student-centered learning experiences with my IWB was almost overwhelming.  The software wasn't designed to naturally facilitate the kinds of teaching that I believe in and limited access to the hardware required that I restructure learning time in my classroom almost every day. 

Was it possible to make the IWB work in my room?  Sure---I'm a pretty talented teacher and I could probably figure out how to create meaningful lessons with any tool or technique---but the benefits were limited and the costs were high.  That's a recipe for failure every time. 

It might also surprise you to know---considering that my first book on professional learning communities was published in September---that I was ready to give up on collaboration after the first few months of working with my colleagues.  Why?  Because collaboration was completely exhausting.  Designing common assessments required difficult and time-consuming conversations.  Identifying instructional strategies that work required compromise.  Remediation and enrichment required research and restructuring of traditional practices.

Nothing that we created together during those first few months seemed to be of any real value.  Sure, we had simple successes---but those successes paled in comparison to the time and energy that we had to invest in learning to work together.  I still remember the anger that I felt every time I heard our principal---a guy I still respect and admire more than most any school leader alive---wax poetic about how great PLCs really were.  He, after all, wasn't having to plug through new work with little support and/or guidance.  

The key for school leaders interested in seeing change efforts succeed, then, is simple:  Work diligently to reduce the costs of new changes for your teachers.  Begin by identifying the practices that are the easiest to implement and introduce those early and often. Teachers will see instant benefits with little effort---and instant benefits with little effort builds momentum and confidence.

Then, target increasingly sophisticated practices that are likely to carry greater costs and find ways to make that work easier for your teachers and teams.  Provide exemplars and templates.  Hire specialists to come in and advise.  Create additional time for teachers to work with new practices on the clock.  All of these actions can balance the costs and benefits of change---and balancing the costs and benefits of change is the only way that you're going to get your teachers to truly embrace anything new!

Richard Elmore, an educational leader, once wrote,
"Accountability must be a reciprocal process. For every increment of
performance I demand from you, I have an equal responsibility to
provide you with the capacity to meet that expectation. Likewise, for
every investment you make in my skill and knowledge, I have a
reciprocal responsibility to demonstrate some new increment in
performance."

Instead of harping on "those lazy teachers" who won't embrace change, true instructional leaders work to build capacity by decreasing the transaction costs associated with change efforts and by ditching practices that will always require more energy than they are really worth. 

Any of this make sense? 

I guess I'm just tired of being told not to give up in the face of practices that I know hold little value for my students.  Change is about more than determination, you know.  It's about careful choices. 

Ever since the board of the Houston Independent School District voted to use standardized test scores to reward and punish teachers, I’ve been wrapped in a dark, dark funk. 

I guess I can’t really blame HISD.  After all, they’re just one of many states (see here, here and here) that are scrambling to grab some of the billions of dollars made available to schools through Race to the Top grants—which must all include redesigned teacher compensation and evaluation plans. 

Obama made ‘em do it. 

Now, I’ve got a billion complaints with any state and/or district that ties teacher compensation to standardized test scores—and I’ve written about them more than once.  My greatest concern, though, has always been the impact that an undue emphasis on testing will have on the instructional practices in our classrooms.

I feel like a bit of an expert, considering that I’ve spent the past 16 years teaching a tested subject to sixth graders.  I’m almost ashamed of the way that my instruction has changed over time in response to testing pressures.  I’ve gone from being a guy whose classroom was defined by higher level learning opportunities—Socratic seminars, independent studies, open-ended questions—to a guy who follows a set of scripted lessons pretty closely.

Why did I buckle?  Because each year, I’m given an “effectiveness index,” a metric that our district generates that allows comparisons between the test scores of students in different classes across buildings.  While my effectiveness index doesn’t stink—my students are making expected growth—it has been the lowest on the hallway for as long as I can remember.

The tension between what I’m actually doing in my classroom and what I think I should be doing in my classroom has gotten to be almost unbearable.  I don’t believe that I’m preparing my students to be successful in a world driven by innovation and creativity, but the ONLY tangible indicator of my performance—standardized test scores—says that my students are not as “accomplished” as students in other classrooms in our school and district.

If I worked in Houston, they’d be showing me the door!

What makes me laugh is that while judging teachers based on standardized test scores is seen as a long-needed innovation in education, business leaders are starting to recognize that a never-ending focus on measurable results can have disastrous consequences. 

Take Roger Martin of the Harvard Business Review who recently argued that number-crunching locks businesses into the prisons of the past:

Analyzing the past, crunching the existing numbers to produce the future can do nothing more than extrapolate the future from the past. So if you stick to measuring what you can already measure, you cannot create a future that is different than the past.

For that to work out at all well for any institution making its decisions on that extrapolation, the future needs to be remarkably similar to the past — or bad things start to happen. If an institution is all geared up for a future that is like the past and the future changes radically, then the institution becomes an anachronism, like a Motorola or GM.

Beautiful, isn’t it?  Comparing our schools to Motorola or GM might actually wake up Crazy Bill Sanders and his “let’s reward teachers based on test scores” crowd, considering how miserably those two organizations failed at adapting to a rapidly changing future. 

Few would argue that the future of schooling is going to be “remarkably similar” to the past, so making important decisions about teacher evaluation and compensation based on nothing more than numbers is a failed policy that will encourage antiquated instructional practices.  We’lI end up with a heaping cheeseload of students that can pass standardized tests, but will those same students be ready to work in a world that values divergent thinking?

Martin goes on to propose a new frame of thought that must find its way into today’s businesses.  He writes:

We need to get away from all those old sayings about measurement and management, and in that spirit I'd like to propose a new wisdom: "If you can't imagine it, you will never create it." The future is about imagination, not measurement. To imagine a future, one has to look beyond the measurable variables, beyond what can be proven with past data.

What I wouldn’t give to work in a world that rewarded teachers for innovative attempts to imagine and to create new learning environments.  I’d have my kids solving complex, open-ended problems with one another.  We’d be working to find solutions to global challenges with peers on other continents.  Independent projects focused on areas of deep personal interest would serve as the vehicle for teaching basic skills.

Instead, I’ll probably remain stuck in a backwards professional culture convinced by nothing more than numbers for the rest of my career.  The momentum to reward or punish teachers and schools is just too great for states to resist, isn’t it?

The best part of the“we gotta punish ‘em to get ‘em to work harder” culture is that science has shown time and again that IT JUST WON’T WORK—for teachers or for students—a fact that Daniel Pink pointed out in a recent interview with the Public School Insights blog.

Pink wrote:

There is 40 years of science that says that for complex, conceptual, creative tasks—the sort of things that most white-collar workers are doing now that the more simple routine work can be offshore or automated—carrot and stick motivators don't work. Or I should say they rarely work, and they often do harm. And this is not even close in the field of science.

So what you have now is this gap between what science knows about motivation—which is that carrot and stick motivators work in a narrow band of circumstances and that if you really want high-performance on more creative conceptual tasks you have to have a different operating system built more on our internal drive do interesting things and to do something that matters.

Imagine that:  One of the most noted thinkers in the world today believes that education—which is perhaps the MOST complex, conceptual and creative task—might actually be HARMED by the kinds of teacher evaluation plans that states are churning out like too much sour butter in their race to the top. 

Pink goes on to address pay for performance plans directly:

Truth be told, until I looked at the research—and there is really 40 years of research on the science of motivation—I actually thought performance pay for teachers was a good idea. I was for it. Then I read the science, and I said, “No, I am not for this.” Because what is pretty clear is that it is a very problematic thing to get right…

The way that money is most effective as a motivator is to take the issue of money off the table. Pay people enough so that they are not focused on money, but they are focused on doing their job well. My experience has been that 85% of teachers out there just want teach and do right by kids. If you raise their base salaries and give them some autonomy, they’ll do that.

If you also give either building principals or superintendents the ability to get rid of—and I am just estimating here—the 10% or 15% of teachers, like the 10% or 15% of any profession, who are duds, I think that is a simpler solution. It is not perfect, but it has far less collateral damage than tying [pay] to standardized test scores or doing these elaborate performance measurements.

Can I get an AMEN from the choir, please?  And can I get it before we stumble down yet another wrong path that will leave our schools open for still more criticism and scorn?

Businesses are starting to turn away from performance pay, committed to creating the kinds of intrinsically motivating work environments that attract the most accomplished employees, produce the kinds of tangible results that matter in knowledge-driven professions, and allow for rapid adaptation in an ever-changing world. 

When will schools do the same?

Blogger’s Note:  I’m a bit worked up today, so this post has rant written all over it.  It’s heavy on the Radical and light on the Tempered.  Read at your own risk. 

I’ll admit that there aren’t many topics that I’m more passionate about than Interactive Whiteboards in the classroom. 

Seen as the first step towards “21st Century teaching and learning,” schools and districts run out and spend THOUSANDS of dollars on whiteboards, proudly hanging them on walls and showing them off like proud hens that just laid the golden instructional egg. 

I gave mine away last summer. After about a year’s worth of experimenting, I determined that it was basically useless

Sure, my students thought it was nifty, but it didn’t make teaching my required curriculum any easier.  I probably crafted two or three neat lessons with it, but there was nothing unique about those activities—I could have easily crafted similar lessons using the computer stations I already have in class and any number of free online tools. 

That’s why I spent last night following Twitter’s Ed Chat about Interactive Whiteboards even after an appliance meltdown, a minor flood, and a 2 hour trip to the Laundromat.  There’s no way that I’m going to watch a conversation on whiteboards slip away—even if I’m exhausted and wearing dirty clothes!

Thankfully, there was a lot of wisdom in the Ed Chat room last night.  Few people spent any meaningful time praising the instructional goodness of Interactive Whiteboards and the majority of the participants recognized that without time and training, whiteboards become nothing more than really expensive overhead projectors

I’d go even farther, though, and argue that even WITH time and training, Interactive Whiteboards are an under-informed and irresponsible purchase.

They do little more than reinforce a teacher-centric model of learning.  Heck, even whiteboard companies market them as a bridging technology, designed to replicate traditional instructional practices—making presentations, giving notes, delivering lectures—in an attempt to move digital dinosaurs into the light.

Do we really want to spend thousands of dollars on a tool that makes stand-and-deliver instruction easier?

My biggest beef with Whiteboards, though, is that they are poorly aligned with the vision of instruction that most people claim to believe in.  Ask a principal what the best classrooms look like and she’s likely to say something like this:

“In the best classrooms, students are involved in creating knowledge together.  They’re studying topics, designing experiments, collaborating with peers, and challenging one another’s preconceived notions. While the teacher is always present to guide and to facilitate, the students are empowered to discover and to grow independently.”

Sounds great, doesn’t it?  If we could turn control of learning over to students, we’d probably see motivation AND academic growth levels rise all at once.  Classrooms would become innovative places that students were drawn to instead of the snooze palaces that they seem to be for so many kids today.

If those are the outcomes we most desire, then why are we wasting money on Interactive Whiteboards—tools that do little to promote independent discovery and collaborative work?  Sure—you could argue that when used as an instructional center, whiteboards become more interactive, but that is one REALLY expensive center, don’t you think?!

I’m also peeved because schools rarely have any kind of system in place to evaluate the impact that whiteboards are having on instruction.  We spend a heaping cheeseload collecting whiz-bang gadgets and then completely fail to reflect on whether or not they have helped us achieve the outcomes we most desire.

Isn’t that called hoarding?

What bothers me the most is that it seems like most school leaders don’t really care whether or not whiteboards change instruction in meaningful ways in their classrooms because whiteboards aren’t an instructional tool in their eyes.  Instead, whiteboards have become a PR tool—a tangible representation of innovation that can be shown off to supervisors and parents alike. 

Heaven forbid, after all, that you run a school without whiteboards if your colleagues down the street have taken a bite of the 21st Century fruit.  You’ll look like a hayseed at the next PTA meeting, won’t you?

I think Sylvia Martinez—who writes over at Generation Yes—said it best when she wrote:

you can't *buy* change, it's a process, not a purchase. the right shopping list won't change education

Most of the time, Interactive Whiteboard programs are nothing more than vain attempts to buy change.  Rarely paired with a clear vision of the classrooms we’d like to see, a set of tangible objectives that can be measured, or any systematic attempts to evaluate outcomes, Interactive Whiteboards are sad examples of the careless decision making and waste that are crippling some of our schools and systems. 

(Whew—can you tell that I needed to blow off a bit of digital steam?)

By far, the most interesting discussion of the week for me started with a simple tweet:

Did I ever share this data literacy survey that I created with you? http://bit.ly/4Clagn It's from my book on building PLCs. about 17 hours ago from TweetDeck

My goal was pretty direct:  I wanted to point people to a tool to help learning teams measure their comfort levels with data as a tool to drive instruction. 

I created the survey with my learning team in mind because we’ve always struggled to figure out just what to do with data, and I’ll bet that other teams are in the same boat.  The way I see it, if my experiences and resources can help other teams, life is grand. 

Jon Becker—an assistant professor for Ed Leadership at VCU, a provocative, well respected scholar, and one of the people following my posts in Twitter—replied with a question that got me thinking:

@plugusin sorry if I sound "professorly," but have you validated the instrument at all? about 15 hours ago from TweetDeck in reply to plugusin

The conversation that followed was pretty fascinating.  First, I tried to explain to Jon that teachers aren’t hung up on validated tools.  Instead, we’re looking for quick and easy resources that we can use immediately to start conversations with each other. 

Here’s a piece of that conversation.  For those who aren’t Tweeting yet, My comments to Jon are colored red.  His comments to me are colored blue:

@jonbecker : Professorially validated? No. Validated based on years of experience actually doing the work? Yes. about 13 hours ago from TwitterBerry

@plugusin no, psychometrically validated. How do you know you're measuring what you're claiming to measure? about 13 hours ago from TweetDeck in reply to plugusin

@jonbecker The tool isn't for research. Instead, its for gathering information at the team/school level for setting direction. about 13 hours ago from TwitterBerry

@plugusin information comes from data, so the information you end up with is only as good as the data collection process. about 13 hours ago from TweetDeck in reply to plugusin

@jonbecker Waiting for validated tools developed by "experts" has never helped our team move forward. about 13 hours ago from TwitterBerry

@plugusin there are existing instruments that have been validated for the same purposes, including ones developed by @mcleod about 13 hours ago from TweetDeck in reply to plugusin

@jonbecker : I think you're over estimating exactly what teams do with these tools. They aren't about research. They're about conversations. about 13 hours ago from TwitterBerry

Over time, I started to wonder out loud whether the concept of validation is changing in the Web 2.0 world.  To Jon—and to other traditionally trained scholars, school leaders and experts—validation means putting your work through a semi-scientific review process that—as you can imagine—is time consuming and intimidating, covering questions like:

  • Does this test accurately measure the surveyed domain?
  • Does this test measure the range of behaviors possible within the surveyed domain?
  • How close does this test correlate with other measures that it should theoretically correlate with?
  • Can the creator of this survey demonstrate that it is valid by relating it to another measurement known to be valid?
  • Has the survey creator controlled for any extraneous variables that may interfere with validity?
  • To what degree can causal inference be generalized from the sample studied to the target population of the survey?

As a result, teachers and other “lay people” have traditionally been locked out of the community of creators. 

Because we didn’t have the sophisticated understanding of the steps involved in making our work “valid” as defined by authorities, we were left to sit on the sidelines taking direction from those “in the know.”  And because our society has always been driven by hierarchies, we had no chance of becoming recognized experts with worthwhile ideas to share. 

Times are changing, though:

@jonbecker :  I also wonder if our definitions of validation are changing. Someone's got to like the stuff I create. Otherwise they wouldn't follow me. about 13 hours ago from TwitterBerry

@jonbecker :  That's the beauty of digital tools. My ideas/materials stand on their own merits. I don't need anyone else's permission to publish them. about 13 hours ago from TwitterBerry

@jonbecker :  If you like what I have to offer, great! If you don't, great. But at least I can be heard too---and at least you have the choice to listen. about 12 hours ago from TwitterBerry

@jonbecker :  For classroom teachers, that's pretty empowering, actually. I don't need a doctorate or a principal's license to be considered credible. about 12 hours ago from TwitterBerry

@jonbecker :  I live in a check your title at the door, Jon. Credibility comes from producing ideas that make my work eaiser... about 11 hours ago from TwitterBerry

@jonbecker :  And I'm not waiting for any statistician or university professor to tell me what tools are reliable and what tools aren't. about 11 hours ago from TwitterBerry

Interesting stuff, huh?  This is a conversation that still has me thinking.  Here’s what I’m wondering:

  • Are there any real risks associated with using surveys and tools that haven’t been psychometrically validated?  I’m pretty confident that teams and teachers are going to use any tool that they find to be valuable, whether it has been tested or not.  Does that carry consequences that I haven’t considered?
  • Has “empowering the masses” actually harmed education?  I can’t even begin to explain how much I learn every day from people who have no formal credentials declaring their expertise.  Social media—blogs, Twitter, Skype, Facebook—give me instant access to minds that I wouldn’t have ever found before.  But in a sense, social media cheapens the formal knowledge earned through systematic study of classical practices and texts.  Will that carry any consequences that I haven’t considered?
  • Do teachers stand a chance of ever being seen as the intellectual equals of those who have “advanced” within the existing system?  Even as digital tools make it possible for teachers to raise their voices, our P-20 school systems still function as hierarchies—and in those hierarchies, teachers remain at the bottom with little organizational power.  Does that mean our contributions will always be questioned by those who have “moved up?”  If so, what consequences does that carry for our profession?

Looking forward to your responses….

I really worry about public education, y'all.  I honestly don't believe that we'll ever be able to make efficient and effective decisions about the direction that schools should take primarily because everyone in the general public thinks they know what it takes to serve our students. 

That false transparency---the assumption that nonprofessionals truly understand the challenges faced by public schools because of their own experiences as parents and/or students---results in the kind of thinking I found in the comment section of this article debating the future of schools in my own county.

Here's a sample of a commonly held misconception about education.  I've bolded the thinking that has me the most concerned:

Sounds like Wake county education board has got a lot of people stirred up. I for one think busing is a waste of money when it is done for the sake of integration which this is all about. If all schools get the same monies (so much per student) and the teachers all meet the same qualifications education quality should be the same everywhere. If a student wants to learn they have the opportunity...Schools are for education not social reform.

Posted by dohickey, December 15, 2009

No offense to Mr(s). Dohickey, but to believe that distributing resources equally to schools serving affluent students---who have enrichment experiences beyond school and access to the tools that make learning easier---and schools serving students who live in poverty will result in the same outcomes borders on the illogical!

The fact of the matter is that students living in poverty have a set of unique challenges that have to be addressed before learning can even take place.  Some are homeless and are more concerned about finding their next meal than the are in memorizing Moh's scale of hardness.  Others have to set their homework aside in order to take care of younger siblings while moms and dads work second and third jobs.  Still more live in unsafe neighborhoods where gang violence can be all-consuming. 

And while I agree that schools shouldn't be a tool for social reform, teachers who work in high poverty schools have to sift through social wreckage before they can effectively teach.  Even in the most challenging school that I've ever worked---where a whopping 30% of my students came from disadvantaged homes---the work was difficult. 

Students who were so far behind in the curriculum that they couldn't keep up with basic tasks slowed down instruction for everyone.  Scrounging for pencils, pens and backpacks for the kids in my class became a part time job.  I spent hours trying to get my students help from school resource officers and guidance counselors.  I felt like I was teaching with one hand tied behind my back---and I know that my students were definitely at a disadvantage when compared to the students in the suburban school where I teach today.

Need more proof that students who live in poverty need more than their "fair share" of a community's resources in order to be able to succeed?  Then check out this blog post that I wrote a few years ago, sharing the first person account of a teacher working in a high poverty building or poke through this policy document, where North Carolina's most accomplished teachers reflect on what it will take to recruit teachers to high poverty buildings. 

The problem is that most Mr(s). Dohickies won't ever truly work to understand what it takes for schools to succeed.  Instead, they'll throw pot-shots from the peanut gallery based on their own flawed understandings of how schools work. 

And that's why teachers need to step forward and lead.  Until we raise our voices and paint accurate pictures of what life is really like in our classrooms, we'll be forced to wrestle with an underinformed populus who advocates for underinformed policies. 

Talk about a recipie for disaster. 

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