Learning Laffs' summer break begins after this issue.
See you again next fall!
See you again next fall!
11. Lunch food that comes in patties, rounds, triangles, squares, sticks, slices, and wedges
10. The daily chats with colleagues gathered around the warm glow of the one functioning copy machine
9. Those restful meeting naps
8. Online surveys from the district office that keep you from accomplishing anything important
7. Challenging handwriting puzzles from your students
6. Seating charts that save you the trouble of actually having to know people's names
5. Engrossing philosophical discussions about the use of the bathroom pass
4. The dangerous thrill you savor when you skip an important meeting
3. The positive effect of chalk dust on your oily complexion
2. Feedback from students on your clothing, your hair, and your career choice
1. The deep satisfaction that comes from seeing a long row of buses pull away from the school at the end of the day
Last fall my principal talked me into attending a series of special professional development sessions.
I was to be in the first cohort of teachers trained in a new program.
I was to be in the first cohort of teachers trained in a new program.
I hated being gone from the classroom so much and I regretted all the work involved in preparing for and then recovering from the substitute teacher days, but the training did present some ideas I could - and did - implement in my classroom. So I was beginning to think it was all worth it. But then the lead trainer hit me with the new F-word.
I was told that I could not just implement what I had learned in my classroom. I had to stop. I was told that I could not integrate my new learning with what I already knew about teaching and what I knew about my school and my students. I was told that there were a number of protocols that I had to learn and that I had to perform. I was told that any and all implementations of the program in our district were to be done with absolute fidelity. Fidelity. That was the new F-word.
I was told that fidelity was meant to avoid a "free-for-all." What were they afraid of - that individual teachers would be intellectually involved in the implementation of the program in their classrooms? After a while it became obvious that fidelity was meant to avoid at all costs any kind of integration with current practice, or with other theories, or with any other best practices.
Fidelity was meant to avoid any off-script successes.
Fidelity was not aimed at serving our children, but at proving that the program would work as it was designed anywhere in the world. Our fidelity - if it led to success for the program - would become their sales pitch. So we were allowed to make no adaptations, no adjustments, and no accommodations for our setting or our children. The primacy of the success of our students had been supplanted by the primacy of the success of this new for-profit program being implemented in our schools.
And it wasn't fidelity to the ideas of the program, or to the program's underlying philosophies, or to the research upon which the program was based. No, they were talking about fidelity to Page 16 in the teacher materials. And fidelity to Slide 27 in the PowerPoint presentation. And fidelity to Student Handout 34b in the lesson materials. They weren't looking for us to create some great new units of instruction or engaging experiences for our students. They were looking for us to use - in order - every single thing they included in the program and nothing else. And fidelity also meant compliance. And compliance had to be enforced.
Due to my earlier irresponsible implementations of good ideas, they knew not to trust me. They assigned me a "coach." My "coach" spent most of her time authenticating and enforcing my fidelity to the program. So on "coaching" days we did the program just as it had been scripted. On the days following the coaching days, my students and I would critique the previous day's script and talk about how the scripted lesson could be better taught. Then we went on with our regular teaching and learning until the next "coaching" day. I rationalized my deviance with the idea that I did have fidelity. But it wasn't a fake fidelity to a program that disrespected all ideas outside of the program, disrespected all practices not specifically endorsed by the program, and disrespected all the learning and all of the success that teachers had enjoyed prior to the program implementation. No, I had a real fidelity - fidelity to my students and their learning.
In the end, my kids did great - better than any of the other classes that were implementing the program. And so I finally - and with great pride - admitted my non-compliance. The program people were very, very disappointed and my "coach" pulled a Bobby Knight and had to be restrained. They couldn't use my wonderful students in their research now. They couldn't sell their program with our successes. There had not been fidelity. My students all raised their test scores, they all reported that they liked school more than ever before, and my principal wrote me up for insubordination.
So I'm not participating in the program next year. My "coach" cut me from the team. But it's my own fault. I really should have known better - before I agreed to participate in this program. I should have been tipped off by the program name.
So, if anyone volunteers you to join in "Axioms of Acquiescence," tell them you are not interested. And don't fall for their other program either, "Doctrines of Deference."
It's just not worth it. The teaching life is much better lived off-script - and with real fidelity.
The day was an innovative way to reward students for good behavior. For a number of weeks this spring, middle school students were rewarded with casino chips if the staff and faculty "caught them being good." Some students were so well-behaved that they amassed great piles of chips in the days leading up to the event. The students were excited about the opportunity to gamble with their chips at the casino in the school media center, and to cash in their chips for valuable prizes. But a week before the event, Principal Dorgan found that the school was unable to afford prizes for the event, and Dorgan was unwilling to again ask the community for donations
Instead, Dorgan left it up to the teachers to find a way to make sure that each student lost all of his or her chips before the end of Casino Day. Math teachers in the building spent the final three days leading up to Casino Day confusing their students about probabilities, odds, and averages. Language arts teachers taught gambling vocabulary in a way designed to completely confound the students when they played the games.
Teams of other dedicated teachers worked after school to load dice, rig the roulette wheels, and learn how to deal blackjack from the bottom of the deck.
The students really seemed to enjoy the day of gambling, even though the odds – that they had no hope of understanding – were overwhelmingly stacked against them.
In the end, the house prevailed and all of the students lost all of their chips. Dorgan declared the day a great success and added that plans are already underway for rewarding more chips and holding another Casino Day next fall.
And that's it this week from Fuddle River Schools.











































