Author: flecklynsey

As I advance in my experience in education (and, to be honest, my age as a person), I find myself wanting to find ways to “cut the crap” and just get down to what matters most. As I reflect on how the field of education, and the world in general, has changed over the past 20 years, I find a common theme emerging in how we measure success. More and more, success seems to be measured by outward appearances that one is, in fact, a worthwhile human being. In much of the world, the things you have, the places you live, and the way you present yourself on social media often create or limit the opportunities you receive. In an increasing number of schools, success seems to be measured by the programs used, the way buildings look, the amount of technology present, and the ways in which schools market themselves. There is no doubt that quality instructional materials, safe and habitable schools, and access to technology are important. In my experience, however, none of these items compare to the growth and sense of community that children, families, and school staff experience when they come together as a group of humans united in pursuit of a common purpose.

Thinking about this brings me back to an essential question about the purpose of schooling in general. Why do we have schools? As I understand it, schools provide a community center for individuals to come together to advance positive change, locally and globally. Successful schools are places where students feel accepted and valued, and where families feel welcomed and informed. And above all, in my opinion, the purpose of a school is to provide the educational and social foundations that individuals need in order to become productive, successful members of society.

When I look at where many schools place a majority of their value and funding, I see a mismatch between the purpose of education and the ways in which schools make visible what they value. Schools are supposed to engage in an ongoing process of implementation, assessment, reflection, and revision in instruction to determine and provide what each student needs to be successful–this is, to use a buzz word, “personalized learning” at its finest. So why aren’t we focused on sharing goals, struggles, implementations, revisions, and progress of the students that attend the school in our communications with families and communities, rather than using public spaces and social media outlets to talk about iPads, “Makerspaces,” and colleges that we may or may not be preparing our students to attend? Is it because other schools are doing it, and we need to keep up if we are to maintain our enrollment numbers? Or because we think society cares more about what we say we do and what we look like we are doing than what we actually do? Or is it because, as I fear, we know we are falling desperately short in creating meaningful student growth that bridges to achievement, so we find other things to focus on and promote that can make us look good anyway?

I am not going to conclude this post with any kind of overarching solution or charge to educators. I will also not close with a biased judgement or accusation about the state of education today. Instead, I invite readers to sit with the questions that I have posed, observe the learning communities they operate within, and reflect on what they see.

The last year has been difficult for all of us, no question. But it is somewhat staggering to see how disproportionately difficult it has been for those living in poverty and people of color. In the middle class community that I live in, my own children have the privilege of attending school five days a week, face to face. They are experiencing steady, sometimes exceptional, growth in all areas, and they are having a largely normal educational experience. Their recreational programs have continued for the most part, just with increased safety measures and protocols.

The students I provide services for, however, are having an educational–and life–experience that is the exact opposite of my children. They are receiving no face to face instruction, next to no modifications or accommodations in their instruction, even if they have an IEP, and are either not growing or, in some cases, are actually losing ground academically. Because most of the students and families with whom I work are living in poverty, they are dependent on schools and public programs for their recreational activities, transportation, and food. During this pandemic, they have had nearly every resource they depended on for their mental, physical, and academic health taken away from them. And when we finally return to some form of normal, they will be trying to overcome an even bigger gap between themselves and their peers than the one that previously existed.

As I look beyond the experience of my children and my clients, it seems that I can predict access to face to face instruction and recreational activities from the average income of the people living in a community. The higher the average income, the better the access to face to face schooling, sports, and clubs.

In so many ways, I am incredibly disheartened by these inequities. But there is a small piece of me that feels hopeful. I am hopeful that the way the pandemic has shone a spotlight on the disparities in access to quality education and services based on income will fuel the fire for meaningful, impactful change that will decrease these disparities in the future. I am hopeful that it will set the stage for a new honesty about the way things are and a motivation to deeply explore the things that really work, differentiating them from the things that sound like they will work or worked in a place that looks nothing like our own classrooms. And finally, I am hopeful that it will re-focus the energy, investment, and value we place, moving it from programs, materials, and experts to the diverse, skilled teams that already exist within our school communities.

Fidelity is a hot topic across all educational arenas right now.  It is essential, according to educational leaders.  Without it, it seems that no strategy, program, or approach is guaranteed to be successful.  What we do should look the same, sound the same, and have the same results no matter what school or classroom we teach from.  The environment should be controlled the instruction meticulously planned and predictable.  The responsibility for maintaining fidelity lies primarily with classroom teachers and interventionists, not with the people who make decisions regarding programming, scheduling, and academic interruptions or with those who evaluate educators on their fidelity to programs and systems.

But here’s the problem.  Classrooms, and schools in general, are not static, closed systems set up for fidelity.  We deal with unexpected interruptions all the time.  We have limited budgets and resources and overcrowded classrooms.  We are understaffed and short on substitutes.  We have students exhibiting chronic absenteeism and high mobility, who are absent and/or mobile for reasons beyond their and our control.  We have students who are missing much of the instruction that is given, even while they are present at school, due to mental health and/or behavioral challenges.  We have, for goodness’ sake, a global pandemic that is compromising learning environments and limiting the depths of student/teacher connections.  And again, we as classroom teachers and interventionists are responsible to manage all of these things and practice fidelity at the same time.

So while fidelity is great in theory, it is often unrealistic and frequently frustrating when it is applied to practice.  Fidelity assumes consistent attendance.  Fidelity assumes low rates of mobility.  Fidelity assumes there is not a global health crisis.  Fidelity assumes adequately-staffed schools.  Fidelity assumes that students stay in the same school or district for the duration of their educational careers, and that their teachers do the same.  Fidelity assumes that teachers will not be interrupted or called upon to flex to changing circumstances.

If we are always operating in the interest of control and fidelity, what happens to the students and educators who don’t fit within the limitations fidelity imposes?

So what about our learners living in poverty, who transfer schools and/or districts based on frequent changes to their housing and family employment circumstances?  Or our learners who are experiencing trauma, and are only accessing a fraction of what we are teaching with fidelity because that is all that their working memories can handle?  What about our students struggling silently with depression and anxiety, who need to make it through the day okay before they make it through it with fidelity?  And what about our educators, who are leaving the profession at historic rates because of unrealistic expectations and high-stakes workplaces?  Or who want lives and families of their own?  Or have ideas and skills beyond the limits of the prescribed lessons fidelity calls for?  How does fidelity impact them?

There is, to me, what seems to be an unreasonable emphasis on controlling all aspects of the educational environment when we talk about fidelity.  Is this the kind of control that we can achieve, or that is even desirable to achieve?  Is it wise to take a control-based approach when we work with humans?  And if we are always operating in the interest of control and fidelity, what happens to the students and educators who don’t fit within the limitations fidelity imposes?

These are the Underdogs–those who do not follow the prescribed path, who deviate from the norms of our fidelity-focused system, and who struggle to fit in with program-driven models.  They ARE capable, they ARE intelligent, and they CAN achieve and perform at high levels.  And they are DESPERATE for someone to think differently.

Right now in education, we are very focused on what the experts say, relying heavily on research-based programs that must be taught to fidelity for our instruction.  If it isn’t research-based, many would say that it isn’t valid. 

But what about the action research we as educators do continually in our classrooms on a daily basis?  When did we become more reliant on what programs say than on what the students in front of us are saying and doing? And what if the kids we are teaching, or the circumstances we are teaching in, are different from the subjects and environments on which the research is based?

Research is important, and understanding current and past practices and their effects on students is very valuable.  In my opinion, however, we have become overly reliant on research.  At times, it seems that we, as trained and experienced educators, are almost afraid to think for ourselves or trust our experience and our instincts.  If something doesn’t work and it is our idea, we can’t point to research to explain our thinking, and we might have to admit that we thought we were smart enough to come up with a good instructional strategy on our own.  And while swallowing that might be hard, the opinions that others will develop about us, and how that might affect our evaluations, is terrifying.

To me, experts are people who have had vast professional experiences, pursued higher levels of education and development, tried a lot of things, had their share of failures and triumphs, and come up with some really great, effective strategies as a result.  And to me, that sounds like a lot of educators I know.

So when did we become so afraid to trust ourselves, or one another?  When did a title, like Specialist or Coach (both of which I have held), make us suddenly more intelligent than everyone around us?  And when, for goodness’ sake, did knowing a lot about a topic mean more than moving students forward in their learning?

As teachers, we absolutely need to understand what we are doing and why.  But most of all, we need to deeply understand what our students need from us.  And if we are too focused on following a specific lesson plan or teaching skills exactly as the experts say, we might just miss what our learners are trying to tell us.