As I wrap up the year and say goodbye to students, I face my one of the more disliked parts of my job: grading.  If I were simple, it would just be a matter of points earned out of points possible, but of course I am not simple, and neither is that system to tell the truth.  What do points measure?  Accuracy?  Completion?  Effort?  Creativity?  The miracle of a student turning something in?

I'm not a numbers person--even Sudoku makes my eyes cross.  So when it comes to final grades, I take a more holistic approach because it's impossible for me to boil down four months of academic and personal interaction with a child to a single number or letter.  The percentage grade is certainly a good indicator, but sometimes there are confounding situations:

1. A student who does next to no work but whose test scores show he has obviously learned the material through some other means (osmosis? telepathy? divine intervention?)
2. A student who does next to no work for the majority of the semester, then has a come-to-Jesus-moment and tries very hard to turn things around at the last minute, but can't quite make the numbers work in his favor
3. A student who is identified as special ed halfway through the semester, too late to be placed in an applied class or to have an intervention specialist placed to work with her
4. A student who works hard but is frequently absent, which poses especial difficulty in my class because I don't give very much bookwork or similar assignments that can be made up at home

I am considering long and hard whether to pass these four (and many, many others).  My rationale so far...

1. In our school, the most salient goal is to get students to pass the OGT, regardless of what anyone says otherwise.  Student 1's practice assessment scores show that he would most likely pass.  Furthermore, given my knowledge of the child, even if I failed him and forced him to take the class again...there wouldn't be much difference in his performance.  But his percentage is very low
2. Student 2's last-minute turnaround indicates that he could try harder next time, but I don't know that punishing his effort this time around in order to teach him about work ethic would be productive.  He has higher percentage than student 1 and is actually close to the objective 60% cutoff.
3. I asked the intervention specialist who's been working with Student 3 for the last few weeks to bring her grade up whether I should pass her, and she told me I should because the student has worked hard and should never have been in a regular-ed classroom in the first place.  While I don't feel completely comfortable with this, my understanding of special ed needs is rudimentary at best, and so I usually defer to the experts.
4. I am very close to Student 4, so I'm trying extra hard to be objective.  Her first quarter grade should have been an F, but I gave her a D because I knew she was fragile enough that an F might shut her down completely.  When she asked me about it, I told her simply that I gave her a D because I knew it would encourage her in a way that an F wouldn't, and she was very touched.  She usually works hard in class--when she is there--and has taken advantage of the credit recovery opportunities I grudgingly offered at the beginning of May.  She wants to succeed, but her test scores were low this year and she would probably benefit from either taking the class again or getting some intensive tutoring after school.  She has yet to turn in her final project and was not present for the exam period today because of illness.  My thought is that if she turns in a high-quality final, I will go ahead and pass her with the strict admonition to buckle down with test prep before the October test.

I'm probably making this more complicated than necessary, as I tend to do with most things.  But while details like numbers don't make much sense to me, the details of an individual life do, and I try to take those into account when grading, because aren't those individual lives what I'm in here for in the first place?

I would like to nominate MM for MI Rockstar because of the maturity and empathy she demonstrated while mediating a conflict between peers.  She has grown tremendously since the beginning of the school year in her ability to see others' points of view and look for the best in those around her.  This maturity can also be seen in her improved punctuality and participation in class. M is a very caring young lady and I feel lucky to have had her in my class this semester.

MM was actually one of my least favorite students at the beginning of the year: loud, blunt, obnoxious, and utterly unpredictable.  If I was lucky, she ignored me completely; if I was unlucky, she'd come in looking and acting like someone peed in her Cheerios.  I never knew who was going to walk in the door.  But somehow over the course over the quarter our class gelled as a group, and I think when she realized that I wasn't letting her go she felt more secure.

I remember one time she and her counterpart asked if I would send them to ISIP because they didn't feel like working and wanted to sleep.  That day I'd actually scheduled some mental downtime for the kids after a few grueling weeks, so their request seemed a little weird to me.  I told them no, because I didn't want to put another in-school suspension on their records for such a trivial reason.  MM threatened to walk out, and I knew she was perfectly capable of doing so, but I quietly told her that she was free to go but that I wanted her to stay.  Some more blustering followed, but both girls ended up staying.

Around Christmas time, MM saw some of the cards I'd made with my SEMINAR students and asked if I would make one for her boyfriend, who is currently incarcerated.  By now I've drawn at least half a dozen cards and posters for this kid, and each one has elicited [admittedly-less-than-endearing] screeches of delight from my darling M (and a boatload of similar requests from her comrades-in-Uggs).  But I did it because she revealed her softer side by asking, and I wanted to see more of that.

On Tuesday this week, MW, who is usually very quiet, confronted MM at the beginning of class and stepped out into the hall to talk with her.  The gist of the conflict was that MW frequently wore a "look" when she saw the antics of MM & Co., which MW explained as a look of pity for the way the other girls acted sillier than they really were.  Not the best way to phrase it, but I jumped in before MM could explode and explained that MW was actually upset because she cared about them (which might have been stretching the truth, but forgive me).  MM bristled a little but said she understood.  I asked her to help me mediate the conversation between MW and the other girls.  Apparently there had been words exchanged when I was out on Friday, again over the perception that MW thought herself superior, but MM actually did a great job keeping the peace.  She mostly repeated what I had said, but it seemed like she really bought it.  I complimented her for her maturity later and told her I would be nominating her for our school's monthly Rock Star award.

I admit that it's very, very, labor-intensive to cultivate this kind of relationship with a student.  And even if she follows through on various vows to visit my class and have me as her bridesmaid, eventually she will be gone. Is it naive to hope that if I have taught her nothing about science (which is altogether possible), but I have taught her something lasting about being a better person, that that is enough?  If so, let me have my naivete, and hang your OGT scores.

One of the [many] occupational hazards of teaching they don't tell you about in college is how difficult it can be to have your success be at least partially measured through the performance of other people, specifically little, loosey-goosey people who may not be quite as invested in their own well-being as you are.  In many other professions, you work hard for better results and you are rewarded.  As a teacher, you can pour your heart and soul into a class, but if a student doesn't buy into it, neither of you will have much of anything to show for it.  My mentor showed me how relationship precedes achievement, at least with children of poverty: show a child you are unconditionally in their corner, and he will jump through flaming hoops for you.  (The converse holds true as well.)

Right before we let out for winter break, the juniors and seniors got their October OGT scores back.  Two boys from my OGT class immediately bounced into my room to tell me they had passed, and I wish I'd had a camera to capture their faces.  I wrote on the board in big letters, "WE PASSED!" and invited students to sign their names under it.  As happy as I was for them, though, I was equally disappointed for those who didn't, including all of my seniors.  I was particularly crushed about Boris and Natasha, who not only didn't pass but actually scored worse.  Both are in my OGT class, both are very smart, and both had spent a lot of time in our school's resource center--with my permission during our class time--working with the tutors there.  So I don't really know what happened there, but I think we need to have a conversation when we return from break.

I've always been good at what I do (with the notable exception of sports) and it hasn't been easy for me to adjust my ideas about success without feeling like I'm copping out.  But then I realize the true value of the so-called "little" victories.  The fact that my students came to tell me means, 1) they felt like I helped them; 2) they knew I'd be happy (read: ecstatic) for them; 3) they wanted to make me proud, and I was.  To have developed that rapport (or at least some degree thereof) with 40+ little people in a strange new town in less than four months...that is quite a personal accomplishment for me given my pathological trust issues.  Which reminds me of the second point I meant to write about in my last post: "God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them." (1 John 4:16b)  As I sat in church on Sunday pondering the idea of love without fear, and wondering whether I can really stay in a profession that chews me up for the sake of truly reaching a few, I suddenly realized, Isn't that what Jesus did?  Then maybe I am not so far removed from God as I have often felt since moving, and that is comforting.

On a final note, I received an e-mail this morning from a student I had two years ago when we taught VBS in Taiwan, which was my first real teaching experience.  I met this girl at the first week of camp, in which a roomful of 20 fourth-graders (none of which spoke functional English) and two 6-hour days of teaching in 90-degree heat (sans air-conditioning) completely broke whatever pride I had in my own strength...to everyone's benefit.  Once I let go of my need to be in control, we just had fun.  Anyway, one of the little girls wrote this to me, which I have roughly translated from the Chinese.

One week.  Less than 40 hours spent with this little girl, and she remembers me two years later.  It is almost unbearably humbling.  And it makes all the lesson planning, sleepless nights, and spider bites (in Taiwan, at least)...so worth it.

I'm finally getting around to writing about something that happened last week that really made me question my purpose and practice of teaching.  I'm glad I waited to write, though, because the message in church this Sunday really resonated with me and helped me process the whole incident.

One day at the beginning of the class, I had just started showing a video on evolution when I noticed that Blinky, Pinky, and Inky were still chattering.  My patience had been tested by similar behavior in the previous class, so I told them that if they had something to say, they needed to finish their conversation outside.  They took themselves outside the classroom with some chairs, and I turned my attention back to the remaining students.  After discussing an important point in the video, I went to check on my three little pigs.  They were still engrossed in their conversation, so I asked if they would like to return to class.  There was no response, so I left them to their business.  I checked again about ten minutes later, by which time Clyde had joined her counterparts (without having ever set foot in the classroom).  Again, a negative response.  The shortened period soon drew to a close, and by the time I saw my other students out the door, the Fab Four were gone.  Later I heard that they had appeared in the cafeteria before the bell sounded, telling the teacher on duty that I had let them out early.  I consulted our principal and she recommended that I write them up, which I did.

Fast forward a few days.  Inky and Pinky come sweeping into the room and Pinky announces that she is very upset with me.  I got my other students started on a magazine scavenger hunt and took Inky and Pinky and Clyde into the hall.  (Blinky was on a field trip.)  Pinky launched into a diatribe, accusing me of giving them a choice to return to class instead of a command, telling me I was too nice, and exhorting me not to be afraid of them.  (I told her I wasn't afraid, although honestly I was a little just because Pinky herself can be so volatile.)  I repeated Pinky's words back to her to make sure I understood, then pointed out that yes, I did give them a choice instead of a command, with the expectation that they would make a wise decision.  I admitted that maybe I had not been clear enough about the possible consequences of the choice, but stressed that I was not interested in bossing them around or, for that matter, punishing them.  We discussed how each of us could communicate better in the future, and I think it was at this point that Clyde said, "Miss Duann, I wish my mom and grandma were more like you.  You communicate good."  I asked if we had reached mutual understanding; they said we had, and I agreed to talk with our assistant principal about the referral.

Did I do the right thing in letting them off the hook?  I struggled a lot with myself afterward, and normally I do not do very well at all with that sort of internal conflict.  (A rather fortuitously timed conversation helped keep me from completely screwing myself into the ceiling over it.)  Setting and enforcing expectations for classroom behavior is still something with which I struggle, and I know I need to work on my consistency and follow-through in this regard.  I admit that I'd rather be loved than respected, that my students are still squirrels but at least they are loyal squirrels.  I know well that these girls and many other students are fully capable of taking advantage of me...and somehow, I just want to trust that they won't.  I told Pinky when she blustered about running over me in class, "But I've seen the best of you, Pinky, and that's what I always remember."  Maybe that's naive, maybe I'm too idealistic to be a good teacher after all.  But I have to believe that there can be more than discipline based on pain and punishment.  There's enough of that in the world, especially for these kids, and I refuse to be part of that.

On Sunday we studied 1 John 4 and while the entire passage spoke to my life, two verses stuck out. "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love."  I know my love is far from perfect, and one thing I've been thinking about a lot is what it really means to love my students.  It's not just feeding them cookies and passing out silly bandz.  It means loving them enough to truly prepare them for life after high school, which means teaching them how to show up to work on time, speak and act courteously, respect appropriate authority, see the bigger picture, understand the link between action and consequence.  I think that can be done while respecting my students as young adults and providing the safety they may not have known as children.  Now, just to figure out how...