Obama "Effect" on Test Takers

This NYTimes article, Study Sees an Obama Effect as Lifting Black Test-Takers, is a bit startling. It's exciting, don't get me wrong, but it leaves me unsettled and wondering how its message might be interpreted in schools where the teaching quality already wanes. 

Researchers have documented this "Obama effect" via a 20 question test given to black and white students both before and after Obama's nomination. Before Obama's nomination, a typical achievement gap emerged as white students' scores proved significantly higher than black students' scores. After Obama's nomination, that same 20 question test given to both black and white students yielded results that showed no sign of an achievement gap between the two groups of students. Black students performed significantly higher that time around. According to the article, the research indicates that Obama has "helped blacks overcome anxieties about racial stereotypes that had been shown, in earlier research, to lower the test- taking proficiency of African Americans..." Specifically, the earlier test results (Pre-Obama) showed white students answering 12 correct out of 20 compared to only 8.5 correct for black students. Post-Obama, black performance improved, which rendered that former "white-black gap 'statistically nonsignificant'".

Further studies will prove whether this phenomenon has a lasting effect. It makes sense to link anxiety, self-image and expectations to test performance. But, how could mending self-esteem possibly reverse all the effects of teachers who preach low expectations in their classrooms? How could this one factor (momentous and signifiant as his presidency may be) reverse the failed policy and accountability and teacher quality that has been at the core of the achievement gap from the start?

I want these results to be true. I want these results to translate to all pockets of the classroom, including all the high-stakes standardized tests that hold students back from the next grade. But, I don't want this study to discount the work we still have to do on the ground. I'm a believer that Obama means amazing things, but he shouldn't mean that the only thing holding black students back in the classroom was the absence of an African American's presence in the White House. That would discount the legislation and leadership Obama has to offer. It would make the mending of our deep and cavernous achievement gap simple and finished. This study is interesting. And it's really important. But it seems to imply that the achievement (or lack of achievement) of African American students simply resides in a student's self-esteem or ability to be inspired or his sheer willpower to achieve. And isn't it much, much more complicated than that? 

14. Throw One Back

Teachers with Tequila, 2007

"Pencils Down, Bottoms Up" is a brilliant opinion piece for all teachers and former teachers to enjoy. Alexander Nazaryan discusses a ritual of many teachers, young and old alike: visiting the local bar and throwing a few back. Why do teachers drink? Nazaryan explains...

The classroom is the bully pulpit from which we articulate an ironclad triumvirate of maturity – attention, organization, responsibility – that the real world renders pretty much unrealistic. In the bar, we finally loosen our ties, and life’s beautiful imperfections return.

Nazaryan, a young teacher himself, scouted out a local establishment close to school where he and his colleagues could throw a few back. That was, until his students spied him through the windows. The teacher group relocated to a darker, drapes-drawn type of bar in the East Village. That was, until the squirrelly TFAers drove them away...

But the bar was near a large middle school, and it routinely filled up with the feisty teachers who braved those hormone hurricanes. The wear showed in their drinking habits. Teach for America became Drink for America. Spill Your Beer for America. Shout and Shove for America. Many of these fresh-faced pedagogues sported golf shirts emblazoned with their school name, disconcertingly similar to the uniforms students often wear. They snapped triumphant pictures of empty bottles, turning the bar into Spring Break: Costa del Bushwick. Our timid, slightly older group felt like the unpopular kids with nowhere to sit at lunch.

So they settled on a more anonymous, dim-lighted sort of bar where they offered to help set up in order to enter before the bar technically opened. 

This piece reminds me of all our southern establishments - Zippy's (southern punch margarita please?) and Superior Grill (happy hour two for one margarita hold the salt please?) and Bistro Byronz (raspberry vodka freeze please?). But, best of all, it reminds me of the adventures, the escapes, the frivolously planned excursions involving glittery costumes and Ragini's accessories and really really big sunglasses. 

The NYTimes piece is more about the community than the booze. It's about the little hideaways and long conversations that have nothing or everything to do with the chaotic confetti that spewed about your classroom that day. It's about being in those proverbial trenches with others and then hoisting yourself out of those trenches, plopping down on a stool or a porch, decompressing, and filling up on good conversation and, if you choose, a stiff cold one.

Cheers!

Teachers with Margaritas, 2005

13. Write Letters

On the way home we stopped in Alabama and bought a new puppy. We named him Cation since we bought him on vacation. - A.H.

Something wonderful happened today. I shuffled down the steps to check the mail, certain that I'd retrieve a fistful of grocery store coupons, desperate pleas to sign up for new credit cards, monthly bills - the usual. But what I hand picked out of the mailbox was so enjoyable, so wonderful, that I stood goofy grinned in my apartment as if I'd just received an Ivy League acceptance letter.

A.H., former-student-extraordinaire, sent me not only a one-page typed letter, but photographs too. A school photo, naturally. And the greatest photo of all - A. holding a baby alligator with its mouth taped with some sort of duct/electrical/packing tape combo. 

In other fantastic news besides the puppy named Cation, A. reported on a hermit crab, a lost wedding ring to the ocean, two dead hermit crabs, a fractured knee cap and wrist, snow in Louisiana, horse camp (twice), a Wii, a language class he's really "ticked off" about, and a failed Confirmation test at church. You know, just ordinary occurrences for a Middle School year.

I just love this kid. So much so that I don't even care that he typed Ms. Fields. Twice. He said he hopes I'll move back and teach high school so that I can be his teacher again. Man. Who knew that such a strong boost of confidence could come from this unlikely, squirmy, adolescent source?

P.S. This is how I imagine the baby alligator's face when being held by Mr. A.H.

12. Get Justice

A quick note to follow up my post called "Be Aware, Read the Fine Print" ...

So, after feeling like a total sucker for getting roped into that freecreditreport.com service that I did not use but paid for for a year, I submitted a complaint to the Better Business Bureau. Fully prepared to just bite the lost money and get over it, this morning a notice arrived by email stating that the BBB had my back and the company would be issuing a full year's REFUND! Can it be that a sleazy company is actually forced to pay up when a consumer feels cheated!? 

Bottom line: The bombs and the sleazes are still out there. But so are those who give the bombs and sleazes a swift kick in the pants when they've been naughty.

Studying Adolescence

"So let's go around the room, introduce ourselves, and share something about our adolescence, okay?" Last night, in a nationality room of the Cathedral of Learning, a group of adults began class by reminiscing about that awkward chunk of time somewhere between the years of 8 and 18. A few had examples of acting out: "I frequently took my parents' car without their permission." and "I was a bully." Some proclaimed their sainthood: "I was a really quiet goody goody." Others discussed their activities: hair modeling, tennis, cheerleading.

Since 2005, adolescence has consumed a large portion of my brain. Memories of the late 90s, Pioneer Panthers, and Retin-A acne medicine moved aside to include my often quirky and wacky 6th grade students. So, when asked to recall a memory from adolescence, I immediately and instinctively sorted through my Southeast catalogue. I remembered the socially awkward times like B. throwing up twice on the first day of school and V.'s you know what in the middle of a lesson on prepositions. I remembered glimpses of identity and world view formation like when J.J. came out in his IEP meeting and when K. tried desperately to figure out the ethnicity of the new girl as he questioned, "Is you a mix?" I remembered all the notes intercepted, the girl drama, the boys who punched each other in the face. Yet, in the midst of the confusion and theatrics, there was some genuine enlightenment going on. I think. 

But the question asked me to recall my adolescence, and everything (even being bullied by C. from two doors down) seemed lame compared to the topsy turvy adolescence I lived as a teacher. So, I said, "I learned how to play the flute as an adolescent. And I joined the band." Weak. Nerdy. And so not filled with the angst and attitude that's to be expected...

But, I'm really excited for this semester. I'm taking my first ever graduate level Education class. I don't know anybody yet, but that's okay because the professor brought in chart paper and taped it around the room. We wrote on it with brightly colored markers that smelled like bubblegum and jolly ranchers. The only thing missing (and really bringing it home to TFA) was a "gallery walk"- but the chart paper and markers made me feel like I was back in education, back around people who want education at the forefront of their careers. And we're going to really dig in to the theory and psychology of adolescence, which I have decided will be great fuel for my writing.  

The experts will prove me wrong, but I'm convinced we twenty-somethings are a part of some sort of extended-adolescence. Sure, the growth spurts have stopped, the braces have been removed and the acne has calmed down. But the awkward identity formation, the confusion, the flux between angst and apathy and plain silliness...

...seems too familiar.

11. Be Aware, Read the Fine Print

I've done few things that have made me feel worried, really worried for my safety. Sure, I'm a total hypochondriac when it comes to my own health (see WebMD). I'm notorious for asking "What if?" given various scenarios and events. I am a semi-recovering nail biter. But when it comes to other people, I am trusting - rarely wary or quick to assume a person to be anything but well-intentioned. Because of this, I think I might be trusting to a fault, as it seems that I've gotten myself into a few hairy situations, including my most recent debacle online...

1. I've been threatened with identity theft. 

Apparently, during the job fair that scored me my teaching job in Baton Rouge, my social security number wasn't handled with tip top security and I was forced to place a flag on my credit report through Experian (keep this company in mind for later). Experian made me feel safe. Nothing ever seemed to happen with my precious identity. For all technical purposes, it's in tact, numbers safe and stable.

2. I've been asked to search for a bomb. Read mini-narrative below for details.

Unlocked and bare, without guards or censors or cameras, Southeast Middle stood a vulnerable smattering of blonde bricks. Theft: a cell phone, a pocketbook, a computer. Vandalism: a bathroom fire, a naughty drawing. Pot in a book bag as common as a pack of bubble gum. A knife. A pistol.

So, to safeguard against these security breaches, color codes were in place to signal how to proceed—whether or not to “lock down” the room, prepare for hurricane force winds, or ignore the violent thrashings of a psychic-ward-bound preteen just outside your door. 

“Code Red. That means we are on a lock down,” the intercom voice harked one morning. “Lock. Down. No one is to move from their location. Lock. Down.” The voice was breathy and shaky - different than routine fire drills or the daily pledge of allegiance. Had the Principal been running laps? Shaking children off his limbs? Holding back armed intruders?    

When the phone call came, I, like every other teacher, was eventually asked to escort my students into the gymnasium. But, unlike the others, I was also asked to leave my students and please follow the administration and police officers into the barren west wing of the building. I asked why the entire school was in the gym: "Ms. Field, a bomb threat has been phoned in. I asked again why the entire school was in the gym when bomb-threat protocol surely called for outside shelter, plenty of paces away from a potential structural annihilation: “It’s raining, Ms. Field. We can’t have 900 students standing in the rain.”  The logic didn’t satisfy me, but I was silenced.  I followed orders, unclear as to why I had been asked to leave my students alone. And when another twenty-something female teacher approached we were given our task casually and as routinely as if we’d been asked to add paper to the library printer.

“What you two are going to do is go from classroom to classroom and look for a bomb.” Blunt. Composed. Sterile.

“What!  Are you kidding?  What does a bomb look like?  And why are we the ones that should have to die looking for one?” Like a round of ammo, we spit-fired questions, convinced that they had the wrong duo and would humbly apologize while motioning for the police to take over.     

“Just look for anything suspicious. Cell phones. Look inside pen caps. Book sacks. Especially book sacks.” The two of us were still nervously laughing. “We picked you ladies because we thought you’d approach this calmly. Holler if anything looks fishy. We’ll be at the end of the hallway with the police officers.” I peered down the corridor at the supposed professionals who’d been called upon to help. Large and suited up for duty, the pair stood with their hands in their pockets, bellies up, and uninterested in assisting the two teachers called upon to assure safety and protection for the gym-ridden school.

“Can we look together or do we have to split up?” I asked as if I were a student, crossing her fingers that this particular assignment required partners. I asked because if I was going to explode I wasn’t doing it alone.

“I suppose you can go around together. Just be quick. And, when you give us the go-ahead, we’ll release everyone back to class.” The school was comprised of dozens of rooms one after another all filled with the chaos of education that may or may not have housed a bomb. In fear of full facial detonation I turned my scrunched up face to the side and used periphery vision to examine the student’s articles—poking and prodding like a picky eater to a vegetable-filled platter. But, when you're the teacher and not the student, hysteria is never encouraged to change your circumstances. So, my partner and I shut-up, shuffled through each room, and emerged with a weak confidence that the school would not blow up. 

It didn't. But I noted that caution may be used when approached by police and your boss.

3. I've been scammed online.

Never. Never. I'll repeat it again. Never request a free credit report because, of course, not much is ever really free. Well, it was free for a second, then my credit card started automatically paying a monthly bill of $12.75 then $14.75. Every month. Like clockwork. For over a year. And that adds up when you're a grad student.

You see, having been an almost-victim of identity theft, having become an involuntary bomb-searcher, I started to become a bit more attune to a dishonest, shady world. So when my utility provider questioned the strength of my credit, I logged onto freecreditreport.com to look at what was going on. I'd seen the snazzy commercials. I knew they were accredited by Experian and others. Why would I flinch when they asked for my credit card number so that they could do their job in helping me understand my credit score? I'm naive, yes, but I'm also an observer - a good reader. And no where on the website did I read that if I failed to "cancel" whatever service I had just unknowingly signed up for, my account would be charged every month. Like clockwork. Until I noticed. Which was over a year later. I assumed the semi-small amount on my monthly statement was related to my car insurance (the bill was from CIC Triple Advantage) - the name being foreign, sounding auto-ish to me and in no way indicating the words free, credit or report. So I let it slide thinking that I was getting a really nice motor club service that I happened to never use. And over the holidays, coming to the conclusion that poverty is the inevitable life of a grad student, I set out to cancel that pestering motor club from Allstate that I was never using, budget more strictly, cut unnecessary expenses.

When my agent said I wasn't paying for any such service. When I googled CIC Triple Advantage. When I realized hundreds of others have fallen into the same trap. I knew it. I'd been duped. I was a sucker. A poor, grad student, sucker with not much hope of a refund. Because the warning was there. I just didn't strain my eyes hard enough to see it.

Moral of the story: Read the fine print. Deceit just may be lurking in tiny font or under a pen cap, or inside a book bag. Call the Better Business Bureau when wronged. Learn from your middle school mistakes and trust sparingly.  

10. Reflect

How is it that I already feel behind in 2009 and I have yet to celebrate the new year? Maybe because I've neglected to blog for so long.  Maybe because it's time to plan for the summer, which is still 5 months away. Maybe because my professors have already sent out book lists. Regardless, time forges on, and a lot has happened education-wise that I haven't had the time to reflect on:

Biden, Obama, Duncan NYTimes

- Obama picked Arne Duncan to serve as Secretary of Education. As Chicago schools' superintendent, Duncan's style falls somewhere in between tradition and reform - supporting teachers' unions, while ousting ineffective teachers when necessary and implementing new reform platforms. Duncan, like most who have experience working in low-income school systems, believes that the achievement gap is the civil rights movement of our generation. He no doubt has a huge undertaking ahead of him, like reworking No Child Left Behind and ensuring that we begin quality education for the littlest students and continue placing the most effective teachers in classrooms. It's no surprise Obama picked Duncan, who appears to have the capability of mediating between different education camps rather than alienating one group and fostering division.

- Louisiana was called out for something POSITIVE related to education! The New Teacher Project, a certification program utilized heavily by Teach For America teachers, was commended for supporting educators who, in turn, prove more effective in classrooms (in Math, Reading and Language Arts) than teachers from traditional avenues with two or more years experience. Go TFA SLA!

the talented Dan Kahn, TFA South Louisiana '05

- A good friend, Dan Kahn, is shaking up Baton Rouge's youth community. Just named to Baton Rouge Business Report's Forty Under 40 list, he's gotten the recognition he deserves for beginning the Baton Rouge Youth Coalition (along with teaching and coaching and slamming poetry). BRYC is an incredibly innovative, yet totally necessary, movement to help the community's young people lead each other to financial literacy and stability so that their goals can be articulated and met. Alongside Kahn are '06 TFA alumni Sam Joel and Andy Gray. Their dedication to the Baton Rouge community is incredibly commendable.

- And because the beginning of a new year always spurs more personal reflection, I wonder how my former students are. I miss them. I love getting reports on A.H., a young man who had a rocky start to middle school and who is now thriving as an 8th grader and on the verge of being exited from special ed. I love knowing that A.K., a once slipping 6th grader, is walking confidently through the hallways of the very best magnet high school in Baton Rouge, no longer in need of special ed. services. I will keep my fingers and toes crossed for those taking the 8th grade LEAP this spring!