stevenpiziks | Entries tagged with education

STUFF I WON'T MISS ABOUT TEACHING
--Putting my classroom together at the beginning of the year
--Trying to keep students focused on a grammar lesson
--Those two students who are late every single day and get upset when I mark them tardy
--Calling students up to my desk to talk about how they cheated on something
--Trying to get responses out of first and second hour students who are still half asleep
--Struggling (and usually failing) to remember the name of the student who is talking to me
--Making sub plans while I'm sick as a dog or in the hospital
--Grading essays
--Getting up at 5:30 AM, especially in winter
--Loaning a new pencil to a student and finding it broken on the floor after class
--Having a regimented schedule, especially for lunch
--Negotiating a traffic jam filled with teenaged drivers
--Dealing with homophobia aimed directly at me

STUFF I WILL MISS ABOUT TEACHING
--Reading OF MICE AND MEN aloud
--Teaching "The Lottery" and "The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas"
--Discussing hard truths vs. easy lies with my seniors during A DOLL'S HOUSE
--Showing my freshmen the Monty Hall problem
--Getting to the final plot twist in OEDIPUS THE KING, where we learn that it wasn't Oedipus's father who gave him over to be killed as a baby
--Just about all of THE COLOR PURPLE
--Every single discussion in media literacy class
--Telling stories in mythology class
--Grading the annual mythology Peepshow diorama
--The student who suddenly gets it
--The student who shyly says on the last day, "You were my favorite teacher"
--Helping a student deal with a difficult personal problem
--Finding out that me being openly gay made a positive difference for a student

I'm retiring from teaching high school in June. During the pandemic, when teachers went from heroes to villains within a few months, I decided that the moment I hit 30 years, I would bow out. And so I am.

I've done the math and figured that I've taught approximately 6,720 teenagers. Every year, I give my students approximately 75 assessments (including homework, essays, tests, projects, and more), meaning I've graded about 497,300 assignments. Every year on average, two or three of my students fail, so my failure rate is about 0.0004%. Wow.

In my career, I piloted the co-teaching system, in which a special education teacher teams with a subject teacher in a class loaded with special education students. The system is now universal. I created the media literacy class out of thin air and for a while, it was one of the most popular courses in the district. When I started teaching, using colored chalk was considered edgy. Now every classroom has a SMART board. I have four certifications (German, English, health, and speech/theater), and I've taught all four of areas.

I've never taught Honors English or Advanced Placement. Students who struggle with school need good teachers, too, and it turned out I have a knack for reaching them, so that's the population I stayed with. I'm proud of keeping a low failure rate while not dumbing down the curriculum.

I've had epic battles with administration over a number of issues. What books the students should be "allowed" to read. Library censorship. The language I used on my blog. The gay characters in my novels. Teaching about condoms in health class. Running mass shooter drills. Wearing a religious symbol in the classroom. Right-wing parents and administrators who wanted me fired. And twice, death threats. Sometimes I won, sometimes I didn't. Some days the tension was so high that I threw up in the bathroom. Then I rinsed out my mouth, returned to class, and taught as if nothing had happened.

When people ask me why I persisted in a difficult, thankless job, I tell this true story:

One day, a student told me I'd had her uncle for sophomore English eight years ago. His name was DJ, and I remembered him. The student said DJ was serving overseas in the Marines, and she mentioned to DJ on the phone that she had my class. He got excited and said, "You tell Mr. Piziks that he's the reason I'm here!" I asked what DJ meant by that. It turns out that DJ was planning to drop out of school in tenth grade because it was too much of a struggle and not worth the effort anymore. We were reading THE CRUCIBLE at the time, and I asked the class a tough question about the play. I called on DJ, who gave a prompt answer. "That's right!" I said, and went on with class as usual. But for DJ, the moment was entirely different. "In that moment," he said, "I realized that I WASN'T STUPID. I stayed in school and graduated and enlisted in the Marines and right now I'm doing what I love and it's because of Mr. Piziks. You tell him that." And she did.

Another true story: I was at a school function one evening when a parent came up to me. "You're Mr. Piziks, right?" she said. "You had my son Noah last year." I remembered Noah, and told her so. She said, "When he started middle school, our family went through a really bad time, and Noah became withdrawn. He didn't speak much. He never laughed or smiled. We tried everything—therapy, medication. Nothing helped, and we were so worried. Then he started high school and had you for English. After a few weeks, he started to change. He smiled for the first time in years, and he talked about you and what he did in class. He was actually excited about going to school. Your warmth and humor brought him out of his shell, and I'm so grateful. I wanted to thank you." She hugged me, and I was tearing up.

But now it's time for someone else to take up the reins. Will I miss it?

Probably now and then. For now, I'm ready to rest.

It's standardized testing week at Wherever Schools (and all other Michigan schools). It's very strange. We do testing of some grades for three or four hours, then the rest of the students are expected to come in for the rest of the school day. Absentee rates this week, as you may imagine, skyrocket.

We're in the second year of testing completely by computer. By any measure, this is easier for me. All I have to do is make sure the right kids are in my room, log into the test web site, and start the test. That's pretty much it. No collecting and checking answer sheets. No counting test books. No security procedures. When the test is over, the students leave and we're done.

I know the computer test is a logistical nightmare for the district, which has to make sure every student has access to a computer during the test, deal with tech support, and a host of other computer-related issues. I'm not involved in any of that, though, so I just glide on through.

The two-hour instruction period, however, is just ... weird. One day we have hours 1-4 for half an hour each, then we have hours 5 and 6 for a full 60 minutes, and on the third day we have hours 1-4 for half an hour again. It's difficult to keep continuity, and anyway, most of the students don't show up. I'm coping by showing hour-long videos. Hours 1-4 have their split in half, but so what?

It makes for a slow, dull week, really, but you rarely want excitement when you're teaching, believe me!

I have a well-developed teacher voice. When used properly, it becomes a weapon.

Decades of practice in the classroom and on stage have given me a powerful voice. It’s not a resonant, basso-profundo like Patrick Stewart or anything, but it does fill every corner of a room. Like a stage actor before microphones, I know how to make my voice fill a space, and the tone reaches deep into the psyche, where it triggers deep-seated reflexes and yanks the listener’s attention to me.

You wouldn’t know when you talk to me that I can change the pitch and range of my voice from normal conversation to “pay attention or you’re dead!” But I can. The teacher voice isn’t a shout or even a bark. It’s just … penetrative. I can see it in action. When I switch it on in a classroom, the students change posture and turn toward me without realizing it. I can hold a class of 35 freshmen completely still with nothing but my voice.

It has an impact outside the classroom, too.

When I go back to work after two and half months of summer, when I don’t use the teacher voice, it takes a while to readjust. I turn it on at work and forget to shut it off when I get home. It’s a common thing for Darwin to wince and cover his ears. “You’re using your teacher voice,” he says, and I have to remodulate. It’s interesting that he recognizes it.

I’ve used the teacher voice as a weapon out of school, and it works there, too. On a tour bus in Turkey, I caught a smarmy older woman proselytizing to the Muslims on board and quietly told her to stop unless she wanted to risk arrest. I didn’t really care if she got in trouble, but I didn’t want the rest of us to get dragged in with it. She pitched a fit and decided to harass Darwin and me for the rest of the trip. After enduring a number of snarky, snide remarks, I reached my limit. I turned on my teacher voice and boomed, “Don’t speak to me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t even look at me. Keep your religion to yourself!”

She tried to interrupt, but I ran right over her. “Stop talking! Keep it to yourself!”

A round of applause rang through the bus, and the woman shut up. Teacher voice.

On our trip to Puerto Rico, part of our flight was rescheduled at the last minute, and Darwin and I had to make a tight connection as a result. So did several other passengers sitting around us. But you know what it’s like when a plane lands. People move so slow. It’s like they’re reluctant to leave the plane. One woman ahead of us opened the luggage bin and reached for her bag and sl-o-o-o-w-ly dragged it over to herself. She even paused to check her phone. Twice. Meanwhile, a bunch of us in the back of the plane were fuming and growing more and more worried.

I finally switched on my teacher voice. “Folks! We have a bunch of people back here who need to make a connecting flight right away,” I boomed. “We need your help. Please hurry along!”

And lo, people hurried along.

There’s something primordial about the teacher voice. It speaks with authority and touches old reflexes. People listen to it without realizing it. It’s one of the more powerful tools in my box.

Last night we got a weird on/off snow and some harsh cold. This morning, the roads in Ypsilanti were a tricky mess. Wherever schools didn't close, though, because (in theory) the roads were find up there. My usual standard in such cases is to call in if Ypsilanti and Ann Arbor schools close. But this morning at the time I leave (about 6 AM), Ypsi and AA were open, so I assumed the roads weren't too bad. Off to work I went!

It was a circus.

The roads were slick and nasty and harrowing. The highway wasn't much better. Everyone was going way slow. Lots of white knuckles. My normal commute is 48 minutes. This time? Almost 90. I got to work more than ten minutes after my first class had started. An assistant principal opened my room and babysat my students until I got there.

Later, I learned Ann Arbor and Ypsilanti (and all the surrounding school districts) had indeed closed, but only after I had left for work. If I had waited five more minutes ...

Big storm whipped through here. Tornado spotted north of us. 60 mph winds, big rain. We didn't lose power, but big, big chunks of Wherever did lose it, including Nameless High School and the two other high schools in the district (according to DTE's power outage map). Yeek! I wonder if we'll have school tomorrow.

As it happens, several schools in Michigan did a half day or closed entirely because of the heat--95 degrees and higher. Lots of schools have no AC or they have cheap-ass AC that can't handle this level of heat.

A similar thing happened last year, too. Right at the beginning of the school year, we had a power outage that closed school. Meanwhile, we had very few closures for snow and ice. In this changing climate, rain is the new snow.

Today is the last day of summer break.

I've already been up to Nameless High School several times, actually. I set up my room, got my first week's worth of plans in order, made copies, sat through the World's Worst Professional Development (tm). No, really. It was THREE HOURS of a trio of lecturers reading from a PowerPoint. When one lecturer was speaking, the other two were on their phones. And there were NO BREAKS.

You read that right. Three hours of dull lecture with no breaks. Know why? The school we were in is undergoing heavy renovations, and earlier that morning, one of the workers did something that basically shut off the water to most of the building. The only bathrooms that had working toilets were a pair of two-stall restrooms. For an auditorium filled with over 500 teachers.

"We won't be taking a break," one lecturer said, "because that'll cause a really long line at the bathroom, so we're just going to power on through. We promise that we'll stick to the three hour time slot and end on time."

When you catch me alone sometime, ask me how I spent those three hours. It probably won't surprise you.

Anyway, today's the last day, and it's a lovely, warm summer day in Michigan. I'm spending it doing very little. I went on a lovely bike ride this morning through woods and cornfields. I made a nice breakfast. I've surfed the internet, and I've written this blog.

Tomorrow the students arrive and the real work begins.

I haven't posted much about this school year. I guess because it's pretty much been more of the same, despite the new ninth grade curriculum.

On Friday, I graded the last freshman essays, finished tearing my classroom apart, bid the room good-bye, and headed home. And now I'm on BREAAAAKKKK!

This is the best part of break: the beginning!

It's dangerously cold out there, and although the skies are clear, the streets are treacherous with ice and packed snow that won't melt, even with liberal applications of salt. Wherever Schools closed today, and then we got the announcement they're closed tomorrow, too. This was already a three-day weekend because the semester ended, and now it's stretching into a five-day! If I had known this was going to happen, I would have taken a trip somewhere warm.

During a normal week around here, Darwin gets home well after supper time two days in three, so I don't cook nearly as much I'd like. But the Village of Lake Orion has a policy that when the schools close, village hall also closes, and Darwin has been home, too. So I revved up the kitchen.

Yesterday I made chicken pot pie: hearty and hot and wonderful when it's freezing out.

Today I really went for it:

--Banana bread (to use up some overripe bananas)
--Regular bread (in the bread maker)
--Beef roast stuffed with bacon, onions, and carrots and covered in more bacon
--Mashed potatoes
--Butterscotch oatmeal cookies (made extra-crispy, the way Darwin likes them)

With schools closed again tomorrow, who knows what I'll come up with?

I never read TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD in school. I never read it at all, in fact, until six or seven years ago, the English department chose it one of the summer reading options for incoming ninth graders. That July, I settled down to read it for the first time.

I disliked it immensely.

Why would I dislike this much-beloved book? For the exact same reason as these teachers:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/education/2023/11/03/to-kill-a-mockingbird-book-ban-removal-washington

Not only do we have the White Savior idea, we also have some poorly-written prose, an utterly inaccurate portrayal of drug addiction, and (for me) unrelatable characters. The plot, such as it is, wanders all over hell and gone. More than once, I noted in the margins, "Where the hell is this going?" I thanked many deities I only had to grade a summer reading assignment and not actually teach the book.

That said, I don't agree with the teachers who want to forbid it in the classroom. I =do= agree that TKaM shouldn't be required reading, but teachers who want to teach it (and who are willing to point out the book's many, many flaws, especially in regards to its treatment of racism) should certainly be allowed to do so.

As for me, I will happily pass my days knowing I'll never have to crack it open again.

For the people who want to install armed guards in schools to deter mass shooting, we have this: https://jamanetwork.com/journals/jamanetworkopen/fullarticle/2776515

TL;DR: "the rate of deaths was 2.83 times greater in schools with an armed guard present"

The day before a long weekend, a lot of teachers go for a more low-key day, partly because we're as tired as the students, and partly because absence rates are really high and you don't want to teach something new, only to have to re-teach it for all the students who missed it.

So I ran a low-key day. My seniors were great. We did some reviewing of previous material with online games, listened to a radio version of the book we're reading, and did some drawing of literary scenes. It was very relaxed and fun. Then my ninth graders showed up. They were monsters all class, some of the worst behavior I've seen all year. Immature and bad decisions that bordered on malicious. I was really upset with them, and it was a sucky way to end what had, until then, been a really nice day. I was glad to see the class end.

I have sixth hour prep, and normally I would have ducked out early, but we had a Gay/Straight Alliance meeting after school (we meet every other Wednesday, and this was an "other" Wednesday), so I had not only to stay, but stay late. I thought the meeting would be dead, with maybe three or four students, but we had a full house. All the active members came! I was a little mystified at this--didn't everyone want to get out for the long weekend?--but then I remembered how high schoolers see it.

To a teacher, an after-school meeting is work, and it's much the same as running a class (though the students are better-behaved). More work is the last thing you want on a Friday or the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. But the students see a group meeting as fun time. It's social time and time to unwind with friends. It's the kind of thinking that eventually leads to Happy Hour when they're adults.

The meeting went very nicely, and it was good to get the taste of my freshmen's bad behavior out of my mouth, but as the time for the meeting to end drew near, a lot of them were lingering. Under normal circumstances, I'd've let them, but today I wanted to go home, so I gently shooed them out the door.

By the time I got to the parking lot, it was nearly 3:30, and on the way home, I got caught in the "I'm sneaking out early today" traffic, so it took a LONG time to get home. I was late, in fact, for my online counseling session, but was able to hook up with the therapist anyway.

In the end, it was after 6:00 before I got any downtime. I should have gone for a run, but I said screw it and slacked off.

But the day wasn't done yet. Thanksgiving prep had to begin...

The News Media: Why are teachers quitting in record numbers?

Also the News Media: A teacher died trying to save students from a school shooter

Daycare worker charged for allegedly sharing obscene photos with kids at school.

Two dead, four wounded during overnight shooting near North Carolina Agricultural and Technical State University

Shooting at a St. Louis High School Leaves Multiple Black Students Wounded and One Killed

A student filmed a fight at a Central Florida school. Administrators are trying to expel him

4 teens under investigation for allegedly sexually assaulting special needs student

Penn State Hosted The Proud Boys Despite Outcry. Students Were Attacked.

Back in the Colonial Era and up through the early 1900s, part of a teacher's salary was room and board. This was provided by the families whose children attended the school. If your kids went to school, you were expected to have the teacher live with you for several weeks, after which, the teacher would go live with someone else.

This sounds to me like absolute hell.

If you were a teacher, you had no place to call your own. You lived out of a suitcase. You couldn't acquire any possessions. You were dependent on the parents of your students. You were on stage every moment. You had no real privacy. You couldn't be yourself. And you never knew what kind of housing you'd have. In one place, you might have your own room. In another, you might be crashing on a narrow sofa in your hosts' bedroom (as Laura Ingalls did in LITTLE TOWN ON THE PRAIRIE). Of course, you had no family life. You couldn't get married. Where would your spouse live? And forget having kids.

This happened because teachers weren't (aren't) respected. They weren't doing worthy work, and didn't deserve a salary that afforded them a decent place to live. Teaching was something a young woman did for extra extra money until she got married, whereupon she was expected to quit.

Apparently, we're living in Colonial America again. Schools in California are losing teachers fast for the simple reason that the teachers can't afford to live in or near the town where they teach: https://www.washingtonpost.com/nation/2022/09/02/teacher-housing-california-bay-area/

The school's solution? Beg school families to take the teachers in. Anyone have a spare room to rent so a teacher can live there?

I know the district is desperate for a solution, but I find this hugely insulting. I can't imagine, as a veteran professional, being asked to live like a college student scraping through school. Downsize to a single room in someone else's house? Really? And what do they do about teachers with spouses? Children? Or even pets? What if the teacher has an actual social life and wants to have visitors?

A running refrain from the Republican party is, "You can't solve our education problems by throwing money at them." This is a complete lie handed out as an excuse for why they vote down school funding increases. You can solve almost every single education problem by throwing money at it. More money to pay teachers a competitive salary--and hire more of them. More money for physical infrastructure. More money for ... well, everything will improve it beyond measure.

Tell me how you can solve the California problem of teacher housing problems WITHOUT throwing money at it. I'm waiting with bated breath.

Meanwhile, I nod at the teachers fleeing this situation. They--and I--refuse to live in Colonial America.

At about 6 AM today, we got the call. Although most buildings in the school district have power, two don't--one high school (mine) and one elementary school. Classes are canceled for those buildings today. So now it's two days out of three that we have no school!

This year's new school year proceeded normally. At first.

I did my two religious makeup days and used the time to make loads of lesson plans and a cornucopia of copies. I reset my classroom (what other job requires you to completely disassemble your office, including your computer system, and then set it up back up whenever you go on vacation?). Then we had two days of staff development. Then it was the weekend, and Monday we welcomed the students.

I have a section of mythology, three sections of English 12 (one of them co-taught with a special education teacher; the class is for students who struggle with English), and a section of English 9. First impressions? My mythology students will be fun. My freshmen will be a handful. And the co-taught English 12 will be surprisingly mellow. I was expecting more rowdiness from that class, but they were really chill. Which is cool.

I drove home--

--and the storm hit. Slammed into us, really. Winds at 70 MPH, sideways rain, continual lightning and thunder. I like thunderstorms, but this was a bit much even for me! But it passed after a few minutes, and things went back to normal.

And then we got the robocall. Turns out all of Wherever is without power AND is under a boil water advisory, to boot. School was cancelled for Tuesday.

I think that has to be the earliest school cancellation ever.

I feel I should point out that, in the entire time I lived in Wherever, our house never once lost power. Now that we've moved down to Ypsilanti, we STILL haven't lost power, and Wherever is in the dark. I take responsibility and offer my apologies.

As of this writing, there are huge areas of the district--the entire state--that don't have power and aren't expected to have it until late Thursday or even early Friday. The electric company's web site has no estimate for when power will be restored to the school where I teach. The boil water advisory makes it doubly complicated--the cafeteria can't operate properly, but federal law states that when the school is open, it must provide free lunch for those who qualify for it.

The district is in a bind. If they call school off again now and power is restored overnight, they'll get yelled at for calling off school needlessly. If they wait until the last minute to cancel school, they get yelled at for not giving people enough time to plan for child care. We just got an email informing us that they're going to decide early in the morning. Yeesh.

It's been a stormy start to the year.

I think most people were thinking that the teacher shortage was something that would show up some time in the distant future, ten years or more down the road or something. It isn't. It's happening right now. You and your kids are going to feel it this school year:

https://www.washingtonpost.com/education/2022/08/03/school-teacher-shortage/

The TL;DR version is that thousands and thousands and thousands of teacher positions are going unfilled across the country. Every single school and school district is feeling it. My own district in Wherever is one of the higher-paying districts in the state. Not long ago, a single vacancy garnered dozens of applications, and we had very few vacancies. Wherever was able to poach teachers from other districts, in fact. A few years ago, we had a special education position open up in mid-year, and Wherever persuaded a teacher one town over to leave and teach for us.

Now? I see the HR department putting out several vacancies a week. Just yesterday, they posted three more. And they can't get applicants. Keep in mind that teachers used to fight to teach in Wherever. Now there just aren't enough teachers to go around.

The trouble is, all the solutions are long-term. You've heard it before, and it hasn't changed. We need to increase salaries, improve benefits, reduce class sizes and workloads, and stop vilifying teachers. (Funny that when the pandemic started, we were heroes who restructured schools in less than 24 hours in order to teach and help and reach students during a national emergency, then less than a year later, we were mustache-twirling villains who are trying to wreck every child's life.) But all this will take time. Even if the legislature passed budgets that gave all teachers a 20% raise and restored all benefits and retirement to what they were in 1990, the shortage will continue. It takes four or five years of college to make a teacher, and right now teacher-education programs are empty. Young people aren't going into teaching. Meanwhile, the old guard is bailing out to retire early, and the middle guard is taking jobs elsewhere. If all the problems surrounding teaching were solved tomorrow, it would still be four or five years before the shortage ended.

And rather than address the big issues, some places are trying to lure people into teaching by loosening the licensing. Are you a vet? You can teach! Are you married to a vet? You can teach! Do you have a degree of some kind, any kind? You can teach! Are you in the National Guard? You can teach!

Some people are hearing the call and marching into the classroom, but it's not enough. You can't solve a staffing problem of thousands by hiring a few hundred. And in any case, I doubt retention from the National Guard/vet/business degree set will be very high. The school will be lucky if these people get through three months before they throw up their hands and flee. It's not because the kids are awful, but because they just don't know how to do the job. (I wonder what their state-mandated evaluations will look like?)

No one is allowed to act surprised that this shortage hitting so fast and so hard. Teachers and schools have been shouting about it since the pandemic began. But as I said above, I think the general public (and the legislature) said, "Yeah, yeah. We have time. The shortage is a few years away yet."

It isn't. It's here. It's now.

So the Manistee school district is complaining about the teacher shortage. They go on and on about it in this article: https://www.bigrapidsnews.com/news/article/Manistee-County-schools-concerned-by-statewide-17136799.php

But they also have this:

"Ron Stoneman, superintendent of Manistee Area Public Schools, said his district has continuous job postings open all year 'not necessarily because we have immediate vacancies, but we're trying to develop a candidate pool all the time.' "

So the district posts jobs that don't exist and collects applications, getting people's hopes up ("They have an opening in my area! Great! I have a shot") when actually there's no hope at all. Additionally, it takes FOREVER to fill out an application to be a teacher. Schools always demand your resume and then have you fill out an extensive questionnaire that exactly duplicates your resume. Then there's the background check and fingerprinting and other shit that the applicant has to pay for--all for a district that actually HAS NO OPENINGS. They're selfishly putting applicants through this tedious, hope-filled process just so the district can have a pool of applicants.

The Lansing school district does the same thing. Their web site lists more than 60 "openings" for a district of 10,600 students. There's no way a district that size will have that many openings all at once. A closer look shows they have several listings for "middle school teacher." In Michigan, middle school teachers are specialized by subject area, just like high school. You are certified to teacher, say, English for grades 6-12. Or science, 6-12. There's no such thing as a generic "middle school teacher" license. The district is obviously trolling for applicants.

These districts clearly do not respect their employees. I can see why they're feeling the pinch of the shortage. I certainly would never consider working at either place.

The writing in this article is extraordinarily awful, but it brings to light an equally awful situation.

Short version: In order to punish teachers who quit during the school year, Texas voids their teacher certification, meaning they can't teach =anywhere=. Not only does this highlight the continuing war against teachers by the GOP, it is also beyond foolish. In the middle of the biggest teacher shortage in American history, Texas is kicking teachers out of the profession AND discouraging existing teachers from coming to Texas AND discouraging young people from becoming teachers.

https://www.kxan.com/investigations/more-texas-schools-threaten-teacher-certificates-for-those-who-quit/

https://www.theoaklandpress.com/.../lawsuit-school.../

I have a lot to say about this lawsuit.

You'll notice that Litkouhi (who is clearly a shill for the Mackinac Center) has children in the district, but nowhere does the article say she has children in the class. Why is she demanding lesson plans for a class her children aren't involved in? (Answer: she and the Center are just trying to make it look like the district is keeping secrets about what it's teaching.)

Litkouhi also claims she demanded curriculum, but didn't get lesson plans, videos, activities, or tests, so she's suing. But these materials aren't curriculum. Curriculum is the overall stuff: learning goals, benchmarks, and so on. The delivery of curriculum via daily lesson plans is up to the teacher, but those plans and materials aren't part of the curriculum. Litkouhi got what she asked for, and she's complaining about it.

We have some information here that's fuzzy. Various articles note the course is brand new. This would indicate that the materials Litkouhi is demanding literally don't exist yet. Most teachers plan about a week in advance. Plan further ahead than that, and you're asking for trouble--too many circumstances will force you to change stuff (snow days, fire drills, assemblies, teacher absences, the need to re-teach, and on and on and on).

Other articles claim the course has been taught for six months, but the district claims they don't have the material in question. See? They're KEEPING SECRETS. But it's not clear that lesson plans fall under FOIA. Teachers aren't required to file them officially or anything. The district as an entity doesn't actually have any way to ensure that lesson plans exist in written form. They may exist solely in the teacher's head. I know some teachers who have been teaching for so long, they don't write lesson plans down, except perhaps as cryptic notes like "Unt. 4, x 1-20." Additionally, since school districts don't keep teacher-created lesson plans on file, the district has no real way to confirm that lesson plans actually exist. The district could order teachers to hand over copies of their notes, but if the teacher said, "I don't have any," or if the notes made no sense to an outside reader, there's nothing under FOIA to require them in written form.

Litkouhi is also demanding prompts the teacher created in Flipgrid and on Google Classroom. But those materials actually belong to Flipgrid and Google. Litkouhi wold have to file a FOIA from them. Good luck with that.

In any case, I don't understand why Litkouhi doesn't simply ask the teacher. Or the students in the class.

It's NEVER a secret what a teacher is teaching. I have over 160 students. Do you think ANYTHING I do in the classroom is a secret? That I could somehow force 160 teenagers to keep quiet about what happens in my class? Please. Litkouhi and the Center are just trying to get support for the "force schools to post all lesson plans a year in advance" movement.

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Steven Harper Piziks

Writer, Teacher, Harper

Entries tagged with education

Missing

My Retirement

Testing, Testing!

Teacher Voice

White Knuckles

Stormy Start

Summer's End

Summer Break, 2024

Surprise Cooking in the Cold

To Kill a Mocking--No!

Armed Guards and Schools

Long Wednesday

The News and Teachers

When Did We Go Back To the Colonial Era?

Two Out Of Three

Stormy Start to School Year

The Teacher Shortage--Now

Another Take On the Teacher Shortage

How Not To Address the Teacher Shortage

Conservative Lawsuit Idiocy