A Fine Line

Is that the new Shorewood brand? You hear about McCain’s brand, Obama’s brand, Paris Hilton’s brand, and hundreds of others. It’s the new in word for style I guess, and it has become a well worn noun on cable news. When I was considering moving here in 1989, Shorewood intoxicated me, tossing back her hair of peace, quiet and quaintness. She wore a small town calm and most importantly, was just out of reach of the big scary city. The brand included excellent schools, high quality arts programs, lousy football teams, excellent swim programs, a great dump and a village that treated residents like they were special.

What I didn't realize then, was that each elementary school in Shorewood had its own brand. Lake Bluff was the sort of liberal, easy going, friendly, progressive, casual yet very successful school. Atwater had a get down to business brand, the more conservative school, a little stiffer, test aware, score conscious and very successful, as well. When I visited each school shopping for my daughter’s future, I felt the difference. One school sent me on a tour with a staff member who emphasized high test scores, escorted me around the building, answered questions along the way and introduced me to the principal who was sitting on the far side of his very wide, important desk. The other gave me the option of just walking around, looking where I wanted, and asking questions as they came up of anyone who was near. There was no mention of where students cruised in the “drive-to-test-score distinction“.

The Shorewood school siblings have been undeniably affected by politics. Leaving no child behind has made its mark, like when you push really hard on your skin with a pencil. There is an undercurrent working now, to pull process under product. It is influencing the way teachers teach, what they teach, and how much time is spent teaching it. As it is now, there are two things taught in the morning in elementary schools. Language Arts and Math. The emphasis has had to be on keeping these scores high, raising reading levels and performing math efficiently on timed and standardized tests. Even with children at 96%, we neurotically wonder, “Hmmm…What can we do about that last 4%? “

There aren’t many differences between the schools now.Teachers with any crazy ideas about doing things differently should think twice after they see where compulsory education is heading.  But time will go by and everything old will become new again. Documentation and data collection that keeps creativity down now, will someday be dismissed as overkill and classrooms will again be places of wonder, like they were when they began, kept constantly bedazzling by teachers wearing John Dewey T-shirts.

Shorewood has now, a weird dilemma. There are those all the way up the chain who do believe our teaching methods and assessments can be flexible. There are best practice groupies-- following trends, research findings, scholarly works and looking for gaps. "Differentiation" is hot now. It could also be called good teaching. It requires us to see kids as individuals, determine how they learn and help them reflect that learning most effectively. Teaching to individuals assumes we will meet them where they are academically and move them forward as much as is possible and natural, without freaking out because they are not where they are "supposed" to be. They would still have to be tested old style like everyone else. If in the end students are placed in AP classes, put in “accelerated learner” programs, declared at risk or determined to be in need of support by specialists, it may be smarter and of more service to focus on successful test taking. The brand now?  It is still one that includes quality arts and academic programs, the swim team remains strong and scores are high. Our brand now is a bit up in the air, floating between the past and the future. From the inside, it looks like there will have to be some redefinition in order to fit the big feet of yesterday into the little slippers of today’s budget. You’ll be able to watch it happen. When your children start talking more about tests than about school, you’ll know it's done.

I had a dream last night that I got to my classroom, opened the door and prepared to set things up for the new year. The carpets were clean, countertops shining and all the furniture stacked in the middle of the room awaiting my designer’s touch. This year, maybe I would put the reading table where the loft is over in the corner. I eyed the space and thought it would work perfectly; a corner spot with protection behind me, panoramic view ahead. The children would have their backs to the rest of the class so they could focus solely on whatever gems were coming out of my mouth that morning.

Something seemed weird, though, and it took me a minute to figure it out. The purple painted wooden loft that children loved to play under and on was gone! The second loft was gone, as well. All the beautiful wooden furniture that I’d dragged in to make the classroom more appealing, comfortable and home-like, had been removed. My grandmother’s old dresser with the smooth finish and heavy drawers was gone; my mother’s wooden kitchen set, the overstuffed chairs the kids love to read in and all the cozy couches had been dragged out by the look of the floor. The walls too were bare. Gone were the E-Bayed fabrics from all around the world, the Japanese obi, the African mud cloth and Mexican weavings. I was upset, although the pain was eased a bit by eating ice cream with the “young Elvis” impersonator who appeared on “America’s Got Talent”, a show I admit to watching because there were no documentaries on. Then, as many children’s stories end…I woke up and realized it was all a dream.

While this dream was no doubt spawned by a pastiche of home improvement websites, reality TV, cleaning cabinets out in the classroom that day and planning next spring’s rummage sale, there was a basis in truth for it. We did have a fire inspection during this past school year. Things didn't go well for me. Let's just say my classroom has made it onto a power point presentation. We have been told that in order to abide by fire safety codes we have to get rid of all soft items in the classroom. That would mean couches, pillows, chairs, stuffed animals, curtains, and wall hangings, although nothing was said about the hundreds of pounds of paper stacked in every room and on every shelf. The inspector advised that it would be good for kids to sit on the hard chairs anyway, like he did when he was in school. It would keep them awake. Character built from the butt up, I guess. It was also stated that in most classrooms only 20% of wall surfaces could have paper of any kind on them. That leaves a lot of purple, green and yellow tinted paint showing. Not showing so much would be posters, kids’ work, paintings, drawings, stories and any other thumb tackable items put up to inform or inspire. Children will have to sit on hard, school issued chairs and look at pictures of George Washington, the alphabet strip, and the fire drill route poster. Don't be surprised if things look a little different next year. Oh, one more thing he told us. Absolutely nothing could be hanging from the ceiling. The ceiling patterned with shiny steel water sprinklers, installed at extra cost, so the room would be completely and immediately soaked…

in case of fire.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about words and how the use of them can be rather chess game-ish. If you know what you want and how to best say it to the people you want to hear you, points can be made and taken by your target audience. For example, the report card comments I wrote about last time. You can say what you want, transfer the information but avoid the drama some wording incites. If one can word report cards, work reviews, recommendations to make the sale of their ideas, I figured the same skills might work in the area of real estate, which as you know is going through quite the unnatural disaster.

With home sales being what they are I started thinking about how I could advertise my extremely modest (cheapest house in Shorewood) house to potential buyers. Just as in writing report cards, one must think of target audiences. I think for this particular home, that just might be the green people. Here’s how to make a recycled silk purse out of a Styrofoam pig’s ear.

The first thing one notices when approaching my front door is that there is no doorbell. There wasn’t one in 1989 when I bought the place, either. I just never got around to doing the wiring. Although it doesn’t send the friendliest of greetings, this could be added to the list of ways my green home saves electricity. There is also no backyard lighting, no dishwasher, garbage disposal or garage door opener. Well, there’s no garage either. The security lighting is in the eyes of my dogs who would be all too willing to give an intruder a very hard time. Washing dishes can be very calming and will be offered as a retreat from the fast pace of life. The sink will be described as a “water feature”, moistening the chi as it flows out the back door. The garbage disposal could be the old composting box in the backyard. My neighbor left it when she moved. Having no garage means I can’t accumulate much and tend to recycle things when spaces start to fill. This is another big plus.

I’ve always been eco-friendly and have a chemical free lawn. You probably have to pay extra for those these days. I’ve never put weed killer, Milorganite, fertilizer or green spray paint on the grass. Ignoring suburban responsibilities of garden manicuring and grass coaxing has rendered me a truly natural green space. I do have a gas mower, but only mow when the neighbors do so the pollution comes in one big long belch, rather than one every day of the week.

So how do I sell a four room, doorbell missing, garbage disposal lacking, dish washer free, garage-less little runt of a house? Call it green. Why, it’s practically usonium, in the Wright sense of the word. Hey, if you’re in the market for a house next year, keep me in mind. Live here and feel the power of the size 5 carbon footprint. Brag about how little energy you use, how calm you feel and how solicitors never ring your bell even when they see the “No Soliciting” sign right at eye height.

So, if you’re trying to sell your house this summer and it’s lacking some luster, some perks, some pazazz, I suggest you turn it all into attempts to be more green. Tell them you removed all the air conditioning, outdoor lighting, backyard pool and heated sidewalks to show you are a steward of the environment. Who knows?

 Somebody just might buy it.

Okay, so you have your child’s report card. You open the envelope and unfold. The letters or numbers don’t say much, so you go to what you know--the comments. Comments fall into several categories. First there are the generic phrases teachers write when they don‘t really have anything else to say, but do want to mark the end of a year with the child of the parents now reading. These include:

“Have a nice summer.”

“It has been a pleasure having Theodore in my class.”

“Way to go, Theodore!”

“Well done.” and the ever popular

“Good job!”

Then there are the comments that have dual meanings, one for the parent and one for the teacher:

“Betty is full of energy.” This means energy doesn’t quite cover it. It’s not necessarily a bad thing unless it is followed by,” Betty may find a yoga or tai chi class calming. Here is a rec. dept. summer schedule.”

“Tad likes to multi-task.” This means Tad is a gadfly. You took his chair away in October and he never even noticed.

“Rosie is very social. “ The next thought might be, “She talks all day long. I gave her a journal and encouraged her to sit, relax, and record her personal thoughts and feelings without any sounds involved, but she made an origami cell phone out of it instead.”

“I am concerned about Fred’s hearing.” While this sounds caring, the truth is hearing tests are done early in the year and you know Fred’s hearing is fine. He is just incredibly and unbearably loud ALL THE TIME!!!!!!!

Occasionally you hear of teachers who interject revenge comments. This, I am assuming, is cathartic and comes after many months of tongue biting, phone calls, emails, conferences and meetings. Some of these include:

“Buford is challenged daily by the structure of the classroom.”

“Buford starts with the same letter as bully.”

“Buford needs a small country to run.

Overall, if I were to write a report card for report cards it would go as follows.

The strength of the report card is that it is a form of communication among adults about a child whose welfare they all care deeply about. It may open conversations. It may make parents aware of talents or strengths they haven’t seen yet such as those related to work/study or leadership skills. This makes for positive interaction with, or at least positive feelings toward the child and his or her own school experience. The challenge a report card faces is to characterize a human being with a letter or number. Interpretation is subjective therefore flawed; you know, emotions make things so squishy. On the other hand objectivity is hard and unyielding, and the objective giver becomes nothing more than a scorekeeper. I know this report card of a report card would probably get a wide variety of responses depending on how much the reader agreed with me. That is the nature of the things.

So what’s the point? The point is, the final progress report is one of many ways to put together a picture of how your child is “doing”. There are many pieces to this changing puzzle, particularly in early childhood. Don’t take six or seven year olds grade letters or numbers as though they are the final word, final description or final judgment. Time and maturity can work miracles. My final report card comment about progress reports?

“…must try harder to work up to potential."

If there’s one thing Shorewood students have down, it’s how to react in the event of a tornado warning. Yesterday was perhaps the weirdest last day I’ve had here in Shorewood. Everyone was ending the year, the sixth graders were having their ceremonies, people were having their parties, parents were there to say good-bye to that year’s teacher and it all came to a sort of fast, then eerily quiet, to a fool me twice type animation throughout the halls.

Last time, or was it the time before, some of the kids were cooling off under the spray of a hose and came in dripping water onto the linoleum floors the rest of us were already huddled along. When the warning was over, it was dismissal and then it was vaudeville. Bodies were dropping, getting back up and sliding around the corner to the safe footing of a dry hallway.

Normally, at the end of the day you have a chance to say goodbye, hand out report cards, graciously accept gifts and hand made cards, reminisce about the year and give teary hugs as the children leave. This year was different. We were told another big storm was on its way and to get home as soon as possible. Report card names were read, grabbed and ran out the door with their parents or friends. Gifts were stacked up on the desks and proper thanks were not even attempted. Heartfelt words across cards made by children had to go unread until the next day. Quick waves out the door, some exchanges of facial expressions that meant we’ve had a great year and an odd unfinished feeling sat there with my partner teacher and me as we looked at each other and shook our heads.

What we would have liked to have said while all our students and parents were there was thank you. Thank you for your humor, your flexibility, your care, your questions, your encouragement, your willingness to get involved and for your beautiful children.

What we would have liked to have said to the kids is that they are incredible. They truly became a family; it was a family with strength and weakness, tempers and forgiveness, love and caring. It was a family that was better for all of us, and when one of us was not there it just didn’t feel the same. The child moving away did not get a proper goodbye from her friends and I feel badly about that, although it was heartbreaking the day before with another.

I’m sure I can speak for many teachers when I say that the children we have the pleasure of living and working with are proof to us that we may not end up homeless, without Medicare in a world full of adults unable to move anything but their thumbs.

As I come to the end of this year, for some reason I find myself thinking of ways to prank the teachers I am sending my kids to in fall. Harmless ways, like telling them there are 8 continents or 27 letters in the alphabet but the last one is silent. That got me to thinking about all the things we were taught and continue to teach in some places, that are just rong. For example, the sun does not come up in the east. The sun is always up. This kind of oops teaching has long term ramifications. I still remember when I was in my 20s and walking along the lakefront with a friend very, very early in the morning. It was “sunrise” as the first saboteurs called it. “Wow”, she said in her best 70s sigh. “I wonder what that looks like to the people in Michigan.” Okay, point made.

It iis warmer in summer because the Earth is closer to the sun, right? Nah-ah. That is a belief that people gradulate from college with under their mortar board. Maybe the tilt thing is thought to be too complicated to teach, but I figure if kids can play “Wipe Out” on Guitar Master, they can get that the Earth tilts toward the sun through a Shorewood summer.

This leads me onward to the sugar makes kids hyper theory. I know this has been kicked around a lot, but I tend to agree with those studies that conclude that’s a bunch of malarkey. Maybe even malarkey with jimmies. After watching children eat sugar for three decades, I find that the event around the eating of the sugar is far more excitement making than the food additive. I know that fun can be stopped on a dime in the midst of ice-cream and chocolate syrup if say someone starts smearing ice cream on someone else’s face or throwing chocolate chips around the room. Oh, the hyper can be sucked out of a party for sure. Children all supposedly high on sugar have been able to sit and read, process, make their ways to the bathrooms and write touching poetry. I’ve heard that Sylvia Plath was a chocoholic. That sure didn’t perk her up much.

When two vowels go walking the first one doesn’t always do the talking. So aside from how weird it sounds to a six year old that their teacher just looked at them straight faced and told them that letters walk and talk, it’s hard to argue with the wording of a petition filed by the words guess, friend, could, pageant and niece. Right at their heels are the words right, love, have, are, were and house. An e at the end of a word doesn’t necessarily make the tongueless vowel “say its name”, they insist.

I think it might be fun to teach a curriculum based on misconceptions and exceptions to rules. I could dedicate it to my late father from the lone star state who convinced me when I was a kid that Texas…

is a country.

The key to managing larger class sizes is the willingness and ability to let go of your power. I know this is an issue in Shorewood and all over the country. While there is a general gut agreement that lower class sizes must be better, there is this thing called a budget which, when other things have been cut, comes at class size caps like Edward Scissorhands. But before we cut class size, I suppose we could cut other things. Remember though, once things go you don’t often see them return. Kind of like when you dump a boyfriend and insist you can still be friends. You never see him again.

There is a lot of fat we can cut in this community, though. We could cut out the separate buildings for the kindergartens and spread the kindergarten kids throughout the "big schools" where the rest of the kids are.  Each class would get a couple. Children would embrace the newcomers and treat them like siblings, teaching them letters and numbers, counseling them on how to behave. They would feel a bit more compelled to be good role models, because no one wants an undisciplined five year old running around while you’re trying to take a timed math test or reenact the questionable discovery of America. Money would be saved through this method because closing the building would mean no heating bills, no custodial service billing, no more staffing. Now that’s a money saving idea.

Another way we could come at this budget thing would be to cut Spanish classes and instead, make all the teachers teach subject area content in Spanish for half an hour every other day. Let’s say, at 2:30. The whole building would speak in Spanish for that time slot from P.E. to instrumental music lessons even though it’s hard to speak at all when your lips are jammed into a metal mouthpiece trying to perfect that tuba embouchure. Sorry, musicians. Maybe you can play music that supports our efforts to internationalize. You can never get enough of “The Macarena” or “Lady of Spain“. You P.E. teachers should know that flamenco dancing is very thigh slimming and folk dances just make everybody smile. It’s a small world, after all.

Hey, I’m not out of ideas yet. Building improvements could be done under the auspices of the art department. Let’s embrace a looser definition of “improvement” and turn our art classes into interior design opportunities. Even the youngest of children can grout. Children in Japan are expected to clean their buildings from sweeping to mopping to wiping off surfaces and windows. No wonder they do better than we do in standardized testing. They have richer experiences. High School kids can work on the grounds as part of environmental education, agricultural science, botany, biology and toward a degree in topiary sculpture art. There could be a course called “Living Green” which would require students to recycle, compost, reuse and to get their classmates to wear stuff made from old backpacks and spiral notebooks. Think “Project Runway” and then think of all the money that can be saved.

At this time of year, there would be a community unification period during which classrooms would be packed up and carried out to line the halls of each building. Parents can arrive to pick up their children a bit early, and with vacuum cleaners to get those carpets cleaned. During registration in the summer, the new parents would be invited to haul the stuff back in. So you see, business office, there are many ways to save. If we think hard enough, we could probably get rid of almost every job in the district.

Every day for the past few months staff at Lake Bluff School has been passing through the changing doors that open to the parking lot. We used to have to come down a ramp, stand at the door on the right, ring a doorbell and open the door on the left. When we entered the 21st century, we swiped our way in on the left and pulled open the door. Better. All the while, however, even though a sign said wheelchair accessible it really wasn't and everyone knew it. Anyone in a wheelchair has a devil of a time trying to get in and get out on their own. But one day something had changed. An automatic door had finally been installed but it became clear that there were just a couple things the installers forgot to think about…

Picture this; you are in your wheelchair going into the only door that doesn’t have steps either before or after it. It is the door to the parking lot and accessible only after rolling down a ramp that leads to a bit of a pit with locked glass doors. You are surrounded on three sides by wall, door and steps, which leave you only a few feet for maneuvering your ride. You see the handicapped equipped sign and think you’ll be able to get in. Not so fast. Before you can get in, you have to have someone in the office release the lock on the door. In order to do this you have to ring a doorbell which is to the right of the double doors. You roll over to it, but it’s up so high you can’t reach it unless you get out of your chair and reach. Problem number 1. Well let’s say you were traveling with a meter stick that day and you poked the doorbell so it rang. The person in the office unlocked the door and you realize it’s not the door on the right where the doorbell is, but the door on the left that you need. You back your chair up, turn it, get situated in front of the door on the left, and push the bright blue handicapped entry pad which is on the left. The whole time, the person in the office must be laying on the lock open button which buzzes very loudly the entire time between unlock and the opening of the door.

So you’ve gone to the right, reached up, moved to the left, pushed the button and sounded the buzzer. Now the door begins to swing open, but instead of swinging in, it is coming toward you. It grazes your legs as you hightail it out of the way and roll in the only direction you can. To the right. As you go back to the left to enter, it begins to close and you’re hoping you can wheel over the threshold fast enough to not get hit in the back with the closing door.

I know this is what happens because I took some of the kids in my class, put one in a wheelchair and tried it out. The children were absolutely confused about how someone on their own would be able to get in the school quickly. They watched the boy reach for the doorbell, unable to. They yelled at him to get out of the way when the door started swinging open. They knew he was about to get hit in the back with the closing door and jumped in to push him onto the linoleum welcome mat of the school interior.

Anyone who was installing the door should have either known or found out how best to accommodate those in chairs. The teachers who work with many of the children who come to school in chairs work only 25 feet away from that entrance and could have offered excellent advice as to how the door should be installed. If nothing else, they could have gotten the wheelchair from the health room and tried it out before settling on their plans, like the kids and I did. They would have seen their mistakes right away.

I didn’t mention that even if things went swell and the roller got into the building, the mechanism that is supposed to open the door on exit doesn't work either. You push it, hear a click as though the door is disengaging and sit there waiting. I push it every day as I leave. Click, stand, wait, shake my head. That door has become a source of anger, frustration, and a often a reason to laugh at the series of unfortunate thinking that must have preceded its placement.

There were three people working on it this week and we all hoped the list of reasons why it didn’t work would be shortened. Maybe they were moving it to the other side so riders could wheel in without parallel parking type shifting around. Maybe they lowered the doorbell to the office so people in chairs could actually reach it. Maybe they moved the open door button to the same side as the doorbell. Last I checked, nothing changed. I’ll be leaving for work soon, and check it again. If it is fixed, you’ll be the first to know. If not, go check out the monument to the importance of planning ahead.