Be careful what you ask for

(Jan. 24, 2007. Wednesday afternoon) Just two days ago, I had yelled at Older Son because he wasn’t stressed about midterms.

I have learned to be careful about what I ask for.

Today, when my kid comes home from school he is a basket case. He is as upset as I’ve ever seen him, with the exception of the day he learned that his beloved grandfather had died. He is upset because of what happened in school today, after he finished his English midterm.

Get a load of this: The kids all took their English midterm in their advisories. (“Advisory” is the equivalent of what we used to call “homeroom.”) So each group of kids was supervised by their advisory teacher as they took their English midterm, not by the English teacher.

After they were done with their midterm, the kids were all supposed to peer edit a feature article each of them had written at home on the novel “Of Mice and Men.” One boy in the class was taking a long time completing his midterm. Peer editing could not start until that boy was finished. In the meantime, Older Son’s advisory teacher told the kids to take out the essays each of them had completed for homework and edit them again.

The kids have been working on these essays for weeks. Each of their essays was already as perfect as each child could make it. But all of the kids, including Older Son, did what the Advisory Teacher told them to do.

Older Son read his essay once.

He read it again.

He read it a third time.

And then a fourth.

He could find nothing wrong with his essay.

He had nothing to do.

He looked around the classroom.

The boy who was taking a long time was still working hard on his English midterm.

Older Son didn’t want to sit idle. He had already handed in his midterm. He had already completed his essay. He didn’t want to pretend to be working when he really wasn’t.

He reached into his book bag and quietly pulled out a book to read.

What did the Advisory Teacher do?

She saw Older Son opening a book and yelled, “Older Son! Off topic! Five points off your English midterm!”

After all the studying this kid had been doing, after not attending his uncle’s funeral because he had to study for his midterms, after giving up playdates, TV, reading for pleasure and even having conversations with his parents about anything beyond schoolwork, he was now going to lose five points on his midterm because he was quietly reading a book.

Could you just die?

My kid did.

I hate your f-ng school

(Jan. 24, 2007, Wednesday, third day of midterms continued.) Obviously, I am upset that Older Son’s teacher took five points off his midterm just because Older Son took out a book to read when he was finished with his work. My son is a good student and a really, really good kid. He has never been a discipline problem. If the teacher had gently told him to put the book away, he would have done so immediately. That’s all she had to do. She could also have yelled at him. She could have made him write “I will not read” 100 times. (Imagine?) She could have sent him to the principal’s office. But to immediately take five points off of one of the midterms that have consumed my child’s life for the past two weeks seems totally draconian to me.

Inside, I am boiling with anger. But I do not let my child see my feelings.

I want to protect him.

I want to calm him down.

I swallow my anger and remain outwardly nonchalant for my son’s sake.

“Big deal,” I say. “It’s only five points. You’ll still get a good grade. Who cares about the five points? It’s no big deal.”

“I care,” says Older Son. “Five points is a big deal. Dad says I have to get an 85 average or I can’t go to the high school.”

In years past, NEST+m middle school kids needed to have at least an 85 average in order to continue at NEST+m High School. If they didn’t have an 85 average they not only couldn’t go to NEST+m High School, but they were screwed when it came time to apply to most other NYC high schools as well. The 12 specialized high schools, like Stuyvesant, only consider the grade kids get on the Specialized High School exam when determining who will be admitted. You could have bombed every class in middle school but if you get a top grade on that exam, you get to go to your first choice of specialized high school. But all the other high schools look at the kids’ report card grades.

When it comes time to apply to high school, the Nest+m kids compete against kids whose middle schools have much easier curriculums and much more lenient grading policies. This year’s 8th graders will all be given automatic admission into the NEST+m High School for the first time in the school’s history. At the time of this writing we do not know what the policy will be for next year’s eighth graders. And we’ve been in the public school system long enough to know that policies can change from year to year.

Ever since he entered NEST+m, Older Son has been aware of how important good grades are when it comes to getting into a good high school. Even though you’ve read about how tough some of the teachers are on the kids, and how hard the kids work on a daily basis, Older Son likes his school. He says some of the teachers (like his 6th grade Social Studies teacher and his 7th grade Social Studies and Science teachers) are terrific. And he’s made really nice friends there. Having been accepted to NEST+m remains the accomplishment he is most proud of. He has been willing to give up a lot to be there. (He does not yet know he may have to give up his sleepover this weekend.) He knows that, as of this writing, he will not be able to remain at NEST+m unless he maintains higher than an 85 average. So five points off his midterm means five points off of his dream of going to NEST+m High School.

Out of respect for my son’s privacy, I will not share with you what my son went on to say about what happened in school today. But I can tell you that he is very, very upset and was very, very upset for the whole day in school.

Now, he is too upset to even begin thinking about studying for the next day’s midterm which is what he should be doing.

I listen as my son talks about how upset he is over what his teacher has done.

As I listen, my anger at his school begins rumbling to the surface.

There is a lot of it.

I actually wrote a paper and gave a presentation last year at Teacher’s College about all the things that NEST+m did wrong when it came to motivating kids and instilling a love of learning. Professors and fellow students of education were shocked to hear about the things that went on there. (I compared what NEST+m did with what all the research shows actually inspires kids to learn. Although there were some outstanding teachers at the place, overall my son’s sixth grade experience was a case study on how to stamp out a child’s innate love of learning.) I will post that paper and presentation at a later time but, trust me, some of the teachers have treated—and graded—the kids very, very harshly.

To give you just one example, here is a paper Older Son wrote in 6th grade on the relationship between math and the development of the atom bomb. Please take a quick look.

Pretty impressive, huh?

You know what grade he initially got on it?

65.

You know why? Because it was part of a group project and some other kids in Older Son’s group didn’t do a good job. So the whole group was penalized.

Not fair, huh?

A lot of things have been not fair.

Here’s another example: Last year Older Son’s science teacher (who ended up being fired months later because of an unrelated incident) wrote “poor homework” on Older Son’s first report card. (Grades and teacher evaluations are everything at that school and the kids compete for them the way racehorses compete for trophies.) Older Son, Husband and I were all very confused by that comment because Older Son had gotten excellent grades on his science homework. We asked the science teacher about the comment at our parent teacher conference. The teacher was as surprised about that comment as we were. Sort of weird, since he was the one who wrote it, but he said, “It said that on Older Son’s report card?”

“Yes.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Older Son has excellent homework.”

“Yes,” we said. “That’s why we are raising it with you.”

The science teacher opened up the dreaded notebook in which he kept a log of all the kids’ grades and found that at the beginning of the year, when Older Son was brand new to this school and its rigorous demands, he had failed to hand in two homeworks. He got a zero on both of them. “That has to be factored into his grade,” the teacher told us.

“We understand that,” we said. “Our question isn’t about his grade. It’s about why you wrote `poor homework’ on his report card. If he had trouble with homework at the beginning of the year and his homework is now excellent, shouldn’t the comment be `Shows great improvement?’”

There was no budging the teacher. It seems that two grades in the beginning of the year had doomed Older Son to that comment.

Comments like that hurt children. They undermine a child’s motivation. They make a child feel that, no matter what he does, no matter how much improvement he shows, he will not be able to get a good comment on his report card. In a school where grades are everything, comments like that can make a kid stop trying so hard.

So can this incident: Last year Older Son made honor role.

NEST+m used to have not one but TWO honor rolls. There was “regular” honor roll, which meant that the child had an average between 90 and 94. There was also “principal’s honor roll” for the kids who had 95 or higher.

Older Son made regular Honor Roll.

Trust me, this is a big, big accomplishment that took a lot of work on Older Son’s part. It required him to give up a lot of things, such as TV, play dates, after school activities, conversations with his family, and even sleep.

He was so proud of himself.

We were so proud of him.

But his principal wasn’t.

When Older Son received his report card the comment on it from the principal was “Congratulations to all those students who made Principal’s Honor Roll.”

Jamie wasn’t one of those kids.

He had made regular honor roll, but he was not congratulated on that accomplishment.

He was made to feel like only Principal’s Honor Roll mattered.

He was made to feel like his accomplishment was meaningless.

He looked at that excellent report card, looked away and never looked at it again.

The principal’s comment made him feel that making regular honor roll was chopped liver.

The insensitivity of that comment by the principal was astonishing to us. She should have congratulated the kids who made regular honor roll too. She should have congratulated all the kids who were still at the school, because they were all trying hard, no matter what their grades were. They should all have been congratulated for simply surviving, for simply being at the school and not having been kicked out or leaving voluntarily because they couldn’t handle the grueling workload.

But we said nothing.

We said nothing this year either when at our first parent teacher conference, one of Older Son’s teachers simply looked at his laptop and read off all the grades Older Son had gotten on his various assignments. The teacher said nothing about our son as a person or as a student. Older Son had been well liked and respected by the teachers at his elementary school. During his parent teacher conferences all of them had always commented on what a nice, kind, and mature kid he was and told us things about our son as a student that helped us understand him better. This teacher said nothing about our son as a person, or as a student. He only itemized the grades Older Son had gotten on each and every assignment. It was very depressing to realize that, to this teacher, our son was just a series of grades and nothing more.

Older Son didn’t do well on the in-class journal the teacher had the students keep. When we asked why he had gotten a low grade on the journal, the teacher had no idea. “You have to ask Older Son,” he said. “Or look at my notes. I would have written comments in the notebook.” We left the conference feeling that, even though the class sizes were so small, the teacher had absolutely no sense of who our kid was, not as a student and not as a person.

But we said nothing.

Over the years, we have been the model NEST+m family.

We have rarely complained. (We did complain to the former middle school director about that 65 and the teacher then raised his grade to an 80-something.)

Last year, parents who did complain to the former principal about the school’s harsh grading were allegedly told by that principle to “Get the f—k out of my school.”

We didn’t complain because we were grateful that our son was at NEST+m and not at one of the other public middle schools where parents are complaining that their kids are not being academically challenged. At least our kid was being academically challenged. He was definitely learning.

We didn’t complain because we didn’t want our anger at the unfairness and harshness of the place to affect how the teachers treated our son.

We didn’t complain because, on the whole, our son was happy at NEST.

We did not want to rock the boat.

And, so, we told him to think of his school as boot camp. He was toughening up. He was certainly learning a lot. He wasn’t being supported on a social or emotional level but, hey, that’s what he had us for, right? We told Older Son that he just had to accept that NEST+m is not a touchy feely school.

But, tonight, as I watch the emotional pain one insensitive teacher inflicted on my son, I reach the end of my tolerance for how some of the teachers are able to treat the kids.

I listen to my son.

I listen…

And listen…

And then I explode. “I HATE YOUR F-ING SCHOOL!”

Older Son, who is a remarkably empathetic, aware, and mature person, immediately opens his eyes wide and gestures with his head towards his little brother, who is silently sitting on the floor, listening.

Even with all the pain and upset Older Son is feeling, he immediately becomes aware of his younger brother. By gesturing towards his 6-year-old sibling, he is telling me to watch my mouth in front of my younger son.

Both of my sons are staring at me.

I usually do not say words like f—k.

I usually do not yell. I am usually very reasonable. I usually can always see the other person’s side in an argument.

Now, I am no longer reasonable. All my true feelings, bottled up over 1 ½ years of feeling like many of the NEST+m teachers take points off the kids’ grades at every conceivable opportunity, come out.

“I hate that school!” I yell. “I hate it. I don’t know what they want from you kids. They drive you into the ground, they treat you without any respect, and then this teacher takes five points off your midterm because you pulled out a book? That is sick, sick, sick. It can’t possibly be legal what they are doing to you and, I swear, if they don’t change their mind about taking off those five points, I’m going to sue them!”

“You’re going to sue my school?” my son says incredulously.

“Yes,” I say.

“For what?”

“Child abuse. The way they treat you kids, the things they expect from you, cannot possibly be legal. It feels like a total abuse of power.”

That is really what my Older Son’s education is beginning to feel like.

Abuse.

Abuse of the child.

Abuse of the family.

It does not seem possible that this level of work and harshness is what is required in order for kids to get a “good” education.

Abuse of power is not one of the things I want my kid learning about in middle school but, unfortunately, that is exactly what is happening—to a child who is a good kid and a good student. I can only imagine what is happening in the homes of children who are not doing well in that school.

E-mail to English teacher

(Jan. 24, Wed., continued.) I am really a well-behaved parent. Whenever I have a question or a problem I’d like to see addressed in one of my kid’s schools, I follow the proper pecking order. I talk to the teacher about it first and hope that it will be resolved. Although Older Son talked to the English teacher himself about the Advisory Teacher’s unfairness at lowering his grade because of a discipline issue, I decide to email the English teacher too. I recount what happened and then write, “Like all the other kids, Older Son is so stressed by the midterms and doing nothing but studying for them and to lose 5 points for something so insignificant seems totally harsh and unfair. Older Son said he talked to you about this and that you would look into it. Will you please let me know what your decision is? Thank you.”

My kid gets an “A” for Emotional Intelligence

(Jan. 24, 2007, continued) Older Son has the highest emotional intelligence of any person I have ever met. He reads people, and what they are feeling, like a book. He knows just what to say to make someone else feel better, and when to say it. He also knows himself very well and when he is upset, he takes active steps to make himself feel better again.

At the moment, his first step in recovering from the upset his Advisory Teacher has caused is looking ahead to the weekend. He asks me if I have arranged a time to pick up his best friend in New Jersey on Friday night.

I swallow hard. This is where I have to break the news about his sleepover.

I tell him that, yes, I have arranged pickup and drop off times with his best friend’s mother, but (here goes…) I tell him that his sleepover weekend will need to be cut short because he has to go to his classmate’s house to work on his science project.

Put your hands over your ears.

To say this news did not go over well would be the understatement of the century.

My son erupts with upset again. I will not share what he says at the height of his disappointment. When he calms down a bit, he says, “I hate my school. This is the first weekend after midterms. Why can’t they let us have a break?”

I shrug.

I have run out of answers and excuses for the school. I have run out of reasons for why my son, and my family’s, entire existence revolves around his school work.

Older Son goes on and on talking about how upset he is, how unfair his school is, until, finally, I cannot listen anymore. A stressed parent and a stressed child is not a good combination. I am stressed because:

1. I am upset for Older Son and what he is going through.

2. I am angry at the insensitive teacher who took 5 points off his midterm for such a ridiculous reason.

3. I need to leave in 30 minutes to attend a Community District Council-2 meeting on programs schools offer to help kids who are not reading at grade level. I am on a continuing quest for information on how to help Younger Son learn how to read. I am on a continuing quest for information about how his school could not have noticed that, in kindergarten and the beginning of first grade, my son had memorized all of his books and was not really reading them.

Before I leave, I have to feed the kids. I am also aware that Older Son needs to begin reviewing for tomorrow’s Social Studies midterm. Every minute that passes, is precious studying time that is lost. Right now, my son should be studying. Instead, he is talking about how upset he is, and why.

As a good mother, I should be listening and empathizing.

But that is not what I do.

Instead, I do something no good or empathetic mother should ever do: I tell Older Son to stop talking about how he is feeling.

I say, “I wanted to transfer you out of that school. You’re the one who wanted to stay.” This is true. More than once I have picked up the phone and cried to the mothers of Older Son’s elementary school friends who were going to much less demanding, much kinder and gentler middle schools. They all urged me to transfer Older Son to a different school and offered to speak to the principles at their schools about Older Son and what a good kid and good student he is. Always, Older Son talked me out of taking them up on their offers.

Why?

For the most important reason a 12-year-old boy could have: He likes his friends at NEST+m.

That is what matters most to a 12-year-old boy and I had to respect that, even if it meant my entire family had to give up having a life beyond his school work.

There were other reasons he wanted to stay at NEST+m too. The buildings in which the other middle schools were housed gave him the creeps. (Take a tour of them someday. You will be shocked at what public middle schools in such a wealthy city look like.) The NEST+m facility is beautiful. Also, Older Son really likes some of his teachers. He learns a lot from them and they are nice people too. Plus, he is very aware of the fact that he is getting a good education. He is very aware of how little he learned in his elementary school and he doesn’t want to go to a middle school with a similar, progressive philosophy.

Always, the pros of NEST+m outweighed the cons in my son’s mind.

Always, I respected his decision.

Now, I tell him to live with the consequences of that decision.

My son won’t even look at me.

He disappears into the bedroom and slams the door behind him.

At the moment, I am clearly not a candidate for mother-of-the-year.

The apartment is silent.

Then my Younger Son, who has been uncharacteristically quiet, looks at me and says, “Mommy, why do grades matter?”

Oh God.

My poor 6-year-old has heard and absorbed every single word Older Son and I have said. He must think middle school is hell on wheels.

I think hard and fast about my answer. How the hell do you explain to a 6-year-old why grades matter without messing up his intrinsic motivation to learn, without causing him to look for external validation of his progress as a student? Younger Son is too young to know about grades. His work is still graded with smiley faces and comments like “Good job!” or “Excellent work!”

But, hell, he already knows about death.

He may as well know about grades too.

I give the best answer I can think of off the top of my head. “In most places grades don’t matter. They are just a way for you to know if you have learned what the teacher expected you to learn. For Older Son, this year grades matter because they will determine which high school he will be accepted to. So grades are very important to him right now. That’s why he is so upset.”

The bedroom door opens. Older Son comes out. “I’m going to cook something,” he says. “Cooking always makes me feel better.”

Again, I am amazed by his emotional intelligence. He goes into the kitchen and makes Pillsbury dinner rolls from prepackaged dough. Soon the apartment smells wonderful and, soon, Older Son has taken the first step towards returning to his usual happy self.

As I have so often been before, I am blown away by my son’s resilience.

I am not as resilient.

I am angrier than I have ever been at his school.

I have had it.

We have a new principal!

(Jan. 24, 2007, continued) The phone rings. On the other end is a mother from the Lower School at NEST+m.

She asks me to send in a flower tomorrow morning for Dr. Olga Livanis, the school’s interim acting principal. “I’m going to have a vase in the lobby and have each family bring in one flower as a show of support,” she says. “I think that’s better than blanketing her office with flower arrangements, don’t you?”

I have no idea what this woman is talking about. “I’m happy to send in a flower for Dr. Livanis,” I say. “But what’s the occasion?”

“Didn’t you see yesterday’s e-mail?”

“No.” I’m sure there is a NEST e-mail somewhere in my in-box, but there are 78 other unopened e-mails too. I am not what you would call up-to-date on any of my correspondence.

The mother tells me that an e-mail went out yesterday announcing that Dr. Livanis had been officially appointed the school’s new principal.

That is the best news I have heard from that school all year. For the first time, there is a light at the end of this miserable, overworked, harshly graded, abrasively treated tunnel.

The mother and I talk about how happy we are that Dr. Livanis will be staying on and about how much rudeness and harassment Dr. Livanis had to put up with from a small group of disgruntled parents and teachers this year. We can’t imagine that any interim principal has ever been treated more rudely by a small group of very outspoken people. We can’t imagine that any human being could have shown as much integrity as Dr. Livanis did in the face of such rude behavior. I can’t imagine a smarter, fairer, more decent human being running my son’s school.

At the height of the abuse she was taking from the former PTA executive committee, the day after that committee resigned, Dr. Livanis addressed a group of parents who supported her. Dr. Livanis was clearly upset at how badly some of the parents and teachers had behaved at the meeting during which the committee resigned. (They behaved so badly that the police were summoned.) She could have easily lambasted the bad behavior of those parents and teachers. She could have said she was glad that venomous executive committee was no longer in power. But she did not. The only advice she had for putting together a new executive committee to replace her very vocal detractors was, “You have to make sure the new committee represents everyone in the school. You have to make sure there are people on the committee who are for the new administration as well as people who are against it. Everyone deserves to have a voice.” Her integrity at her lowest moment, her desire to be fair even to people who clearly hated her, who clearly gave voice to no other opinion other than their own, won me over forever.

The Lower School mother says she is also thrilled that Dr. Livanis is officially our new principal. Then she asks me how things are going in the NEST+m middle school. I tell her I really hate the place at the moment.

“Why?”

I tell her about Older Son’s advisory teacher taking five points off his midterm because Older Son pulled out a book to read after he had handed in his midterm and his work was done.

“Wow,” the mother says. “That’s like something the bad teacher in Harry Potter would do, the one who takes points off for everything.”

She urges me to e-mail Dr. Livanis about it. “She would never stand for something like that,” the mother tells me. “You have to tell her. That is ridiculous. If parents don’t tell her what is going on in the classrooms she will never know. Now that she is officially principal she can start doing something about things like that.”

I hope so. But whatever happens regarding Older Son’s five points, we have had good news. Someone who really cares about the kids’—all the kids—and their educations is officially staying on as principal of NEST+m.

Thank God.

Husband joins the fight

(Jan. 24, Wednesday, continued.) Husband had called earlier. I told him five points were deducted off of Older Son’s midterm. I told him why. Husband is even angrier about it than I am.

While I am on the phone with the Lower School mother, unbeknownst to me, husband emails the intermin acting middle school administrative assistant, whatever the heck that title means.

We have never even seen this woman. She was hired when the school year was already well under way, after her predecessor left. Her predecessor—the interim acting assistant principal—had spent the first half of the school year listening to parents’ concerns and promising to make positive changes, especially in the homework load. (It felt so amazingly wonderful to us parents to, finally, be listened to and, seemingly, heard and understood.) Then the guy left without a goodbye, without an explanation, in the middle of the year, without making any of the changes he had promised parents he would make. This “administrative assistant” was hired to oversee the middle school while a replacement assistant principal was looked for.

Husband and I had both put a lot of time and energy into getting to know the guy who left and filling him in on our experiences at the school. We haven’t had the opportunity to meet his successor. But it doesn’t matter. She’s the one in charge of the middle school right now and, so, Husband emails her. He explains what happened and says, “Would you please look into this matter? I hope we can resolve this tonight, so that Older Son knows he has not lost 5 points because he took a book out to read while waiting for the others. Are we so draconian that she could not say please put away the book? I went to a very conservative school, and the teachers never threatened the way they do in this school. Certainly, discipline and grades were kept separate. Send the kid the principal, but don’t penalize his grade.”

I am usually the one who handles any issues that arise with our kids’ schools. I am surprised that Husband has stepped into the rink with me on this one. But he is mad as hell too and he isn’t going to take it anymore either.

Now we are both fighting the fight together.

What exactly are we fighting for? To get our kids the good education that all kids deserve and to ensure that Older Son and his classmates are treated with the respect that all human beings deserve. Not too much to ask for, is it?

Fighting for these two things is taking up all of our free time. Husband and I never, ever, imagined that getting a good education for our kids would involve a daily hurdle of one sort or another.

But it does.

At least we are fighting on the same side.

At least we are standing shoulder to shoulder.

At least we are in this together.

What’s a parent to do when the DOE just won’t listen?

(January 24, 2007, continued.) I leave my kids home with Husband and rush over to a Community Education Council meeting on Differentiated Learning and Special Education. (Differentiated learning refers to the process of using various instructional methods to meet the learning needs of all children.)The CEC meetings in District 2 are usually very sparsely attended. The subject of today’s meeting has clearly struck a nerve with parents. It is standing room only.

Community School Superintendent Daria Rigney opens the meeting by saying that District 2 schools are not one size fits all and that there is now a push to pay attention to the individual needs of each child. This sounds good but then as the meeting goes on, I realize that, for the most part, this differentiation is not happening inside the classroom. This differentiation is happening via “pull out” services for kids who do not fit into the prescribed curriculum. But, hey, at least their needs are being met in one way or another. (If we want differentiated learning to happen inside the classroom we have to move to Scarsdale, a school district that focuses on each child’s individual learning style as a matter of course. But, that’s the topic of a later post…)

Rigney then tells everyone that she spent her school years reading Nancy Drew underneath her desk because she was not interested in what the teachers were teaching. She may as well have had a Nancy Drew novel with her at this meeting for all the listening she did to what parents had to tell her about their experiences in D-2 schools.

However, Rigney does honestly answer parents’ questions. Some of her answers make my head spin but at least they are truthful. For example, when a mother from P.S. 3 asks why P.S. 3 no longer has the Reading Recovery program for struggling readers, Rigney says that there are many struggling readers in that school. (Thank you, Balanced Literacy.) There used to be one Reading Recovery specialist there but when the demand for that specialist’s services became more than one person could handle, the school did away with the program completely. It seemed that since the school couldn’t meet the needs of all the students, it wasn’t going to meet the needs of any students.

Her response befuddled parents and Rigney went on to explain that having extra help for students all comes down to money. She said Title 1 (high-poverty) schools “get a big pot of money” which they can then use to buy programs like Reading Recovery. When schools are not Title 1 they don’t get that federal money and, often, they don’t have any extra money in their budget to pay for these programs.

I tell you about Rigney’s honesty because I want you to know that I am not out to bash her. What follows later is an honest recounting of how she responded to a suggestion that phonics simply be made available in the classroom to kids who need it. My goal in sharing this with you, and in writing this blog, is to honestly and openly talk about what my family is experiencing in the NYC public school system so that, hopefully, our experience will help others.

Helping people learn from my own experiences is something that, as a journalist, I do naturally. After experiencing a miscarriage, I wrote a book about miscarriage that has helped many people and is on the recommended reading list at many hospitals. After feeling that what my family is experiencing within the NYC public school system should be illegal, I decided to write about that too, because I am sure we are not alone and that our experience may help other families and may get the DOE to realize where the real problems lie. I assume that, once the DOE becomes aware of where things are going wrong, they will do what any reasonable people would do. I assume they will fix what is wrong. I assume that by being honest I will be helping not just my Younger Son, but also other kids whose parents may not even be aware of why their kids are not learning what they are supposed to be learning in school.

So, at the end of the meeting, I stand up and tell the four DOE representatives on the Differentiated Learning panel about how terribly Balanced Literacy failed Younger Son. I tell them in a very nice, constructive way. I am not out to get them to change the curriculum. I want them to make one little tweak that will help tens of thousands of kids. And so I tell them that Older Son learned how to read beautifully in a school that used the Balanced Literacy curriculum. (I leave out the fact that in his later school years he was a lousy speller and had no clue about grammar thanks to Balanced Literacy.) I say that I am aware that Balanced Literacy works for some kids. (At least when it comes to teaching them to read.) But I also say that it is obviously not working for many others. (Otherwise the room would not have been packed with parents.)

I tell these four DOE representatives that teachers need to be educated to the clues that children might give them to let them know that the Balanced Literacy curriculum is not working for them. I tell them how Younger Son said things like, “I want to learn how to read but my school isn’t teaching me how to. They tell us to look at the pictures to read but that’s not reading. That’s looking at pictures.” Without knowing it, he—at age 5— was begging to be taught phonics. I say to the DOE panel, “If you want to meet the needs of all children, wouldn’t it make sense to have phonics readers and workbooks in the classrooms for the kids who do well with phonics? Isn’t that simpler than pulling them out for Special Ed services?”

Then, wanting to help the parents in the room, some of whom had told heartbreaking stories of how their children failed to read in their classrooms or in the Reading Recovery program (which is a Whole Language-based approach), I told them about the “Explode the Code” series of workbooks. I say that those workbooks saved my son and taught him how to read. I say that teachers should let parents know that these workbooks exist so that parents can supplement their child’s learning at home.

I speak openly, honestly, constructively and from the heart. I lay my family’s experience bare for all to hear.

When I finish, Rigney looks at me with such disgust that you would think I told her to eat her dirty socks.

The first thing out of her mouth, in a voice implying that I am an idiot is, “Explode the Code is old.” She utters “old” in the same tone of voice one would use to say “truly disgusting.” In the research community “old” but still working means proven and with a fabulous track record but that is not what it means to Rigney.

She then tells me that my son’s school, which is part of her jurisdiction, teaches phonics as part of the Balanced Literacy curriculum.

I say, “It teaches phonics but in a very cursory way. It does not teach in a systematic way.”

“Yes it does,” she says.

“No it doesn’t.”

“Yes it does.”

“No it doesn’t.”

Not a very productive conversation, huh? What can I do to get her to listen to me? Is she lying or is she really so unaware? I don’t know which is worse.

I am the one whose child goes to that school. I am the one who had to teach him phonics at home. I am the one who knows he—and other kids—is now also being taught systematic phonics by the school’s reading specialist.

Everyone who knows even a little bit about Balanced Literacy knows systematic phonics is definitely not a part of that curriculum. Maybe Rigney doesn’t know what systematic phonics means. Could that be possible? That’s a scary thought, isn’t it?

FYI, this is how the excellent book “Parenting a Struggling Reader,” by the extremely well-regarded reading experts Susan Hall and Louisa Moats, Ed.D., defines systematic phonics: “The order of teaching all the sound-letter correspondences is determined in advance, and the literature for the day is designed to give the student practice in what she has already been taught.”

By definition, systematic phonics means a systematic, step-by-step reasonable and logical approach to the introduction of phonics rules that is supported by phonics-based books children can read in the classroom. Trust me, there is not a single phonics reader in my son’s classroom. Trust me, I have gone to look. Trust me, his school does not teach systematic phonics.

“Yes it does,” Rigney says,

I could say, “No it doesn’t” again but I realize I am not getting anywhere with this woman.

I sit down.

The person sitting in front of me also has a child in Younger Son’s school. She stands up and says the school does not teach systematic phonics. But Rigney does not respond.

A few months later, I learn that Rigney has a well-earned reputation for not listening to parents. One parent tells me, Rigney “thinks everything is perfect in her schools and if you think something is wrong then there is something wrong with you or with your child.”

At the start of this meeting, Rigney spent 10 whole precious minutes making us parents (who really would rather have been home with our kids) sit through her reading outloud an entire children’s book in which a child learns what is means to be wise. The child learns that being wise means being curious and asking lots of questions. None of us were quite sure what this book had to do with the subject of the meeting but we were too polite to say anything. By not listening to, or asking questions about, problems parents were presenting to her, Rigney flaunted the definition of wisdom she’d put forth at the beginning of the meeting. She was not curious. She did not ask a single question about the problems parents presented to her. Instead, she simply glossed over those problems.

Using her own definition of wisdom, I leave you to deduce whether or not Rigney is wise. I leave you to deduce what it means that someone like this is in charge of District 2 schools.

I honestly don’t know what to make of Rigney. From what I understand, she was an excellent principal. Maybe she thinks every teacher in her district teaches the way she did when she was a teacher and that every principal runs a school the way she did when she was a principal. Maybe she needs to get out of her office more and see what is actually happening in the schools she is responsible for. Maybe then we could have a real conversation that might actually make a difference for the kids who continue to fall through the cracks even as Rigney continues to insist that everything in the schools she is responsible for is perfect.

What would you do? Try to help all kids, or help your own children?

(Jan. 24, 2007, continued) As I leave the CEC meeting on differentiated learning, a man hurries after me. He introduces himself as John Scott, the head of the newly formed committee on special education. He tells me I am an eloquent speaker and asks if I would become involved in his committee. “We need parents like you,” he says.

“You need us for what?” I ask. “To talk to people who won’t listen?”

He says he also is very busy and that he too has many other things he would rather be doing and that he doesn’t have time for this. “But it needs to be done,” he says. “It’s important for parents to get involved and start making a difference.” He gives me his business card. I tuck it in my pocket and promise to contact him.

I take the subway home feeling totally deflated. I thought that if the DOE recognized how easy the problem was to fix, they would fix it. If kids are having trouble learning how to read because they need to learn phonics, then teach them phonics. But Daria Rigney didn’t even want to admit that systematic phonics isn’t being taught in District 2 classrooms.

So what’s a parent to do?

Should I continue going to meetings like the one I just attended, or should I spend my valuable time teaching my own child how to read while hundreds of thousands of other children continue falling through the cracks because no one in charge wants to hear that the Balanced Literacy curriculum is not working for those kids? Certainly tonight no one wanted to hear what went wrong for my child and how easily I fixed it.

How long are parents like me going to cry out in dismay about what is not working in the public schools? For over a decade parents complained about the TERC math curriculum. The DOE didn’t want to hear our complaints. Even after the TERC publisher revised the curriculum this year—fixing the very things parents had been complaining about from the get-go—Daria Rigney, and District 2 math specialists, continued to insist that the original TERC curriculum is excellent.

Hello????

Rigney and the District 2 math specialists defended the original TERC curriculum—even though it has now been revised to reflect exactly what parents had said was wrong with it from the beginning—at the last CEC meeting I attended. (See my earlier post on that meeting.) Rigney and her colleagues claimed the fact that District 2 had the highest math scores in the city proved TERC was excellent. At that meeting I had stood up and told Rigney that District 2 had the highest math scores in the city because all the District 2 parents were teaching their kids math at home, or were having their kids tutored. All the parents in the room applauded my comments and after the meeting I was mobbed by parents who thanked me for speaking the truth.

How long can parents keep on speaking the truth when no one at the DOE will listen? I want to know how Elizabeth Carson maintained the stamina and energy to put together her excellent website detailing all the reasons TERC, and constructivist math curriculums like it, are a disaster. (See www.nychold.org.) In the end, I’m sure her website influenced the changes made in the TERC curriculum. But those changes must have come much too late to help her own children.

Some day I’d love to meet Elizabeth Carson and ask her what made her keep on fighting when so many other parents never even bothered. Most parents simply hired math tutors and focused on their own children and not on an extremely flawed public school system that doesn’t seem to want to be fixed. That’s what I did with Older Son starting from the time he was in third grade. I was going to talk to his elementary school about how bad the TERC math was—and how clueless some of the teachers were about how to teach it—but, in the end, I followed Husband’s advice and avoided what appeared to be a losing battle. I simply taught Older Son math at home.

Is that what will happen with the Balanced Literacy curriculum too?

Am I going to keep on trying to help fix things the way I am now doing, or am I going to simply focus on my Younger Son’s needs?

I know which type of parent I would like to be—a crusader, an activist, a fighter-for-justice-and-the-right-to-read-for-all. But I don’t know which type of parent I can be. After all, I would like Younger Son to one day grow up and be able to read The New York Times. If I relied solely on the Balanced Literacy curriculum, that would never happen. That means I have to spend a lot of my time teaching him how to read.

I have only so much time and energy since, in addition to being a wife and a mother, I also need to earn a living. I can’t continue spending all my time trying to figure out how so many NYC public schools could possibly have such ineffective curriculums.

At home, I take out John Scott’s business card and put it on my desk. I decide I will email that dedicated, crusading CEC parent, but right now my own kids need me.

Email from English Teacher

(Jan. 24, 2007, continued.) I get home from the CEC meeting at 9:30 p.m. Younger Son is sleeping. Older Son and Husband are curled up next to each other on the couch watching TV.

Only kidding.

That hasn’t happened in one-and-a-half years.

You know what Husband and Older Son are really doing, right?

Since Older Son was so upset about his advisory teacher taking five points off his midterm because he pulled out a book to read after handing in his midterm and finishing his class work, he wasn’t calm enough to able to start reviewing for tomorrow’s midterm until 7 p.m. He is still studying. Husband is sitting at the dining room table keeping him company and catching up on his own work.

First words Husband says to me are, “I’ve been checking our emails. Nothing.”

That means we haven’t heard from either the English teacher or the Middle School Administrator about our concern over Older Son’s midterm grade being lowered for such a minor issue. That’s surprising because NEST teachers are remarkably diligent about frequently checking to see whether their students have emailed them any questions. Like the NEST students, the teachers appear to work around the clock.

After I put away my stuff, I check my emails. An email arrived from the English teacher at 9:34 p.m. It says, “Advisory Teacher must have had a change of heart because she did not write Older Son’s name on the official list. His grade will not be affected.”

That’s good news.

You’re supposed to be happy when you get good news, right?

I am not happy.

Of course, I am glad that Older Son’s grade will not be affected.

But this is not just about the grade. This is about the emotional upset that was caused to a child for no good reason.

I read and re-read the email.

Advisory Teacher had a change of heart?

Why did she not let Older Son know that?

Did she not realize how getting five points taken off your midterm for such a silly reason would affect a child who—without a single complaint—has been devoting every single waking moment to studying for those midterms?

But even more than that, my eyes keep going to the words “official list.”

What the heck is an “official list?”

Is it a list of kids who misbehaved and would get points taken off their midterm because of it?

Sure sounds like it.

Does that mean the English Teacher condoned, or pre-approved, or conceived of, this type of discipline for his midterm?

That’s sure what it sounds like.

(Full disclosure: I am writing these posts in April from notes I took in January. I must tell you I was mistaken about what the “official list” was. The English teacher and I sat down in April and had a really nice, constructive and productive meeting. He explained that his midterm had been pretty short and would not take up the full two hours allotted to it. He had told the kids that by having them self, and peer, edit their essays he would be giving them an easy five points on their midterm. He attached a list to the midterm packet on which all the Advisory Teachers were to note if any child did not do this task. So, there was no onerous “official list” that involved taking points off for disciplinary issues like pulling out a book when the kids were done with their work. That action was an individual decision made by Older Son’s Advisory Teacher who later changed her mind.

I have learned a phenomenal amount as a result of the good that has come out of writing this blog, which you’ll read about in future posts. Like some of Older Son’s teachers—who have shown a remarkable willingness, and ability, to grow as people, and as teachers—I too have taken a look at myself and have grown as the mom of a middle schooler. If I had it all to do over again, I would have sent a return email to the English Teacher and asked whether the “official list” was indeed related to discipline and grading. But that is not what I did. Back to January 24th…)

I say to Older Son, “Do you know anything about an official list?”

He shakes his head no.

“Did other kids get points taken off of their midterm?”

He nods. “Classmate got points off for pulling out a pencil sharpener.”

My mouth drops.

What would you do with information like that?

Tonight, I do nothing but I cannot stop thinking about it. This is no longer just about my son. This is about all the kids in 7th grade and how they are being treated.

What kind of a school is this? I wonder.

Who sets the rules and the tone?

Who is in charge of discipline?

What the heck is going on there?

At the moment, it is a school in flux, changing from one regime to another regime that is, officially, only one day old.

Much of what used to go on at NEST—like kicking out kids because they were having trouble keeping up with the rigorous demands—has stopped. But how much of the harshness is continuing? Hopefully, we will hear back from the Middle School Administrator tomorrow and find out.

New York Times reports that, sadly, parents all across the city are giving up the fight to improve NYC public schools

April 29, 2007. Did you happen to catch the article in yesterday’s New York Times about how many of the most dedicated, crusading parents—including Michael Propper, president of CEC District 2, the parents council that put together the forum at which Daria Rigney so blightly ignored the fact that many kids need to be taught systematic phonics in order to learn how to read—are giving up the fight to help better NYC public schools and are focusing on their own kids and their own schools instead?

This year’s elections for the parent councils start tomorrow but hardly anyone is running for a spot on them. That’s because parents are “fuming that the councils have no real authority, no power to institute policy and no influence with the Department of Education,” the Times reported. They feel, the Times said, that “participation is pointless.”

The fact that even the most active and involved parents are giving up the fight is “an indication of how bad things are,” Tim Johnson, the chairman of the Chancellor’s Parent Advisory Council told the Times. “I think over all, the Department of Education really doesn’t want parents at the table advising them on much of anything. Nothing they do seems to get any attention.”

This is all so sad. The Mayor and Chancellor are probably thrilled that they have gotten these parents out of their hair. And they won’t be Mayor or Chancellor anymore when, in 10 years, another Mayor and Chancellor will revamp the school system yet again and continue wondering why the disparity between wealthy and poor school districts still exists. That’s because well-educated, middle class parents who see via their own children what really works and what doesn’t were not listened to. These parents then did what any reasonable people who needed to earn a living and couldn’t spend all their valuable time talking to deaf ears would do after awhile—they stopped wasting their time and simply focused on educating their own kids. Sadly and frighteningly, they left everyone else’s kids to City Hall.

 

Email to NEST+m principal

January 25, 2007. Today I have lunch and recess duty at Younger Son’s elementary school. As usual, I am so impressed with how nice the teachers are to the kids, how they listen to every little sob story about who did what to whom in the yard and do their best to make each child feel heard and understood. Once again, I thank my lucky stars that Younger Son attends a school whose motto is, “Nothing without joy.”

Even though the standards at Younger Son’s talented and gifted school are remarkably high, no child ever feels pressured by a teacher to perform to a certain level and every single child is treated with respect.

I wish the kids at NEST+m were treated with respect. I wish it so much that I decide to take one step further to try to make it happen. I email Dr. Livanis, the newly appointed official principal of the school and tell her my kid was told 5 points would be taken off his midterm because he pulled out a book to read when he was done with his work and that another kid was told 5 points would be taken off his midterm for pulling out a pencil sharpener. I tell her that, in the end, the teacher had a change of heart and that my son’s grade was not affected, but that my SON was affected. No child should ever be made that upset for such a draconian reason. I tell her my concern is not about the grade, but about the children. All the children. I tell her I believe discipline and grades should be two separate entities. I tell her that this policy of taking points off, left and right, for the most minor infractions was something we hated about the “old” NEST+m and asked her to look into whether she wants those kinds of actions to continue at the “new” NEST+m.

“I believe you will agree with me that this is a counter productive way to motivate children or to instill any love or learning or of school,” I wrote. “Thank you so much. I cannot tell you how wonderful it feels to be able to communicate our concerns to you and to know that you will look into them.”

I go back to work, trusting that this woman, who has already shown that she likes and respects children and that she has extraordinarily high integrity (even when she is under malicious attack by disgruntled parents and teachers) will do what she feels is right.

What more could any parent ask for?

 

Tell him to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine

(January 25, 2007. Thursday.) Younger Son has just finished pooping. It was a messy one and I am bending over him as he sits on the toilet, checking to make sure that he did a good job of wiping himself. I tell you this so you keep in mind how little Younger Son still is.

He picks that moment to tell me, “Reading Partner teased me about my stick dot level today.”

I am glad that Younger Son cannot see my face at the moment.

I am stunned.

To refresh your memory: Different colored, round stick dots are placed on the backs of books in Younger Son’s classroom to signify how hard, or easy, each book is to read. Blue stick dots signify the lowest reading level, green stick dots are the next level and so on. Younger Son and his Reading Partner have been reading a combination of blue and green stick dot books. Most of the kids in their talented and gifted class are remarkably precocious readers. Younger Son and his reading partner are not. Most of the other kids in the class were taught to read at home by their parents, or supported in an astonishingly comprehensive way. Younger Son and his reading partner were not. Younger Son and his reading partner have been the worst readers in the class since the beginning of the year. They know it and so do all the other kids.

To my knowledge, Younger Son has never been teased about his reading level before. Reading Partner is repeatedly teased about it by a boy in the class who is a white stick dot. (This is how the kids refer to themselves: “I’m a white stick dot.” or “I’m a purple stick dot.” It is as if their stick dot color sums up their whole identity.) A white stick dot is the highest level you can attain in first grade. When you are a white stick dot you can read books like the Magic Tree House series by yourself.

Reading Partner’s mother got so fed up with this other kid teasing her son, that she told Reading Partner to zing it back to White Stick Dot. “Ask him why he still swims in the baby end of the pool,” she advised her son, who is an excellent swimmer.

Last week, Reading Partner moved up a stick dot level.

Younger Son did not.

Younger Son now has the unique distinction of being the worst reader in his class.

Now Reading Partner, who is supposedly my son’s friend, who himself experienced how bad it feels to be teased about his reading level, is teasing my son about his reading level.

What am I supposed to advise my son about that?

Remember, I am in the middle of checking whether Younger Son did a good job of wiping his butt. Perhaps that is where my inspiration comes from. I now advise my 6-year-old son: “Tell him to take his stick dot and stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.”

My little boy ponders this for a moment.

Then he says. “Okay.”

Then he says, “What does that mean, mommy?”

Oh God, what is happening to me?

I used to be such a nice person. Before the reading curriculum in my child’s school totally failed him I would never have advised him to say things like that to a classmate. Reading Partner’s mother also says she used to be a nice person. We both feel we are now at war when it comes to quickly teaching our kids to read so that they will catch up to the rest of the class and not feel bad about themselves. It was worry and frustration and a desire to protect her child that made her advise Reading Partner to tease White Stick Dot about not being able to swim. It is worry and frustration and a desire to protect my child that made me advise my 6-year-old son to tell his Reading Partner to take his stick dot and stick it up his butt.

I am not modeling good behavior.

I backpedal quickly. “You shouldn’t really say that. What I meant was that Reading Partner should put his stick dot in a dark place where he can’t see it. He should stop focusing so much on the color of his stick dot. And he should never tease anyone else about the color of theirs. You would never do that if you were ahead of him.”

In the next room, Older Son has heard everything.

He is laughing out loud.

Because of Older Son’s laughter, Younger Son probably senses that I have not told him the truth about what I said, I who tell my kids that being honest is the most important thing they can ever do. I who, in the past, have always told my kids the truth about everything. But I cannot tell my Younger Son how upset I am for him because I do not want him to be upset. I do not want him to think there is anything wrong with his reading because, really, there isn’t. The only thing wrong is that I didn’t teach him how to read at home the way most of the other parents taught their kids. The only thing wrong is that I now have to help him catch up. Quickly.

Luckily, Younger Son doesn’t ask any questions. I feel bad that I lied to him and decide to tell him the truth about this when he is older. Boy, will I have stories to tell him then. Boy, am I going to move into even higher gear when it comes to teaching him how to read.

 

Did you get the postcard from the DOE?

(May 4, 2007, Friday) Tucked into Younger Son’s backpack this afternoon was a postcard saying that, this spring, I—like other NYC public school parents—will be able to fill out a survey letting the Department of Education know what I think about my child’s school. The results will “shape the grade” our kids schools will receive “on the new school Progress Report. Survey results will also give your child’s schools information it can use to improve your child’s education.”

I am very interested in seeing the types of questions they will be asking. I am also interested in the comment on the front of the postcard: “When one parent speaks schools listen. When one million parents speak schools change.”

Is that what it takes for change to happen?

One million parents have to say something?

Thousands of parents and college math professors have already spoken out against the ineffective constructivist math curriculums as well as against Balanced Literacy. These parents are now teaching their kids how to do math, or read, at home or are fueling a booming NYC tutoring business. The DOE sure didn’t listen to them. (Luckily the TERC publisher did and revised its math curriculum to address parents’ most serious concerns.)

I wonder how many parents will have the time to show up on the steps of City Hall this Wednesday (tomorrow!) at 5 p.m. at a press conference being sponsored by elected parent representatives to let the Mayor and Klein know how unheard parents feel.

Until now, parents’ voices have been falling on deaf ears.

Maybe this survey will be a step in the right direction. We’ll see…

 

Tomorrow’s parent rally postponed

The rally that elected parent representatives were sponsoring on the steps of City Hall tomorrow to let the mayor and chancellor know how unheard parents feel has been postponed. I’ll keep you posted.

 

Last night of studying for midterms

(January 25, 2007 Thursday) Okay. This is the moment Husband has been waiting for. If you remember, math teacher sent home a midterm review packet for the kids to complete. However, she did not send home the answers.

Older Son completed his review sheet, seemingly without a single problem.

However, there was no way for him and his classmates to know if they got the answers right or wrong because the teacher did not send home an answer key. She was planning to collect (and grade, by the way) their review sheets on the day of the midterm.

Problem: if the kids don’t know which questions they got wrong, they will not know which concepts they don’t understand or which procedures they messed up.

Without the answers, the review sheet is totally useless and there is no way for the kids to study for their exam.

For this reason, Husband did the math review sheet too.

It took him 12 HOURS.

In the end, all the work Husband did was of no use because the math was hard and Husband didn’t know if HIS answers were right or wrong either.

Without an answer key, Husband’s review work is useless too.

If you remember, I sent an email to the math teacher pointing out the uselessness of her review sheet. She emailed back saying she would give the kids the answers in class today, the day before the midterm.

That will give the kids just one night to study.

One night to study is not very much time but, hey, one night is better than nothing, right?

Husband comes home from work and the first thing he says to Older Son is not his usual, “Hi.”

It is not his usual, “How was your day?”

It is: “Did you math teacher check your answers?”

“Yes,” says Older Son.

“Let me see what you got wrong.” Husband sits down at the dining room table. He has not even taken off his suit jacket. He has not had dinner. Helping Older Son prepare for his midterm is the first, and only thing, he is interested in.

Older Son hands Husband his review sheet.

I will not take you step by step through what transpired next because, honestly, I don’t have time. I have to go and teach my Younger Son how to read since he’s not learning how to in school. So…let me make a long story short.

Here is what happened in class that day: Turns out, math teacher did not actually check the kids’ answers herself. She gave each table of four children one sheet per table and had them check their answers themselves.

“Four of you had to share one sheet?” Husband says.

“Yes,” says Older Son.

“Why?”


“That’s all she had.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Now, having the kids’ check their own work would have been fine and good except the kids did not check their work carefully. Husband soon realizes that one of the answers Older Son has on his review sheet as being correct is actually wrong. He then realizes that one of the answers Older Son has marked wrong seems to be right because it checks out when he plugs it into the equation. “What the hell did you do?” he yells at Older Son.

“The kids at my table moved so fast through the answer sheet that I didn’t get all the answers.”

Husband spent 12 hours doing the math review packet. Older Son spent 3 hours doing it. They have both waited for this night to actually start reviewing it because they assumed they would have the right answers to work with. Since Older Son has the wrong answers to 2 of the problems on just the first page, Husband feels all the answers unreliable. They are back where they started.

Husband is the angriest he’s ever been at Older Son. Husband yells at him to get on the phone and call a classmate and get the right answers.

While Older Son is on the phone, Husband has me do one of the algebra problems. “I plugged in Older Son’s answer and it checks out but I don’t see how he got it,” Husband says. 

I get 2 for an answer. (Good thing I went back to school for a Ph.D. in psychology because I had to re-learn algebra. Useless for being a psychologist but it comes in handy when you have a 7th grader.)

Older Son has the same answer I do.

“So he did get that right,” Husband says. “He marked it wrong. How could he have marked it wrong? What is going on in that classroom?”

Older Son hangs up and comes back into the dining room, smiling. “The answer to that algebra problem is 2,” he says. “I marked that wrong but I was right. So I only got 8 wrong all together.”

He pulls out a calculator and calculates his grade. “So I got an 84 on this.”

Husband and I are staring at Older Son as if he is a creature from another planet.

“I don’t care what grade you got on your review sheet,” Husband says. “The grade you get on this is completely irrelevant. The whole point of this review packet is that that you were supposed to realize what you didn’t understand and then study that. If you made careless errors you were supposed to look at what caused those careless errors so that you don’t make the same mistakes on your midterm. It’s the grade on your midterm that matters.”

Remember that in New York City, 7th grade is all about the grades you get because, except for the specialized high schools which look only at kids’ scores on the entrance exam for those schools, all the other New York City high schools admit kids based on their 7th grade grades.

Do the math: Bad grades in 7th grade = bad + unsafe high school.

Kids with 95 averages are regularly rejected from the best schools in New York City. There are a lot of middle schools out there and very, very few of them even begin to approach the level of rigor and performance that NEST expects from its kids. The NEST kids are starting out way behind the 8-ball when it comes to getting into a good high school. As of the day before this midterm, to even continue at the NEST high school they need to have an 85 average which, trust us, is not easy to achieve.

This is why Husband and I are so concerned about Older Son’s performance. If he was in a normal town with a normal school system in which you simply went to your local neighborhood high school—and had time to play football and watch TV too—we would not be worried. We would not be nearly as involved as we are.

But we live in New York City.

We do what we have to do.

We have to groom an academic star.

At the moment, grooming an academic star involves Husband checking the answers Older Son got from his friend against the answers Older Son has on his review sheet.

Husband’s forehead furrows. He says, “Your friend said the answer for this one was XX?”

Older Son says yes.

“He’s wrong. It’s not possible. That answer doesn’t check out. Your answer does. You had the right answer for this one too.”

Older Son gets on the phone and calls another friend from school. This boy has the same answers as Older Son but he doesn’t have all of them because he didn’t complete his review sheet. Since he didn’t complete the sheet, he didn’t copy down all the answers.

We realize we can’t even have Older Son call his friends to get the right answers because they don’t they have them either.

This is amazing to us.

Months later, I interview an educational psychologist for an article on how kids learn. She tells me, “Seventh grade boys fall apart. Their prefrontal cortex isn’t functioning yet,” she says. (That’s the part of your brain that handles logic and reason and planning.)

She says about her own child: “My son stopped turning in assignments in 7th grade. I would find out about it later and say, `Dave (not his real name), how did you think this would be OK? He’s also the same boy who had a sandwich decomposing in his backpack.”

Months later, Husband and I will have a better perspective on how unreasonable the demands being placed on the NEST kids are. Months later, I –as an almost psychologist—will know that, because of the normal course of human brain development, 12-year-olds are not yet able to logically plan and handle their work the way we adults can.

But I learn this later.

Tonight, I cannot yet put what is happening in perspective.

Tonight, there is one angry Husband and one upset child in our home.

Husband throws the math papers on the table and yells, “That’s it. I spent hours and hours doing this math. I was ready to stay up as late as we had to, to help you prepare for this exam. The only thing I asked you to do was come home with the right answers. You promised me you would get the answers and you came home without them. You are on your own.”

He means it. He does nothing more to help Older Son study for his math midterm.

“Fine,” Older Son says. “I’ll do great. I’ll get over a 90. You’ll see.”

Older Son ends up not getting over a 90, but he does all right.

And the grade he got he did, indeed, get on his own.

Without help from us and, certainly, without much help from his teacher.

 

Now for the good news…

(May 15, 2007) Believe it or not, I am not usually a complainer. I am the kind of person who always tries to look for the good in a situation, who finds joy in the little things in life. Being angry or unhappy feels bad (duh…) so I always try to find a way to make things better, or to not sweat the small stuff.

Maybe that’s why complaining in this blog is starting to feel old. I don’t want to be focusing on, and thinking about, and writing about only the bad part of New York City public schools in here. (A little bit of repression goes a long way towards making you happy. There’s a reason so many of us function well in a state of denial.)  :)

For my other life as a professional writer—you know, the kind who actually gets paid for what I write—I’ve been doing some research into blogs and why people write them. Often, they are a harmless (usually anonymous) way for people to vent their frustrations to a community of like-minded readers. Most of the time, people stop writing them after three months.

That’s very interesting.

As an almost-psychologist, I can tell you that depression, untreated, tends to run its course after about three months. After that, most people start to feel better on their own. Maybe the same is true for anger. Most blogs are a way for people to vent anger. Maybe anger has a similar shelf life as depression. Maybe, it takes three or four months for people to either change a bad situation, leave it, or adapt to it.

I’ve been writing this blog for four months now and, if I had been planning to focus only on the negative, I, like most other bloggers, would be done right about now.

The motivation to blog is much stronger when you’re angry or feeling helpless. There’s more of a need to get angry, or bad, feelings out of you, and into print. When you’re happy, it feels good and you tend to keep it inside, or share it only with people you love. Most teenagers sit down and write in their journals only when they are full of angst, not when they are happy. Most novels are written about emotional, or physical, states that people want to change. No one likes to read about a happy protagonist.

I must tell you now, however, that I am happy. It is now 4 months after midterm week, which has been the main focus of this blog, and certain things at Older Son’s school have changed so much for the better that I cannot believe it is the same place.

Older Son has changed too. He has taken so much more responsibility for his own work that I cannot believe he is the same student. When I look back on what has transpired, I have to say that this change in my son seems to have begun after the night I wrote about in my last post, when he came home without the correct answers to his midterm review sheet.

That night, Husband walked away and refused to provide any further help with the math review.

That night, when he was already in bed, I told Older Son that I was done trying to knock sense into him when it comes to school work. I told him he will never get into one of the top colleges because he will be competing against kids who take responsibility for their own work, kids who are motivated from within. I told him that, even if he did get in, he would be miserable being there.

I told him I cannot be on his case all the time anymore. I told him that I honestly don’t care which college, or high school, he goes to. I told him that he has the potential to get into a top school but that he has to decide if he wants to. I told him he needs to decide what kind of student he wants to be and that I will love him either way. I told him he can grow up to be a bartender on a Caribbean island for all I care. I told him that all I want is for him to be happy and to be able to choose what school he goes to, just like he chose to go to NEST+m. I told him that all this hard work is about being able to have choices in his future. I told him I have done so much work supporting him in middle school because his elementary school did not teach him basic skills—like grammar, or how to take notes, or how to study for tests—and I needed to teach him those skills in order for him to succeed in middle school.

He now knows those skills.

Well, most of them.

Grammar is still an issue.

But, still, I told my son I am no longer going to push him.

I told him that what he decides to do with his mind, and his academic skills, is up to him. Once again, I told him that I now see that he is not one of those kids who will go to an Ivy League college and that I honestly, truly, don’t care. All I want is for him to get into a college where he will be happy and able to pursue his life’s goal.

My son’s reply?

“The kids who go to Ivy League colleges weren’t born knowing that they have to get the right answers to their review sheets,” he said. “They had to learn that too. Now I’ve learned. I’ll be okay.”

I told him he will be academically okay only if he decides to take responsibility for getting what he needs from school, whether it be the right answers, or help from a teacher. “If you don’t tell your teacher you need help, or extra time to copy something down, they will never know you need it,” I told him.

He mentioned that kids laugh if another kid asks for more time, or asks too many questions or doesn’t seem to understand something all the rest of the kids do.

I told him I know how bad that feels. I told him that, often, I was the only one in my Ph.D. statistics classes with my hand up, asking questions. I told him that plenty of times I felt stupid in school. I told him that, in the end, I finished one of the most demanding doctoral programs in the country with a 3.9 GPA while some of the students in my classes who kept quiet but seemed smart, ended up with much lower GPAs and didn’t get into the doctoral program, or failed certain exams once they were in it.

I told him that asking questions is smart and that being silent when you don’t know something is stupid.

I asked him to remember how long he and his classmates had to wait for another kid to finish his English midterm. “That was a smart kid,” I said. “He didn’t care what other people thought of him. He took the time that he needed and I’ll bet you he got one of the highest grades in your class.” I told him he cannot care what other kids think of him, not when it comes to learning.

Since then, he has begun asking more questions in class and going to his teachers on his own. Two times last week he refused to show us math homework he was having trouble with because he wanted to go to his math teacher, on his own, for help. He went to her, she helped him, and he got one of the highest math grades he’s gotten all year on that week’s math test.

Ever since the night I wrote about in my last post, I have become incrementally less and less involved in his school work until now, I realize as I type, I have no idea what he is learning in most of his classes. And you know what? HIS GRADES HAVE GONE UP!!!

In this blog I have focused on problems that came up in certain classes but I have not said much about really terrific experiences Older Son has had at school. There are plenty of them. I will give you one example: In Social Studies, all the kids are currently working on an essay about an early president of their choice. Most Social Studies teachers would simply grade the papers based on their content.

Older Son’s Social Studies teacher is not doing just that.

She asked the kids to please not show their essays-in-progress to their parents because she wanted to see what they were capable of doing on their own. Based on what she saw, she is teaching each of the children how to write a well-structured, well-researched essay.

She is teaching outlining.

She is teaching research skills.

She is teaching writing.

On an individual basis!

And she is a Social Studies teacher. This additional, back-breaking work is not in her job description.

That level of dedication is amazing to me.

And it has reaped gold for Older Son. He has not shown me his essay. I asked to see it out of curiosity, in spite of what the teacher said, but Older Son said, “No. No matter what grade I get on it, I want this to be mine. I want this to be something I did on my own. I want this to be something I can be proud of.”

For days now I have wanted to email his Social Studies teacher to say thank you.

Why haven’t I?

I have been emailing back and forth with an elective teacher who appears to be being overly harsh and have set up a meeting for later this week with this teacher as well as with the middle school assistant principal.

Once again, I am focusing on a problem that needs to be solved. Once again, I am trying to solve, trying to change, a negative.

I don’t want to focus on the negative anymore. Because of my need to start focusing on the positive, I need to tell you that everything you are reading about in here will have a happy ending. Younger Son’s story, especially, is so astonishing that it has inspired me to set up a non-profit foundation to help children in New York City who do not have parents like us, parents who can step up to the plate and advocate for our kids, or teach them what they need to know at home. My experience with how Younger Son eventually learned to read has inspired a whole new career path for me, as well as a whole new mission.

I hope you keep reading to find out what happened. I have not yet reached the lowest point in the events that happened last January. That will come soon. And then, slowly, things will begin to look up until the turning point is reached and only good comes out of all of this.

Thanks for following our story, the story of a mother who blogged her way to a better quality of life for her family and a better academic situation for both of her kids.

This is also the story of an amazing group of 7th grade teachers, one of whom I will be eternally impressed with for being willing to engage in phenomenal personal and professional growth (Older Son went from hating that teacher’s class to loving it after that teacher changed the way he was interacting with him) and another who deserves to be nominated for teacher-of-the-year.

This is also the story of a middle schooler who took responsibility for his own work and grew as a student and as a person.

And last but, certainly not least, it is the story of a 6-year-old who learned how to read.

The fact that all kids learn how to read in school is something I always took for granted.

It is something I will never take for granted again.