Sunday, November 20, 2016

I made a student cry today.
The class was Life Skills math. I had a series of numbers for the boy (we'll call him "Orville") to add. He stood up.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"To get a calculator." he replied.
"You don't need a calculator for this."
"Yes I do!" he shouted.
He sat, put his down and started to cry.
"I can show you how to add." I said.
"But in my middle school they let me use a calculator, always!"
By now, pools of tears and runny nose were forming on the desk.
"You're in high school now."
He lifted his head from his desk and yelled, "I CAN'T DO IT!"
"Look me in the eye." I said. "One of my classroom rules is students are not allowed to say, 'I can't'. You may say either 'I can' or 'I need help.'"
He stood and told me he was getting a tissue.
When he came back, he wiped off his face, then dried off the table.
I sat with him, showing him how to add. Before the class ended, he added all of his columns accurately.
He smiled, with the look of dignity on his face, the look of being empowered to do something for the first time.
"I want you to do something for me." I said. "Just go along with it."
I went to the front of the room and said, "Class, Orville said he couldn't do something. My rule is you may not say, 'I can't.' You may only say, 'I can' or 'I need help.' Orville, what do you say about adding columns of numbers?"
With a voice that carried halfway across the school, he shouted, "I CAN DO IT!!!"

Friday, September 30, 2016

The final edition of my high school’s newspaper my graduating year listed the post-high school intentions of every senior. It was stated that the Universities of Illinois, Wisconsin, and Iowa were the “top three colleges” of the LHS Class of 1992.

Really?

Being the nerd that I was (and still am), I counted the responses. The number one college, by far, with over one-third of graduates, was the College of Lake County, our local community college.
I knew what they meant. They meant “the top three colleges that we’re not embarrassed about”.  But it still bothered me. By merely wording it as the “top three universities” they could have avoided the falsehood. It was as if they intentionally used the pool of colleges that included the College of Lake County just so they could ignore it.

You probably surmised that I attended the College of Lake County.

The College of Lake County, CLC, was the perfect environment for me. I was just starting to mature as a student. I did not yet have the academic wherewithal to thrive in a competitive environment. I didn’t have the organizational skills to both live independently and be a successful student.  
These were developed while attending CLC. 

Additionally, the financial burden of sending two kids to universities at the same time would have been onerous for my parents. I still remember the cost of my first semester at CLC: $33.10 per credit.
Kids in my high school had names for CLC: College of Last Chance. College Lost in a Cornfield.

I created my own: College of Leftover Cash.

During the second semester, I noticed people at CLC from my high school graduating class. I remember running into one in the men’s room.

“How’s it going?”

“Good, Bob. Nice to see you.”

“I thought you went to Indiana.”

Sheepish smile. “I partied out.”

CLC gave me both confidence and humility. By giving me the skills I needed, I developed the confidence I needed to earn my bachelor’s, and then three advanced degrees. By starting at a “lowly” community college, I’ve felt the need to prove myself over and over.

When a student attends a community college, and subsequently earns a bachelor’s degree from a four-year institution, there is no asterisk on the diploma saying where they started. Their degree is the same as the student who spent all four years (or more) at the four-year college. But when people ask me where I went to college, I say, “I started at the College of Lake County…” I typically get one of two reactions. One is, “I also started at a community college.” The other is, “I wish I had gone to a community college. I would’ve saved a lot of money.”

Starting at a four year college makes sense for some people. Some students are so academically advanced, there are few classes at a community college that would fit their needs. Others are offered such an excellent financial package as an incoming freshman that it would be foolish to take a chance on getting a similar deal two years down the road. There are many reasons for choosing one college over another, but it’s folly to shame a college because of its lack of competitive admissions.

I once read a quote that said, “College is a match to be made, not a prize to be won.” So true. As a kid, 18 looked like the finish line. At 42, I see it was the starting gate.

My wife and I have a daughter who is a freshman in high school. From a very early age, she demonstrated exceptional intellectual abilities. It’s tempting to think of your kid as an elite and have Ivy League dreams. But I’m reminded: College is a match to be made, not a prize to be won. Our community college has so much to offer: an honors program for accelerated students and an excellent pre-engineering program that, if completed, guarantees admission to the College of Engineering at the University of Illinois. I will be proud if my daughter starts at a community college. When I speak with her, she has her mind firmly set on community college, followed by “wherever life may take me”.  By starting at a community college, she will have more financial resources to allow her to go wherever life may take her.

Twenty years after graduating, I was in my old high school to use the pool. I walked by the guidance office and saw a display. It stated the top three colleges for LHS graduates were the University of Illinois, Wisconsin, and Missouri.

Argh!

In the school where I teach, I noticed at commencement, in addition to mentioning how many graduates are going to college, they sometimes make a special announcement of how many plan to go to elite colleges. After an exhaustive Internet search, I haven’t learned what defines an “elite” college. Ten percent acceptance rate? Tuition above $50,000 per year? Professors with leather elbow patches on tweed jackets?  

How about we make a special announcement of students who plan to graduate from college debt-free?

Recently, my district published an annual report. It was beautiful. It listed many of the accomplishments our students, staff, and community are proud of.

Pages six and seven told about the new, innovative programs we now offer.

Pages eight and nine told about students who excelled in academics, athletics, and the arts.

Pages ten and eleven told about employees who had been recognized as distinguished educators.

Page 13 stated, “Illinois State University, Iowa State University, and the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign are the top three schools the class of 2016 is attending.”

Argh again!

After 24 years, I had enough. I e-mailed the person who put the report together. I asked if we really had more students attending those three schools than our community college.

Gotcha!

She acknowledged that it wasn’t worded correctly, that, in the future, it should be identified as “four-year schools” to avoid confusion. Factually, that would be an improvement. But it would still be a slight to community colleges.


I’ll take what I can get, but I would prefer that we would be just as proud of every student who takes the next step of their life journey at their best possible match.

Friday, February 19, 2016

My eighth grade daughter said she got "yelled at" in study hall for drawing.

I realize the definition of "yell" has changed since I was her age, but I understood.

"Why can't you draw?"

"It's against the rules. I can do homework, read, or write, but I'm not allowed to draw."

"Didn't you have any homework to do?"

"I had math, but study hall's not enough time to focus on it. I need to have a long period of time to get into the mindset for math."

This took me back to ninth grade. I sat in a large study hall and had no homework. I had already read all of the interesting-looking short stories in my English book and had nothing to do. I took out a piece of paper and drew the face of an adolescent. With a pencil, I harshly dotted it over and over, to make pimples on his face.

The study hall monitor appeared and told me to stop or he'd give me a detention.

I realized my mistake. The dotting was making noises that were disturbing my classmates. I apologized and continued my drawing in silence.

He returned a minute later with a detention.

"What's this for?"

"I told you to stop drawing."

"I thought you meant to stop making noise. I stopped that."

"See you after school tomorrow."

Back to my daughter.

I told her she needs to follow the rules, but that I agree with her.

Why is is acceptable to improve your math and reading skills, but it's not acceptable to work on your drawing skills?

Drawing is her interest. It is how she expresses herself. She has the desire to convey her thoughts and emotions in pictorial form. She's not great yet, but she's working on it.

I wake up before her every day. In my place at the table, I'll sometimes find her drawings. The drawings are puzzles that make phrases. The one on my place today has "~" and a grave. The answer is "Till death" (tilde + death - it also shows how she loves her Spanish class). My response was a plate with a mound of food, followed by #. It was "corned beef hashtag", like a Wheel of Fortune before and after puzzle. Between an adolescent and her dad, art is one of the few ways we can communicate and comfortably say we love each other.

I suppose I could make a stink about the no drawing policy, but I won't. I try to be as hands-off as possible and allow her to take control of her life (as well as not being "that parent"). If she wants to fight it, I'll support her and give her guidance, but it'll be her battle to wage. I know next year she'll be in a less draconian environment at her high school. But it's a shame that a little harmless drawing isn't tolerated, or even encouraged.

By the way, I never served that detention. I uncharacteristically blew it off and then worried that I'd get in bigger trouble for having done so. But, miraculously, nobody ever followed-up with it.