Over the past month I’ve seen some version of these comments on many a school district or parent thread: 

“Let the people who want to send their kids to school send them, and the people who don't want to can keep their kids at home to watch remotely. Is that really so hard?” 

“Such-and-such district is doing it! Why can’t we??”

There are so many problems with these statements it has been hard for me to wrap my brain around a response that isn’t just an incredulous GIF. 

So let’s just start with the logistics. In full disclosure, my own kids’ (12 & 16) district is doing this. My kids go in-person 2 days, and have to log into Google Meets all day the other 3. It will eventually amount to over 20 hours of screen time in addition to how much they stare at their screens while IN school and whatever “homework” they are assigned. 

The district has provided:

• 1-1 Chrome Books at all times, whether in person or remote (that are aging and sometimes don't function correctly)
• Chrome Books for teachers (that sometimes work, sometimes don't)
• desktops for teachers
• TWO microphone systems (one for the kids in class bc talking through a mask is rough, and one so the kids at home can hear)
• SmartBoard technology 
• document cameras 
• webcams (some staff purchased their own because the cameras on the Chrome Books aren't great)

You may see the beginning of my point here. Most districts don’t have the money for this, and frankly, they shouldn’t be spending the money they DO have on technology for an unsustainable, temporary model of learning. 

I hope you can also get a sense of how much work (and money) this is for teachers. To master all of that technology every single day while connecting with kids online while also wearing a mask and teaching kids in their room... Please be honest: does this sound like a reasonable expectation for a teacher? For anyone outside of a television production room?

The feedback I’m getting from my own kids and my friends’ kids is that the online part—while they do acknowledge their teachers are trying hard—is boring. They feel ignored because the teachers (rightly so!) are focused on the kids physically in the room. And because all of the students have an opportunity to be “present,” the pacing of content continues at a sometimes breakneck speed. I don’t think I have to tell you that learning while listening to a Google Meet and learning while you’re actually in the classroom are two different things. This dual mode, which people have dubbed “hybrid,” is a bastardization of teaching and learning.

Oh—and this is a super fun addition: in districts where this is being tried, the kids don’t actually have to consistently show up on the days they are assigned. If they wake up and don’t feel like coming to school, they can just join the Google Meet and still be counted as present. Now you might think, well Cara, if they’re sick they should be able to stay home and just watch class. No. No, they shouldn’t. If they are sick, they should be able to rest and the teacher can provide them some work to do that doesn’t require them to log into class and stare at a screen… Because they are sick. Side note: sometimes kids aren’t sick—sometimes they just don’t want to come. Which I get. But they shouldn’t be able to just “watch from home.” What we do in-person with kids matters. It’s not something you can just “watch and get.” 

Which leads me to my next point. One of the most beautiful things about teaching is the opportunity for a new adult to establish a relationship with a child outside of their home. The work we do with children is between the child and teacher with parents & caregivers as teammates. If a camera is focused on me all day long, it will inevitably change the way that I relate to and connect with my students. With countless eyes on me as I attempt to reach them, redirect them, and perhaps even reprimand them, I know it will not be the same. I teach high school. Sometimes we joke. Sometimes kids say or do things I know exactly how to deal with, but a non-educator, perhaps listening or watching from home, would not understand. Ask yourself how this impacts the education that your child is going to get in that classroom. Ask yourself if you want some parent you don’t know passing judgment on your child’s behavior they heard through a Google Meet. 

Speaking of relationships, if any administrators happen to be reading this, I am deeply concerned for you and your relationships with your employees. You are asking too much if you are putting cameras in their classrooms, and calling it a “hybrid.” They are starting to resent you, even if you didn’t meant for any of this to happen. I have never been an administrator, and I know there are so many aspects of the job I just don’t understand. But one thing I do know is relationships. And relationships matter long-term. The short term solutions you are coming up with are hurting your employees and endangering whatever goodwill you have spent years building. Be cautious in what you are asking people to sacrifice for their profession. You are going to need them throughout this crisis, and for years afterward. Tread lightly, and show empathy.

If you still think that I am overreacting and that cameras are no big deal, please just ask yourself this: would you be comfortable with a camera watching everything you do for seven hours a day at your place of employment? And would you be comfortable with the feed from that camera live-streamed into hundreds of homes, day after day? Would you enjoy having people who don’t do what you do, constantly critiquing, and sometimes even interrupting? Would that be OK with you? And are you OK with that kind of intrusion for your child who is sitting in a classroom, just trying to learn?

So by this point maybe you’re asking, OK, Cara, you’ve convinced me. Cameras are not a great idea. But what can we do? It's not safe yet to send all of the kids all day every day, and they still need to be learning. Yes, true. My answer to this is my answer to everything when it comes to figuring out what is best for students. 

Ask the teachers. Ask them what they could send home or post that kids could work on when they’re not in school. Ask them how you can keep your child learning when they’re not physically in a classroom (and maybe also see if there’s some non-screen things they could do). If you give teachers a chance, they will come through. We know what your kids could work on when they’re not with us. We know how much is too much or too little for them. Have faith in the professionals to make a plan that doesn’t overwhelm them OR you OR your kids. 

Lastly, because this also has to be said. I’m deeply concerned that so many local teachers’ unions have already agreed to this intrusion into their classrooms. Cameras in classrooms falls under working conditions, which makes it a bargain-able issue. Cameras in classrooms have always been a hard line in the sand for most, and with GOOD REASON. The intrusions that we allow now will set precedents for the future. Every single local teachers union, and every single school district needs to consider the consequences of their decisions long-term. What are all the possible permutations of this plan? Will students always be able to just “watch from home“? Will physical attendance just cease to matter at all? But most importantly, will the teacher’s presence in a student’s life be diminished to a face on a screen? Is this what we want?

We need to think rationally and with an eye towards the future of education, not just be satisfied with short-term, unsustainable, harmful solutions that will ultimately drive more people away from the profession, and cause communities to question if schools actually know what is best for their kids.

The Voices We Need to Hear: Are We Listening?

 

I acknowledge that mine is probably not the voice Michigan teachers and students need to hear in this moment.

 

But White silence, and especially the silence of White teachers is not acceptable, either. So since I have been given this platform, I will use it to make sure every teacher and every student knows where I stand.

 

Teaching is, and always has been, inherently political—not partisan, as some would try to make it seem, but political—and teachers make decisions every day that impact our students’ learning in political ways.

 

Students are watching us; they see the decisions we make about the books they are asked to read, and the history we choose to present. They notice the people, ideas, and events we present as “important,” and those we choose to leave out, intentionally or not. And they see when we choose not to talk about current events like the murder of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Ahmaud Arbery, and so many others because “it’s too political.” Guess what—NOT talking about them is a political choice, as well.

 

My district—and many others—often say that, in education, “all means all.” And I do believe it is every educator’s responsibility to show up and stand up for all of our students. 

 

But right now our Black students need us to be better. They need us to do the work and to show up for them. They need us to see them and hear them and say—out loud—that yes, Black Lives Matter. Because all can never mean all until the lives, experiences, and bodies of our Black students matter.

 

So as a White person and educator who can never understand the experience of living as a Black person in this country, I promise to continue to read and to learn. I promise to listen more than I speak, and speak when my voice is helpful to ensure that alongside our calls for diversity and equity, we also seek justice for our students and communities.

 

I would like to use the rest of this space to amplify messages and voices I have been following and reading for the past few years in my own journey to become anti-racist. I hope you find them helpful.

 

Dr. Ibram X. Kendi @DrIbram, author of How to Be An Anti-Racist

Ø  This is the book I read, but I am also currently reading Stamped: Racism, Anti-Racism, and You because it is written for young adults.

Ø  Recently Dr. Kendi was on Brené Brown’s podcast, Unlocking Us.

 

Robin DiAngelo, author of White Fragility: Why it’s so Hard for White People to Talk About Racism

Ø  I read this first because it came recommended and I didn’t know where to begin. I just knew I had to begin.

 

Michael Harriot, @michaelharriot has taught me so much history I didn’t know, and added context to the history I thought I knew.  

 

Bettina Love’s We Want to do More than Survive: Abolitionist Teaching and the Pursuit of Educational Freedom speaks directly to the heart of what it means to be a teacher.

 

Season 2 of the podcast, Scene on Radio called “Seeing White,” helped me see the deep through-lines from the roots of racism to what is happening in America today.

 

The 1619 Project podcast is an oral telling of the project itself. You can also read it here. This series helped me to see the deep history of how racist thinking and racist policies infect every part of our country’s governance, education, healthcare, city planning, and, of course, policing.

 

Paul Gorski’s work at the Equity Literacy Institute should be required teacher PD, but let’s just start with this piece entitled Avoiding Racial Equity Detours. You will see yourself, your school, and your district in these “detours,” and it will blow your mind. Paul solidified for me so much of what I couldn’t figure out how to name.

 

I discovered Val Brown @ValeriaBrownEDU on Twitter, and I have become a little obsessed with her wisdom, humor, and deep understanding of what needs to change in our schools. The chat #ClearTheAir (@ClearTheAirEDU) is where I have learned what to read, what questions we need to be asking, and how to find allies in this work. Full honesty—I’m not great at jumping into the chats, but the books they have discussed have made me better. One example: The Essential Conversation: What Parents and Teachers can learn from Each Other, by Sara Lawrence Lightfoot, which I’m planning to re-read before school starts.

 

There are countless other pieces and people I could add, but this is the work we can all do. To close, this piece by Cortney Ariel for Sojourners sums up a lot of my own learning, and would be a good place to start if you are just leaning into this work: “For Our White Friends Desiring to be Allies.”

 

Black Lives Matter, my friends. Our students need to hear us say the words.

Teacher Appreciation in a Pandemic

It’s a strange word, isn’t it? Appreciation. 

What does it mean to be appreciated as a professional? We have heard it quite a bit this month and throughout this pandemic. We appreciate all of the hard work and sacrifice of our medical professionals. We appreciate the dedication of our educators and school staff members.

And sometimes the appreciation is genuine and loving and feels truly personal, like when your administrator writes you a note about how much they value your work, or calls you to thank you for your support with a student. But sometimes it falls flat, leaving us wondering if what we do really matters, and if the people appreciating us actually know who we are, what we do, and what we are worth.

Recently I came across this piece in Forbes. In it, the author makes some incredibly salient points about what it means to actually show appreciation to our educators, including this one that stopped me mid-sip of iced tea to read and re-read: “Respect isn't merely the way you treat people—respect is the way you value their expertise.” Whew. Isn’t that just ALL the truth, right there? It’s not about a week full of donuts in the staff lounge or (more recently) yard signs and generic Twitter shout-outs. It’s about respect for educators—as a whole, but also as unique individuals—as having expertise that matters and is valued.

And now—as we begin to make plans to re-enter school in the fall—wouldn’t this be the time and place for teacher and school staff expertise? Wouldn’t their expertise and innovative thinking be even more valuable? When COVID-19 hit, our elected officials and school leaders deferred to medical and scientific experts because their expertise was valued and respected. We needed them, and still do. So it stands to reason that as we figure out what school should/would/could look like, we would ask the experts.

I recently was disappointed to see that in New York decisions have been made to “reimagine” education in partnership with Bill Gates. There has also been a task force put together which—seemingly—has very few classroom educators on it. I know educators in New York, and especially in the state’s largest school district in New York City are dismayed and I join them in calling for more teacher expertise in this “reimagining.” I am proud that my own governor has been asking for and listening to teacher voice throughout this crisis, and I would hope those thoughtful partnerships would continue as we work together to reopen our schools. It is the right and logical thing to do, and more importantly, is what is best for our students.

Teachers, counselors, and educators of all titles have been faced with seemingly insurmountable challenges over the last few months, and they have met them with creativity, innovation, perseverance, and definitely some tears of frustration.

They have been faced with questions like:

• How can we change our focus to reach our kids?

• Which kids need more from me? Which kids need less?

• What can I do to support families right now?

• What really matters? What doesn’t matter at all?

These questions are not new to us, but maybe they got lost somewhere in the shuffle of everything we’ve been told matters so much—testing, evaluations, and accountability, record-keeping, and on and on. We are now faced with the opportunity to meet this challenge with new thinking, and a focus on what our students and families need, so we as educators must be involved in crafting these changes. We cannot be left out of conversations about our students, our classrooms, and our livelihoods. We must be appreciated not just for our work, but for the expertise from which that work stems.

To close, I want to share with you my belated Teacher Appreciation Week hopes for our state’s

Created by the 2020 Wisconsin Teacher of the Year,
Erin McCarthy.
Shared with permission.

educators:

I hope you really do feel appreciated for all of the work you do.

I hope you know your work is valuable.

I hope you know you are enough—and you are doing enough. 

I hope you realize how much face to face, in-person classroom instruction matters because of you. 

I hope you know how lucky Michigan parents (like me!) are to have you to teach and guide their children. 

I hope you feel heard and seen and listened to. 

I hope you know how important your expertise and experience are, especially now, and that your school, district, and state leaders know it, too.

And MOST OF ALL, I hope all of these things are true for the other 51 weeks of the year, as well. 

Dear First Year Teacher

Dear First Year Teacher,

Lately I’ve been seeing some incredibly thoughtful and beautiful letters and examples of outreach to kindergarteners, 5th graders, high school seniors, and support for teachers in general (this last one has the grace we all need). Every time I see one come across my news feeds, I read them, share them, and appreciate the love and care that went into each one.

But lately I’ve been thinking about you, first year educator. What must you be feeling and thinking right now? I mean, in our wildest nightmares we couldn’t have imagined this. Everyone says your first year is hard, but come ON. This is excessive. Teaching actual live children right in front of you is challenging enough, and now you have to figure out how to teach them from your apartment/house? And on top of that, you’re trying to connect with kids who may have no access to technology, are feeling lost or confused or angry, or maybe just don’t feel like connecting with their teachers? It’s a lot to ask for us veterans, let alone for you, just starting out on this path.

So I found myself thinking back to my first year as a 23 year old high school teacher in 1998.

 

"My people" after our Homecoming assembly "through the decades" lip-sync dance in the fall of 1998 at Rochester High School. My head is poking through in the second row, and yes, I AM wearing a wedding veil.

I taught world history and language arts 10, and I remember constantly vacillating between feeling like I sort of had it under control, and feeling like a complete idiot who knew nothing. I cried a LOT that year. In my car, in my apartment, in my tiny little basement/storage room hunched over my Apple Macintosh desktop computer late into the night…ahh, the memories. I was also lucky enough to be hired in at around the same time as more than a dozen other new (or new-ish) teachers, and they quickly became my people. In fact, I married one and still consider two others among my very best friends, but I digress. 

On April 20, 1999, I had probably spent the day doing my best to teach my kids (while also leaning on those friends of mine for advice and laughs) when we heard about the mass shooting in Colorado at Columbine High School. Our country had never experienced anything like this before, and as a very young teacher I had no idea what to do, or what to say to my students. How could this have happened? Could it happen here? So I did what I had learned to do, and I went to my people. We talked to each other about how to talk to the kids. We leaned on each other, and we made it through that together.

A month later one of those incredible people, my co-worker and friend—a talented, brilliant, generous, funny, young teacher—was killed in a tragic car crash. And again, that little band of brand new baby teachers is what got me through those months of shock and loss and grief. They steadied me and had strength when I did not, and I returned the favor for them. We still miss her.

I want to tell you that what you are feeling right now—what we are all feeling—is grief. We have LOST things. We have lost opportunities to teach, to help our kids, to attend their graduations, go on their field trips, and see them accomplish their goals—and those are just all of the work related things. Many are also struggling with the loss of friends or family. And YOU have lost a lot, as well. All of the learning and growing you’ve done this year was just starting to pay off. Spring is when you start to feel like maybe you’ve got this. You know your students, you’ve found your people, and you can even fix the copy machine. All of that counts as loss and it is ok to grieve it. Loss is loss, and the most important loss is always your own. Brené Brown talks about this idea of “comparative suffering,” which is the idea that one loss is worse than another, so those of us suffering a “lesser” loss should stay quiet and just be thankful we aren’t suffering more. Don’t do this to yourself. You have lost out on a lot and I, for one, am deeply sorry for that loss.

I hope, at the very least, you have taken some small measure of comfort from finding yourself in the same boat as people who have been teaching for years. Very few of us know what to do or how to do it in this new remote learning world, so we really are right here with you, fumbling through awkward Zoom meetings, calming parent and student fears, managing emails and assembling packets. But more than that, I hope that you—like I did all those years ago, and still do today—have leaned on each other during this time. I encourage you to stay connected to other new teachers—lift each other up, and make each other laugh. Ask questions when things don’t seem right, and reassure each other when someone is struggling. Acknowledge each other’s grief and loss and sadness and confusion through this. Borrow ideas from people you trust, and try your very hardest not to compare yourself to others.

You may feel alone sometimes, but my hope for you is that you find solidarity and comfort in knowing there is a community of educators out there feeling what you’re feeling. Because in many ways, as the 2019 Montana Teacher of the Year points out, we are all first year teachers now. 

Grading: What have we got to Lose?

Note: this piece was originally published in March of 2020 on the Meemic blog.

A few weeks ago, after having some conversations about time management with student teachers, I felt inspired to tweet about it. Just to set the stage, I had about 1400 followers, and have never had anything go viral. I use Twitter for fun, for professional learning, and to connect with people I don’t know in real life. This is what I tweeted: “Teachers: you do not have to assign points or a grade to every single thing kids do. Please like, respond, or retweet if you agree. Trying to reassure a young educator.” No hashtags, and I didn’t tag anyone. Just—what I thought—was a simple, true statement, with an equally simple ask. Well, after 440 comments, 1400 retweets, over 12,000 likes, and about 300 (!) new followers…it seems I touched a nerve.

Grading is a touchy subject for teachers, and one we take personally. We pride ourselves on knowing how and when to assign grades, and often follow the same procedures for years without much thought about if what we’re doing is working. I know I did. We teach, kids do the work, we assess it. Seems pretty straightforward, right?

Wrong.

Assessing student work is one of the most time consuming aspects of this job. It takes up planning time, early mornings, evenings, weekends, holidays, and breaks. Given that, if a teacher attempts to grade or “put points on” every single thing students do, the task can be overwhelming to the point of exhaustion and burnout.  

So we have to ask ourselves some tough questions:

• Why am I grading this?
• Have my students had adequate instruction and practice prior to this grade I’m saying they have earned?
• Should I even be grading work that is practice?
• Is this grade “final”? Can/should I allow retakes or reassessment?
• How can I use class time more effectively so I don’t have to take so much home?
• What about if my school or district requires us to enter a certain amount of grades?
• How will I get kids to do this work if there are no “points” attached to it?

All of these questions came up in the 400 responses to my original tweet, as well as some really smart answers. (Shout out to Teacher Twitter!) I read through and saved a chunk of these ideas to compile for my student teachers (but then it occurred to me that perhaps I should write a blog about it—sometimes I’m a little slow on the uptake). Here are just a few of the pieces and ideas teachers across the country shared:

This post by Catlin Tucker about grading student essays when your district has a requirement for number of grades entered is a keeper, for sure. I already have ideas about how to make this work with my juniors & seniors, even though my school (thankfully) does not take away teacher autonomy in that way.

Angelina Murphy (@magicalmsmurphy) created this thread about Peer Editing Circles which—with some adjustments—could be used for many types of writing assignments.

This piece was astounding to me. In it, Jeffery Frieden (@SurThriveEDU) tells the story of having 170 (!!) conversations with his students to find out what they REALLY think about learning, grades, and anxiety. It is inspirational, but absolutely critical work that we can and should do—not to mention investing this kind of time in our students will help answer some of those questions above.

Prefer to listen rather than read? Caroline Davis (@CarolineFabianD) shared this podcast episode of The Happiness Lab with Laurie Santos (@lauriesantos) called “Making the Grade.”

Need a new math mindset? Check out this piece, “A Grading Strategy That Puts the Focus on Learning from Mistakes” by Katrina Schwartz (@kschwartz) tweeted by Doreen Bergman (@DoreenBergman). The teacher featured in the piece has found a happy middle ground between all grades and no grades.

Matthew Johnson (@a2Matthew) even went so far as to share the first chapter of his new book, Flash Feedback with my feed.

The Human Restoration Project (@HumResPro) shared this incredible Evidence Journal, created by Nick Covington (@CovingtonAHS). This YouTube video walks you through how to use this with students.

The responses are numerous and so, so smart. I encourage you to read through them yourself, and contribute if you think of something to add. Let’s keep this conversation going. Our kids and their success is much too important (and too complex) for us to reduce everything they do to points and letter grades.

And really, what do we have to lose by reevaluating some grading practices? What do we have to lose by letting kids retake or practice before evaluating for a grade? What do we have to lose by giving kids second…or seventh…or twelfth chances? Certainly not points.

A Teacher's Love Letter to Twitter

Note: this piece was originally published in February 2020 on the Meemic blog.

This month I want to introduce you to some people I have come to love and admire in the “Twittersphere.” I’ve included lots of links you can see even if you aren’t on Twitter (or are skeptical of it). To be clear, these people are not my actual friends (well, except for one). They are people I follow and learn from. I don’t interact on a regular basis because it isn’t their job to teach me what I don’t know. I read, I listen, and I do my own research/work. I would encourage you all to do the same. Twitter is honestly the best place I’ve found for professional learning. Don’t be afraid to check it out! Here’s a primer if you’re ready but want some help.

@mochamomma (Kelly Wickham Hurst) has been one of my most favorite finds on Twitter. Kelly worked for 23 years in public education and is now the Founder and Executive Director of Being Black at School. I don’t think I can properly convey how much I continue to learn from following Kelly. She has helped me to reframe my thinking, acknowledge and reckon with my privilege, and then apply that to how I engage with kids, colleagues, and the world in general. I recently heard her (so cool to hear someone you follow!) on this episode of Powerful with Jeff Couillard, and she is just as dynamic and brilliant as I had believed her to be. This recent thread hit me especially hard because it calls out so much of what I see (and am guilty of) in my own work: we go to a workshop, love it, take notes, get excited, then…nothing happens. That is just a taste of @mochamomma’s work. She has made me better.

I mentioned the genius of @Maire_from_NJ (Maire Cervenak) in my January blog post, but I felt the need to expand. Maire is a former elementary teacher, now education consultant. She also hosts a podcast called The Faculty Room. Let me say this: Maire is not for the faint of heart. If you are prone to pearl clutching and bouts of the vapors over some swears (and some brutal honesty), she may not be for you. But if you—like me—want to see educational hypocrisy called out, and you think we should be pushing past simple kindness as a remedy for everything in schools, go meet Maire. You won’t regret it. Want just a taste? Check out the last 30 minutes of this episode of On Education. Bonus: she’s a killer make-up artist, devoted Baby Yoda fan, and lover of all cats.

@MrTomRad (Tom Rademacher) is an English teacher in Minneapolis, Minnesota. He is also the 2014 Minnesota Teacher of the Year and wrote the book, IT WON’T BE EASY: An Exceedingly Honest (and Slightly Unprofessional) Love Letter to Teaching, which is on my list of absolute must-reads (that list has gotten quite long recently). Weirdly, though, this isn’t what brought me to him. @Maire_from_NJ (see above) brought him to my feed, but it was his Student Bill of Rights that helped me see how vital his voice would be to my learning. Check it out. Bonus: he also compiled some excellent advice for mentors working with student teachers.

@Jess5th (Jess Lifshitz) is—quite simply—brilliant. If you are an ELA teacher and/or an elementary teacher interested in introducing kids to equity and helping kids be more empathetic, justice-seeking citizens, Jess is for you. I mean, just LOOK at this. Her Twitter account is just a part of the work she shares—for free—on her blog, (bonus!) CrawlingOutOfTheClassroom.wordpress.com. Honestly, you’ll thank me.

@pgorski (Paul Gorski) is the founder of the Equity Literacy Institute. His work on avoiding what he calls “Racial Equity Detours” speaks to my soul as an educator. He explains his work on this episode of Powerful with Jeff Couillard, and writes about it here. He also takes so-called anti-bullying programs to task here, and starts an incredibly helpful thread here for administrators looking to hire people who are committed to anti-racism. Bonus: Social justice arithmetic. You’re welcome.

@sheathescholar (shea martin, lowercase intentional) is a literature teacher and researcher. They have taught me what it means to truly be an ally. I still have so much still to learn, but I need this work in my life to be a better teacher for all of my students. Kids need more allies and accomplices to become who they want to be. Bonus: sometimes they let us see a glimpse into their relationship with their wife, and it is beautiful and sweet and just so…marriage.

@JessycaMathews (Jes the Activist) is, I’m proud to say, one of my friends in real life. Jes is a high school ELA teacher in Flint, is the 2019-20 Region 5 Michigan Teacher of the Year, the 2018 Michigan Secondary English Teacher of the Year, AND a 2017 NEA Social Justice Activist of the Year finalist. She also has a comic book character designed after her (check out her profile pic) which is just about the coolest thing ever. Jes is the real deal—a true teacher activist, standing up for her community, and teaching her seniors to do the same. I recently had the pleasure of visiting Jes’s school, Carman-Ainsworth High School in Flint, where I saw her students preparing for “Activism Day.” Their work was inspiring, thought-provoking, and necessary. Scroll through her feed and I’m sure you’ll agree with me that this is the work more teachers need to be doing. Bonus: fabulous Halloween costumes with her equally incredible pal @CMattern21 (Carrie Mattern).

People I follow and love (to the point of idol worship), but can’t write too much about because then my blog post would go on forever:

·       @michaelharriot (Michael Harriot), a social justice and history expert who will teach you things you never knew (and most likely needed to know a long time ago). Bonus: he’s hilarious. One example.

·       @cmclymer (Charlotte Clymer), an Army veteran from Texas whose fierce advocacy for transgender rights is changing conversations and hearts everywhere.

·       @ValeriaBrownEDU (Val Brown) leads the #ClearTheAir chat. So. Much. Smart. It may hurt your brain.

·       @ShawnaCoppola (Shawna Coppola) wrote Writing Redefined…also on my list.

·       @MisterMinor (Cornelius Minor) is an inspiration every time I open my feed. Truly.

·       @Lyricalswordz (Scott Bayer) and @JoelRGarza (Joel Garza) run #TheBookChat and provide this incredible document for free.

There are SO MANY MORE, but I think if you follow some of these people, you will find all of the incredible people they are connected to and begin to see how to curate your own Twittersphere. Find me on Twitter @WonderTeach to let me know who else I should be following!

We can't do it all, so please stop expecting us to

Note: this piece was originally published in January 2020 on the Meemic blog.

To prepare for this month’s blog, I Googled “what should be taught in school?”

Woah.

Teachers—I don’t recommend it.

Apparently, we are supposed to be taking care of everything from “how to heal a broken heart” to “how to grow food,” as well as the tried and true, “how to study” and “what taxes are.” (Spoiler alert, we DO teach those last two—kids just sometimes turn into grown-ups who don’t remember.) Everyone has an opinion, with many making valid and important points about where we are failing students of color and students with disabilities.

Lately, though, the trend that has me most concerned is what teachers are being trained to do. Now, you may be thinking, “Cara, that’s not a new trend—we’ve been doing trainings forever!” And yes, you’re right. Over the years I’ve been trained on cross-curricular instruction, multiple intelligences, cooperative learning, standards-based grading, visible thinking, deep learning…the list goes on and on.

What has me concerned is the trend of training teachers in topics that are not directly related to curriculum and instruction, in lieu of giving them the actual supports they would need to help students. Specifically, topics like “social and emotional learning,” “trauma informed teaching,” and “positive behavioral interventions and supports (PBIS)” are popping up in schools all over right now—and for good reason. Our kids are coming to us with wounds and baggage we can’t see, and it affects their ability to listen, to learn, and to connect with us and their peers, as well as affects their behaviors and choices. It’s serious stuff, and it requires serious attention.

Recently one of my favorite people on Twitter, Maire Cervenak (@Maire_from_NJ) pointed out that motivational posters and kindness are not enough to help kids suffering from mental illness or trauma. It started a conversation about what a teacher’s role should be in the classroom, as opposed to the role of a trained therapist or counselor. Teachers want to help kids—it’s why we got into this profession in the first place—but there has to be a point where our help ends, and the students are given (yes, given, for free) access to whatever professional help they need. So therein lies the problem: which part(s) of teacher training helps us identify the things we should take on, which are relevant to classroom connection and instruction, and which things we must leave to another expert? Additionally, what do we DO when we come to the point where we realize a student is never going to get access to that expert because our school/district doesn’t have that resource (or the resource is spread too thin to be useful)?

To be clear: this isn’t a “that’s not my job, just let me teach” argument, although I do understand the sentiment and the frustration. This is a plea for realism and support. We know districts can’t always afford the social workers, psychologists, counselors, and other support staff needed to truly support students’ needs, so we rely on our teachers (and administrators) to fill these roles. It is in the nature of the teacher to want to know how to “fix” problems, but (well-intentioned) districts just cannot be expected to provide all of the answers. It isn’t fair, it isn’t right, and in many cases it isn’t ethical to allow students to rely so heavily on people not certified or trained to truly help them. Additionally, the impact can be second-hand trauma for teachers, which only lessens our ability to help.

I have never been one to shy away from helping a young person in need. I have driven a young woman to a mental health facility when she didn’t think she could handle admitting herself alone. I met another and then waited outside while she went into therapy for the first time, just to make sure someone was there when she was done. I’ve comforted countless young people in tears in my classroom after school (as most teachers have). But each and every time I felt my limits. I sensed where my role ended, and the counselor, parent, therapist, or social worker’s began, and I didn’t feel guilty about that. My worry is that many teachers are either not given any real supports in knowing when to step back, and/or there is no one to refer a student TO.

This is an unsustainable model, and will continue to contribute to the ever worsening teacher shortages and teacher exodus across our state and the nation if not addressed seriously and quickly. Teachers can only do so much—and we’re being asked to do much more than is feasible, healthy, or good for students. Michigan needs to do better.