Watch your discourse

At our staff meeting yesterday, we were asked to consider the following quote:

"Watch your thoughts, they become your words.
Watch your words, they become your actions.
Watch your actions, they become your habits.
Watch your habits, they become your character.
Watch your character, it becomes your destiny."

If you paid any attention during algebra class, you know that if a equals b and b equals c (and c equals d which equals e which equals f) then by the transitive property of equality, a is also equal to f. In this case, I see no way to avoid the conclusion that my thoughts will become my destiny. Terrifying, right? Where do some of those thoughts even come from? You know, the strange things that pop into your mind before you drift off to sleep or steam to the surface in the shower...But more seriously, the context in which we were asked to consider the quote was that of our expectations for and beliefs about our students.

As a psychology major, I powered through all of my Teach For America interviews hailing the critical importance of high expectations for students...citing their frighteningly predictive power on performance, sometimes referred to as the Pygmalion effect. But even though I knew how important it was to hold students to those expectations, in reflecting on last year, I think the biggest mistake I made was allowing my students' actions to dictate my expectations for their behavior, and not the other way around.

Through my school's partnership with an organization called BayCES (Bay Area Coalition for Equitable Schools), our staff has been learning and talking about the nature of discourse in education...that is, the way people discuss and approach educational challenges. They (with a capital T) define two types of discourse, I and II, which are supposed to characterize two basic mindsets. If you can't or don't want to read the link, Discourse I basically sounds to me like another version of an adult-centered deficit perspective; placing blame, pointing fingers, etc. (Students are dropping out, the problem is they're not engaged or that parents aren't involved enough). Discourse II has that social justice flavor we liberal arts college graduates are so familiar with, in which the focus is more student-centered, looking at causes instead of symptoms and always asking that fascinating/infuriating question: WHY? (Why are students leaving school? Why aren't they engaged? Why aren't parents more involved?)

As much as we say we believe in the possibilities, I have been surprised and sometimes disturbed by the implicit expectations I hear in people's reactions when I tell them where and who I teach:

"Oh, Bayview? Wow, those kids are hard."
"The parents just don't care about education."
"Well, what happens is, they send [you] all the bad kids who've been kicked out of other schools"

Bad kids? And the interesting part is that I've heard these words from people who really do care about the well-being of children. From people who are very close to me and for whom I have tremendous love and respect. When I asked where our thoughts come from, it unnerves me to think that many come from a place over which we have no control...from our beliefs and upbringing, from the media, from our peers. And often, we aren't aware of their implications, even when they become public in our words.

In a previous staff development meeting, we talked about four "equity traps" that well-intentioned teachers and administrators can often fall into despite best intentions for their students. The "traps" include a deficit view of students and their families (students and families come with racial/cultural deficits that prevent their success), racial erasure (color-blindness, asserting that race/culture don't matter: "I don't see color, I only see children"), avoidance of supervision (on the part of teachers), and false reasoning (blaming students' behaviors for their own shortcomings: "I have to yell because the kids won't listen if I don't", i.e. I am yelling because of the kids). I could go on and on about this one, but the bottom line is that it's scary to see how even well-intentioned people can fall into the trap of expressing low expectations for families/students in the attempt to work for equity.

I am not trying to write this with an air of blame or judgment, nor am I exempting myself. The last year and a half have forced me to examine very closely the actions I take, the language I use, and the thoughts or beliefs from which those actions or that language stems. This is not a comfortable process, but I am committed to it--in myself and in others. So please forgive me if I try to change your "bad" to "challenging"...and maybe that's not even the best word to use, but I think it's important to question. And semantics do matter. Words are the vehicle for our beliefs. Which begs another question...does changing our words change our beliefs? For now, I'm not sure where else to start.

I like the imagery of watching yourself invoked by this quote. When we say "watch your words" we usually mean "be careful what you say". But take it literally...actually watch yourself thinking your thoughts, hear yourself saying your words... and then consider whether you have a choice.

Tuesdays make me hopeful

...because on Tuesdays, I get to tutor A. If you've talked to me about school since August 24th, you have likely heard about A. He's the one who keeps me on my toes all day long and keeps me strategizing, reflecting, adjusting when I go home at night. In front of other students he has a reputation to protect, a tough exterior that hides his sensitive feelings, academic insecurities, and the fact that most of the time, he just misses his mom.

But when it's just me and him and a book, I get to see the brilliant kid living inside every labeled "behavior problem". During our first session, I quickly realized that although he has a great grasp of short vowel sounds, he completely missed (or wasn't paying attention to, or was climbing on a table during, or was sitting in the office instead of learning) the lessons in first grade about the "bossy e" at the end of words that makes the vowel say its own name (the long vowel sound in gate, pride, rose, etc.) I grabbed a whiteboard and some magnetic letters, and within ten minutes, he had it. Since that lesson a week ago, he sees it everywhere. When we're reading in class, when he's writing in workshop, even when I'm in the middle of teaching a lesson...it's hard to get too upset at him for calling out of turn when he's yelling out with these big eyes open wide, "IT'S THE BOSSY E!!!"

His days are still up and down. But there is nothing, I repeat, nothing, more gratifying and shivers-up-your-spine inspiring than sitting next to a child (especially a child like A, who already, at the age of 7, is a year behind in reading even after repeating first grade) and watching him literally learn to read in front of your eyes. This child has no learning disability. He is quick, he is bright. Get through all that behavior and insecurity, and here's just another kid who wants to learn, wants to be successful, and whose entire face still lights up when I tell him he can have the Blues Clues book sitting in my library. It's so hard to see sometimes, standing in front of 20 children for 8 hours a day, but in the 45 minutes A and I have together on Tuesdays, I am privileged to witness the life-changing power of learning. And nothing gives me greater hope. ("It's the bossy e!")