Thursday, August 28, 2014
Monday, August 11, 2014
Response: The Special Education Overhaul and NYC’s Special District
In
a thorough
piece on the special education reform that has begun in recent years in New
York City Public Schools, ChalkbeatNewYork’s Patrick Wall focuses on several
students, families and schools and how they have adapted as a result of new
policies that steered students with disabilities to their neighborhood schools
in Kindergarten, 6th and 9th grades, rather than schools
with specific special education programs.
What
the article fails to mention is that these schools, with special education
programs and related services already in place, are not just another community
school option but are most likely part of New York City’s District 75. This
district is an entirely separate district composed only of children with
disabilities, most of whom are bused long distances to attend these programs. When
people are discussing self-contained options for students with disabilities in
New York City, it is important to understand that these are isolated
self-contained classrooms in self-contained special education schools and that
we are not just talking about another classroom down the hall.
There
are approximately 23,000 students with various disabilities in District 75 with
schools throughout the five boroughs. Interestingly, the DOE’s new website
no longer lists a specific number of students, only that there are “56 school
organizations,” but you can find the number on their old website here.
No other school district is organized in such a segregated fashion, as far as I
can tell from much conversation and research. Across the country inclusion, in
various forms, is the norm and it is rare to find more than a couple of
self-contained classrooms in a district or even entire counties. Yet here in
New York City, we not only have 23,000 students in self-contained classrooms,
but in substantially separate schools. Although many District 75 schools are
physically housed in buildings with other schools, anyone in NYC knows
co-located schools spend more time fighting for precious space and resources
than integrating.
A
big part of the problem in New York City is that there is this funnel that
flows right to District 75 for any child that a school deems too difficult to
educate, like Joseph in today’s Chalkbeat article. It does not specify whether
the other, more appropriate school that the administration found for Joseph was
not a community school, but I would bet that it was a District 75 school. District
75 seems to be the missing piece of the special education reform story that no
one mentions.
As
a teacher of students with multiple disabilities, I understand the benefits of
a highly specialized environment for some students with significant
disabilities, especially in a complex urban school system where these students
might otherwise be in the corner of a basement somewhere. The problem is that
in NYC we fool ourselves into thinking that these students have been brought
out of the basement by having these District 75 school organizations, when in
essence they only perpetuate the isolation of students with disabilities from their
communities.
A
red flag of a student who doesn’t belong in District 75 for me is when a
student, like Joseph, is reading at a 3rd grade level, which means most
likely he is not severely intellectually disabled. If he comprehends what he
reads, he can most likely access middle school material presented visually or
orally with some accommodations. Joseph also managed to get all the way through
elementary school and only began to struggle in middle school. This is not the
profile of a student with severe/ profound disabilities that District 75 was
intended to serve.
Most
students in District 75, because of their significant disabilities, are
alternately assessed and do not take coursework that leads to a high school
diploma. By high school, most schools focus on transition skills that will
enable students to communicate in the community, have some independent living
skills and possibly have some type of employment. When a student is sent to
District 75 from a community school, their IEPs are changed to alternate
assessment, which will forever limit their life options because they will
obtain an IEP certificate, not a diploma.
Students
with severe/ profound disabilities make up less than 1% of all students in NYC,
most teachers and schools have never encountered such a student. A student with
profound disabilities is non-verbal, meaning he does not use a single word and
it is unclear what the child wants because they have not learned a formal
communication system, who lacks all control of his muscles and is dependent on
others for all their care needs, and who might also be visually impaired, deaf
or both. Another student who may need the specialized environment of District
75 might have severe autism, meaning they engage in self-stimulating behaviors
all day or be self-abusive and require strict behavioral programs to learn to
not hurt themselves or meet their own care needs and gain independence.
No
honest discussion about special education reform can take place without
discussing the way that New York City isolates its most disabled students in
District 75, taking the burden off of community schools who are fixated on test
scores and data. I commend those who are trying to stop District 75 from becoming
an easy dumping ground for challenging students and can only hope that this is
the beginning of an essential change in our city. Until we think of all New
York City students as “our kids,” not ours and theirs, no true special education
reform will occur.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Take the “I” out of Special Education
It
must be my old age. But many years into teaching, the things that stressed me
most my first few years just seem so miniscule now. It pains me to watch
younger teachers learning the lesson that not everything is in your control and
you need to accept the things you cannot change right at that moment. Even in
special education, it’s rarely the kids that send a teacher home crying, it’s
unsupportive co-workers. Now that I can navigate the always shifting
personalities of a school better, I still don’t understand why elders in our
profession make it so difficult for new teachers.
A
change is coming, I can see it, a special ed “oasis,” where me-focused
individuals hid is crumbling.
But
I fear they are sucking the life out of everyone around them before they go.
If
you’re truly here for the kids, don’t you want to see this teacher succeed,
along with all her students?
If
you’re here for the kids,
why
do you let old school policies and outdated thinking dictate how your school is
run?
If
you’re here for the kids,
why
do you keep telling me how busy YOU are?
And
it trickles down to all staff members who are suppose to be collaborating in
classrooms.
If
you’re here for the kids,
why
are you talking about YOUR report?
If
you’re here for the kids,
why
ignore a teacher who asks you about how you’re working with a student?
If
you’re here for the kids,
why
are you talking about YOUR feelings and your supervisor?
If
you’re here for the kids,
why
are you talking about YOUR schedule?
During
my undergraduate student teaching in general education, I had a funny moment
where I was caught off guard by my clinical supervisor’s criticism. My
supervising teacher continually gave me nothing but praise. After keeping a
running record of my comments during an observation, the clinical supervisor
pointed out that I used a lot of “I” statements. Like, “I need your homework
handed in” or “I need you to do this task for me and then come back to me.” I
had never realized this. It was something I was naturally doing. It sparked an
interesting discussion about how you want students to do things, but not
because they’re just doing it FOR the teacher. They should be doing things for
themselves, not for YOU.
I
think those who are working in special education need to take a close look at
how many “I” statements they are using these days and really ask ourselves if
we are truly “here for the kids.”
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Charlotte Danielson is not evil?
(As long as teachers can still use their intuition)
“Learning to trust your instincts, using your intuitive sense of what's best for you, is paramount for any lasting success. I've trusted the still, small voice of intuition my entire life. And the only time I've made mistakes is when I didn't listen.” – Oprah Winfrey
The
other day I just happened to catch an NPR Radiolab piece on “Choice” and being “Overcome by
Emotion.” Essentially, the hosts were discussing if we were all completely
rational beings, like Spock
from Star Trek, would we have an easier time making choices throughout our day.
In theory, you think of course, but in reality it’s our emotions and intuition
that keep us out of a circle of rationality. When you finally remember your
favorite cereal from childhood, you are saved from the endless oblivion of
choices in the supermarket aisle.
After
sharing a series of interesting stories related to emotion and choice, Jad
Abumrad came to the conclusion that, “one way to look at a gut feeling is that
its kind of a short-hand average of all of this past wisdom.” (Quote is at 12:30)
Teacher Knowledge
I
had a light bulb moment. As teachers, so much of our day is piecing gut
feelings together. What separates a good teacher from a bad teacher is strong implicit
knowledge of what good teaching looks like and how to implement it. Marilyn
Cochran-Smith and Susan L. Lytle refer to this as “teacher knowledge” in
their work on teacher action research. Listening to the NPR piece on the
reality of intuition, I was excited that there was neurological evidence to
support the notion that what teachers know is particular to teachers and is
important in educating children.
But
then I thought, “oh, no!” This does not jive with all these “teacher
effectiveness” buzzwords I have been hearing lately.
Or
does it?
Teacher Effectiveness Confusion
My
first experience with the Danielson framework was while working with a student
teacher last spring. She came to me concerned about using “low-inference
evidence” to support her work with our students who were emergent communicators
with multiple disabilities. I immediately thought, “you want evidence of what
my students say, only? Hmm, most of them are non-verbal… how’s this going to
work?” The student teacher gave an example of grading student papers without
knowing who they were, so that you would not be biased. I thought, “great, my
students cannot write and definitely do not independently do worksheets.”
This
was what I was thinking of as I combed through the New York City’s Department
of Education (DOE)’s website for
implementing the new teacher evaluation system based on the Danielson’s Framework
for Teaching, also known as Advance. (Because everything needs to have its
own name in NYC, can’t just be APPR like the rest of New York State.) I was
looking for a better understanding and I cross-referenced the DOE’s info with the
Danielson Group website and other
web resources.
A Danielson Framework Surprise
I
have to admit that I have come to the conclusion that Charlotte Danielson may
not be as evil
as we have been led to believe. It seems that its our state education
departments and local school districts in their rush for accountability that
may be corrupting the important work of documenting what good teachers know and
do.
Shockingly,
I have to say that this particular PowerPoint
from the NYC DOE was actually quite helpful. I appreciated that their
definition of low-inference included what students say AND do. I also got the
impression that this was about improving administrators’ practices, as well as
teachers. I went looking for evidence that teachers had to be robots teaching
to a strict norm, but I only found it on district websites about “norming,” not
in Danielson’s actually work, like here.
Teacher Knowledge and Danielson Working
Together?
I
started thinking: is Danielson’s work finally what we as teachers have been
looking for in order to prove our implicit teacher knowledge? I have always
felt good teachers should have nothing to fear about being observed; could this
be a tool that could confirm that we are effective teachers?
What Low-Inference Really Means
It
turns out low-inference does not just mean grading papers without knowing who
the students are, but can be something like using a checklist during your
lesson to document that students are meeting specific IEP objectives. Low-inference
has come to have two meanings in education: low-inference observations of what
our students are doing by teachers and administrators and low-inference
observations of what teachers are doing by administrators.
Because
I am a special education teacher, I initially thought that everything I do is
high-inference, such as observing children’s movements and facial expressions
and drawing conclusions, and I became defensive. Actually, everything I do in
my teaching is a series of low-inference (ie. evidence-based) actions that over
time have formed my intuition. This is exactly why experience counts in
teaching. As teachers, we need to think about it as taking evidence-based
action, which will provide low-inference evidence for administrators. We need
to specifically identify the parts of our practice that causes us to form
opinions and determine next steps.
To
eliminate confusion though, I wished they would have just used a simple phrase
like “objective evidence” instead of “low-inference evidence.” The definition
of “inference” inherently means, “a conclusion or
opinion that is formed because of known facts or evidence.” (Merrian-Webster
Dictionary) Conclusion is in the word, and it is confusing as to whether
there is supposed to be low conclusions or low evidence. A low “conclusion from
evidence” evidence?
Support for Teacher Intuition
Initially,
I associated the Danielson framework and teacher evaluations as an attempt to
eliminate teacher intuition. Low-inference was another buzzword for rejecting
teacher knowledge. But low-inference is about being specific, which I think we
as educators really cannot fight. We can no longer simply say that our teacher knowledge
is immeasurable, but we need to be sure that the tools that are being developed
accurately reflect the murkiness of teaching young minds. We need to let our
implicit teacher knowledge shine, by investing the time to understand the
Danielson Framework of Teaching and use it to support our profession.
So
I leave you with the two questions I have arrived at today:
1.)
Are the Danielson Frameworks of Teaching an
accurate way to demonstrate implicit teacher knowledge?
2.)
How can we be sure that the Danielson
Frameworks are used accurately given the complexities of teaching students with
special needs?
I
hope you can help me by sharing how you answer these questions and I will continue
to blog as I shape my own answers.
It
is time for all teachers to channel our innermost Captain James T. Kirks,
because as rational as Spock was, he and the rest of the ship would have been lost without the gutsy
Captain James T. Kirk in command.
Sometimes a feeling is all we humans have to go on. – Captain James T.
Kirk
Labels:
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Thursday, August 22, 2013
Reflecting to Begin Again: Life of a Teacher
It is not until the new school comes creeping up that I feel I am really ready to reflect on the previous year. It takes a few nights of good sleep and no stress to put everything in perspective. When you’re teaching, everything is in the moment. Danielson may be looking at my lesson plan, but any real teacher knows, it’s all about how you handle everything in your classroom besides the lesson plan. Switching gears to reflecting is always tricky, but so important.
I
remember in college, during my teacher prep program, how many times they
stressed keeping a teaching journal. Several years in, I still cannot figure
out how a teacher finds the time to do that. If I wasn’t actively seeking ways
to improve my practice or planning, or researching social services for
families, I was trying to get to a yoga class or meet up with friends to keep
the work-life balance. I’m always jotting notes on my phone or sticking a
post-it with one sentence in a folder, but a whole journal entry? Weekly?! Monthly?!
Yikes.
What
I have held myself to is writing an end of the year reflection. I finally sit
back, take a breath and admire the work my students and team have done over the
past 11 and half months. Reflection clears my mind, helps me set my goals for
next year and gives me that itch to get back in the classroom and do it all
over again, but 10 times better of course.
Since
most of my students are non-verbal or have very limited communication, I feel I
owe it to them to document all their work for prosperity. When you have the
experience of being someone’s last teacher, going back and adding the moments
together helps to explain why some kids get a shorter time in this world then
others. That’s why its truly special
education.
Challenges
of Misclassification and Class Size
What
makes teaching exciting is that every year you meet a new set of students, even
if in a self-contained classroom you keep some students, the combination is
never the same from one year to another. The school year prior to this past one
was great with a slightly smaller class I felt like the data and organization
queen. I was an experienced teacher hitting my stride. I feel best when I am
working my hardest and everything starts to gel. Systems are in place, students
are following routines and learning, paraprofessionals and therapists are
enthusiastic about what they are seeing and becoming a part of it all.
This
past year, I ran straight into 12 students who were all over the map in terms
of their needs and learning styles. Data went out the window as I spent the
fall struggling with classroom management. In special education, where not all
learners are on the same cognitive or communicative level, that meant coming up
with 12 individual systems. While teaching lessons and writing IEPs, I also had
to spend time with each individual finding out what makes them tick and what
would motivate them to buy into our classroom. Bonding is the most important part of classroom management,
especially with students with significant disabilities. (Dr. Jan van Dijk’s work is so helpful in
making connections.)
A
big problem for teachers in New York City though is the number of students who
are misclassified. So often, a 12:1:4 ratio classroom for children with the
most significant, multiple disabilities becomes a catchall. (And yes, NYC(pg
24) puts 12 students who need the most individualized attention
in one classroom.) Children who don’t quite fit anywhere else or who were
placed there in kindergarten are never given the opportunity to move to a less
restrictive environment. As a teacher, you get caught between trying to meet
these more academic learners’ needs by focusing on specific emergent reading
skills and leaving my other students who are working on early communication
skills in the dust. Yes, you can do both, but with 12 kids its impossible to do
it all well. I have training, I have tried to figure it out every minute that
I’m not sleeping, and I have failed. I hate that feeling that I have failed
even before I started because of the system.
My
students with true multiple disabilities and complex medical issues needed my
attention and it was being pulled in too many directions. These students who
use wheelchairs need frequent repositioning and that is not something that can
wait. Pressure sores are really important to avoid and nearly impossible to
heal. It’s another thing that takes time with an individual student; especially
when not all staff is comfortable working with medically fragile children it
falls to me to look out for each child. It’s also my job to be sure that when a
child is on a mat that the children who are ambulatory and have behavior issues
are not hurting him or her! On top of that, the families that have children who
are becoming significantly more medically fragile over the years also need my support.
Unexpected
and Uncontrollable Interruptions
On
top of a challenging mix of students, this year because of the many
interruptions we never hit our grove until May and then we lost it by June. To
start, Hurricane Sandy really brought our class to a
screeching halt too early in the school year. Some students were out for up to
two weeks and many had difficulty with their phones, so we could not find out
if the families were okay. With District 75, students come from all over to our
schools, so it was not guaranteed that just because our neighborhood was okay,
that our students were. When students returned, it was like starting all over
again to establish our routines.
And
then in the middle of January the school year came to another abrupt stop when ATU
Local 1181 of bus drivers went on strike.
If you’ve followed this blog, you know my
story. I actually had time to document it because I had almost no students
who could make it to school. That my students lost 5 weeks of instruction due
to politics, and that no one really cared because they were the students in
special education, is still sickening to me. If you listen to administrators or
politicians they refer it to as a couple of weeks, when it was 5 weeks, plus a
vacation week before students got back to where they belonged. After an odd
half of a February break, an early spring break and other events, we were never
really able to get into a consistent flow the rest of the year.
Despite
that, I did see growth in my students. Unlike some, I actually enjoy
administering my end of year assessments. (We use the Brigance
Developmental Inventory and the SANDI.) It’s
stressful to sit down individually with each student with an erratic end of
year calendar, but seeing a small improvement in one communication area, or
fine motor skills, or maybe even math is so exciting. This year though, I felt
remiss about where my students would have been if not for natural disasters and
politics taking away almost 2 months of their school year. Would Jessie be
reading full sentences? Would Dom be writing his last name too? Would Steven be
making picture choices? Would Florentina be toilet trained? As teachers, there
is so much that is beyond our control.
To
Begin Again
But
what’s beautiful about being a teacher is that every school year is a fresh
start. One of the best parts of teaching is the automatic reset that happens
over the summer, even if it’s a few short weeks for us in special education.
What other career gives you an opportunity to come back to a new beginning
every year? A new beginning to be the best teacher I can be and help my
students achieve as much as they can. An opportunity to take the lessons from
the previous years and set goals for what I’d like to do better. It’s why I can’t
see myself leaving the classroom anytime soon.
“The world is round and place which may seem
like the end may also be only the beginning.” - Ivy Baker Priest
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
How Not To Thank a Teacher
Don't Recommend that a Teacher
becomes an Administrator*
After
helping a colleague or having my class observed by an outsider, I often find
myself fielding a compliment that actually really irks me.
“So when are you
going to become an administrator?!”
Paraprofessionals
from my own class and throughout the school, who know I enjoy working with my
students, often come up to me and ask why I am not an administrator. For years
they have seen the best teachers move up and out and I think they are confused
about why I choose to stick around. It’s a huge compliment from them.
I
know they mean it in a good way and I am flattered. But I am also one of those
big picture thinkers and my mind sets off on why it is that the only way to
recognize a good teacher is to make them an administrator, where most of their
day will be spent not with students. Why can’t I just be a really good teacher
and be recognized for that? I would eventually love a position as a teacher
leader, but my school is just not structured that way yet.
My
natural reply is to thank the giver of the compliment and then explain that I
love what I do and I am happy where I am. I could not imagine spending my days
not with my students. I enjoy the unique challenges of managing a classroom and
that every school year is a puzzle that I slowly, but surely, put together as I
structure opportunities for my students to learn from each other, themselves
and me.
Not
wanting to be an administrator is not knocking administrators. I appreciate
that good administrators make space for teachers to do their best work. But I
think that its important to realize that a teacher’s craft and an
administrator’s craft are very different, even though they are both working in
the best interest of students.
If
we really want to thank teachers during National Teacher Appreciation
Week, we need to think about how we can respect the particular talent of
being able to teach a room full of young students.
Have
you ever received this “compliment”? How does it make you feel? How have you
replied?
*unless having a discussion on career paths
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