How Standardized Testing Damages Education (from FairTest.org)

http://www.fairtest.org/facts/howharm.htm

In Texas, the majority of my children's education is framed through the TAKS tests. The entirety of their academic curriculum is structured to meassure how they and their peers perform on them. Maybe this isn't the best way to teach our student-citizens. Maybe we need more information on how these tests detemine or effect their own results of who is "exemplary," who is "good," and who is ... eh, bad(?).

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They remind me of what I've learned to forget [text follows pics]

Mumblings on the first day of school, sun-cooking, and about how my
intolerance is mine, all mine!

My kids started back to elementary school today. But it doesn’t feel like summer is over. The thermostat outside a storage facility read 104 degrees on the way to pick them up. Gaseous evaporation waves wafgled (wiggled & wafted) across the median and asphalt on South Lamar in mid-day. You could take a half-billion recalled salmonella laden eggs and make a giant inedible omelet on the streets of Austin on a day like this.


I have no tolerance for heat. My body doesn’t self-regulate temperature real well, and between that and my limbs that move like lumber, I struggle not to make everyone else as miserable about the heat as I am. Like most things that grind me down, I operate under the delusion that I can gift the folks around me with unrepercussive silence by refusing to share my suffering. This delusion is replete with crown and medals for stoic bravery and unbridled kindness.

I sat listening to an update on the “ground zero mosque” on NPR while waiting at a series of lights on my way to the school. It reminded me that, in addition to my intolerance of all meteorological phenomena that I disagree with, I also have no tolerance for other people’s failures to be tolerant. I’m a real Gandhi about accepting religious difference, a regular Albert Schweitzer about my fellow humans’ rights and liberty, a veritable Rich Little for echoing the multi-perspectival acceptance of relativism. However, I have no patience at all for other folks who flat out refuse an invitation to others for the same social privileges that they demand for themselves.

Rather than wait in the car, which quickly began to mimic a convection oven once the engine and AC was turned off, I entered my daughter’s second grade class. As if in some post-modern Deweyian mélange’ , I observed a quietly collaborative effort at clean-up being practiced by my daughter and her classmates, quickly followed by a few moments of Yoga to wind down from the day. The kids were awesome, unskeptical, eager and open to the newness of it all. My interpretive frame of intolerance seemed impossible to grok at that moment.

My son came bounding across the school’s lawn with the enthusiasm and swagger that only a fifth grader can evidence in a school that only goes through the fifth grade. The spastic sway of loopy arms cutting the atmospheric cauldron, the jangly shock of bounding wavy hair, and the broad smile on his face all worked to assure me that the day had gone well – that not only had he survived, but he had thrived and felt encouraged about his role in the universe. The car ride home involved a rushed verbal battle between the kids to please me with recounts of their many uniquely fascinating experiences at school, and specifically, examples of being in league with others learning.

While they both plugged into homework and snack, I returned to my earlier musings on intolerance. I’ve learned how to hate certain things. Stuff like heat and stoplights. Circumstances like waiting without a chair and standing in a check-out line. People who deny the science of climate change, stem-cell research and evolution. Groups who espouse cultural segregation and are satisfied with inequity in basic human and legislated civil rights. I’ve been a damn good student, given myself ribbons and trophies for “doing the right thing,” and gathering facts to avoid hypocrisy. Now, I really need to learn how to make sure my kids end up just like me, only way better.

We see the sea serenly as we wander

Writing and Reading Vacation Spaces

There is an argument (structurally a spat) in the backseat of the rental car whose vacuum contains us. A whirr of complaint scrapes accross the chapparel of rolling golden weed hills and zen posed oak. Seams of cliff and fog and sea thicken and quit our concerning. Quiet
dotes momentarily over the swell of our familying.

"It was these secondary levels of life, these extrasensory flashes and floating nuances of being, these pockets of rapport forming unexpectedly, that made me believe we were a magic act, adults and children together, sharing unaccountable things."
--- Don DeLillo, WHITE NOISE

I am happy. Finding these people here, with me, togethered, invites me to seek them out more -- often and thoroughly.

Respite from Heat & Suburban Doledrums

Vacation Elation

Brazil loss to Netherlands produces melancholy in 10-year old US boy

Be More Gooder: A Parentalogue on Process

This is what it sounds like (for privacy, I’m using the pseudonyms of Heckyl and Jeckyl when referring to my son [10] and daughter [7]):


Example #1

Dad: Have you practiced guitar yet?

Heckyl: Uhm, … (followed by a blank stare at book, video game or TV).

Dad: Well? You told me you were going to do it at 4:30. It’s 5:45 now. Where are you at with practice and organizing the books in your room?

Heckyl: Uhm, … ah … yes ... no … yes …what?

Dad: Hey, Heckyl. Hello? HELLO?!? Can you look at me please when I’m talking.

Heckyl: Uhm … ah o … k … . Oh! Hey dad. What’s up?



Example #2

Jeckyl: Daddy!

Dad: Hey monkey! How was school today?

Jeckyl: Good.

Dad: Tell me about one thing you learned.

Jeckyl: Good.

Dad: Good, yes, alright, it was a good day. Why was it good? Tell me about something you’re proud of.

Jeckyl: No.

Dad: Yes.

Jeckyl: No! The day was good. I don’t wanna talk about it.

Dad: How about later?

Jeckyl: I love you love you can we stop for snow-cones?


My children are really cool to hang out with. They’re smart, funny, strong, fast, clever and often curious. But, for some reason they have resisted all of my attempts at training them to be interesting and interested in the manner that I idealize for them. No matter how I try to draw their understanding and attention to the idea that we teach other people how to treat us through how we treat them, they insist on demanding my attention while refusing their own to me.

I think my expectations are pretty reasonable. I don’t expect them to “study” my invitations to manners and communication, nor do I ever suppose to impose that they repeat my lessons by wrote. They are 7 & 10 and they view the world through lenses that are always filtered by their own emotional and situational immediacy. Still, their fun-house mirroring of my entreaties is absurdly frustrating and I am left with only two options if I am to find some acceptance on the matter:

A) Allow time and practice to do their magic and slowly inculcate them through their own experience alongside my repetitious reminders on how to win friends and influence people.

B) Tattoo a short-list of my insights upside down on their upper thighs so that whenever they are resting in repose my “rules to live by” will unavoidably accost their sparkling and eager eyes.

Considering that there are laws which prohibit option B, I am left with no real choice but to continue down the path I’ve already hewn with option A, and hope for the best. However, since my short-term memory is receding at a greater rate than my capacity to redirect their attentions over and over and over and over again towards my live-by suggestions, I’ve begun an elastically revisable list that I can keep crushed up in my pocket at all times. Then, when the moments arrive in which I sense a susceptible opportunity on my children’s part to suspend all defense against me, I will yank the list from my pocket and lovingly work to subliminally leak all manner or explication and example of the simple premise that, “interesting people are those who show genuine interest in others.”



The Always-Already Incomplete Draft of Live-By Suggestions

* Remember what people tell you and ask follow-up questions later.

* A real person is “always” more important to listen to than television.

* Ask questions if what someone is telling you seems confusing or unclear.

* Please and thank you are powerfully persuasive communication tools.

* Be specific, give details and elaborate thoughtfully when asked about your day.

* People don’t know what you’re feeling or why unless you tell them.

* Eat healthy snacks frequently.

* Ask others to explain how they do their job, what they’re most proud of, and about the role they play in making people around them effective and happy.

* Look people in the eye when they speak with you, unless you’re in a part of the world where this a sign of disrespect (thus, the importance of always knowing where you are).

* Ask people what they want you to learn (not just do) when they’re angry at you.

* When juggling many people and expectations, make a reasonable plan and a plan to be reasonable.

* Identify and avoid clichés. If a cliché is necessarily pragmatic, be willing to make fun of its routine and elegant simplicity.

* Drink more water than you want to.

* If you don’t feel like talking, tell people when you think you will, or inform them you’ll let them know when you do feel open to sharing.

* Meditate on your self-awareness and practice of distinguishing between being quiet and being absent.

I’m starting to feel like a day-glo poster in an elementary school counselor’s office. But this is my list, crumpled in my pocket, not yours. You’ve got one. We all got one that we like to brandish on others at the slightest perceived provocation. We’re all full of rules and suggestions for how we want the people around us to act, to listen, to behave with us. It’s what makes us human, and not, say, a chimp or a sandwich.

Let me finish by admitting that I do all of these things badly. Or, at least, not as good or as frequently or as thoroughly as I idealize for myself. It’s hard work sharing space with other people. For some of us it comes less naturally than others. Distractions abound. They are ripe and beckon us deeper into our own hopes and dreams and fears. There are no fundamental tricks for being a present and loving dad or kid or mom or worker. At best, all we can do is ask good questions, listen carefully, and (even if we have to pretend) let the people around us know that we give a damn.