One Step at a Time

I think that somewhere along the lines of a new year and an adjustment period I sort of forgot the roots of why I began blogging in the first place. I wanted to talk about process. I wanted to talk about the moments of greatness that happen in between the beginning and end of a school year. I wanted to linger in the widespread chasm of learning to see what experiences it could provide. But with experiencing such an unexpected system shock I lost sight of the beauty in those small moments and began to focus on the monstrosity of things that I have no direct control over. I looked down at the chasm, gulped, and started to take a step away from the edge. 

I started to blame the chasm for being what it is, knowing good and well that it can only be what it has been formed to be. Just as a river takes countless years to form a deep canyon, so it can take countless years to build back up what has been worn down. I can't control the depth or breadth of the chasm I face.

Just like I can't control that test scores and uniformity are of high value where I work.

I can't control that my students have been conditioned to value their grade almost more than their learning.

I can't control that complacency has taken a deep root in the professional lives of so many of my co-workers.

But amidst the long list of things I cannot control, there are unlimited ways in which I can make a difference.

I can control my exchanges with students and create a positive, collaborative work environment.

I can expose my students to the concepts of critique, revision, and real world problem solving even if I can't take them through design challenges.

I can sharpen their teeth on complicated truths that push them to see themselves as a powerful force for change in their world.

I can foster meaningful relationships that provide students with a safe place to try new things and even fail for the sake of authentic improvement.

I may not have my 3D printer, my Chromebooks, my prototyping materials, or even the ability to construct my own assessments, but I still have the power to make a life-long, empowering, and purposeful change in my students' lives by how I approach my task each day.

So from now on I'm done looking down at the chasm with fear and complaints. It's time to pull on my boot straps and get to work. 

It's Cancer.

Brokenness.

A body that is broken is easily recognized. When a body is broken outwardly, structurally, it is fairly easy to recognize.  Casts, splints, bruises, stitches: all of these are indications of pain but also of healing. We look for signs of contusion or imperfectness and do our best to get it back to its original condition. 

But not all brokenness is outward.

Brokenness can also be internal. 

Brokenness that is internal versus outward can be extremely dangerous. Malignant, internal brokenness can go unnoticed for months, years even, before a single outward symptom is recognized. Tragically, systemic, brokenness can result in permanent damage, or worse yet, destruction if left undetected and remedied. 

As a society we treat structural and systemic ailments differently. Broken arms, sprained ankles, bruised knees, and bandages are all a part of growing up. We have almost come to expect them. Internal infliction tumors, and growth, however, are something we treat with utmost concern and diligence because we know these maladies are life-threatening. But we can't begin to treat them until we are diagnosed.

Many school districts have casts; obvious broken places where structural damage exists. The word structural describes the relationships between a part and its whole. In this case, students and their teachers; parents and the schools; curriculum and students, community culture and academic culture just to name a few. If you searched hard enough you could probably think of these broken places in your own school system. Someone has recognized the problem and taken steps to correct and prevent it from happening again. You may have even signed the cast yourself.

I wish my prognosis was so simple. Defined. Fixable.

I am declaring a diagnosis.

Cancer.

A cancer in the deepest and most fundamental system of my school district that places the utmost importance on test scores and public perception of uniformity, standardization, and commonality. Like many patients before their diagnosis, there are no little to no obvious symptoms. 

Test scores are the best in the state. 

School report cards are above reproach. 

Students are exemplary and models for behavior and academic integrity.

But there is a danger here. It is lurking below the surface and slowly eating away at any force that stands as opposition to what 'has always been'. I see it in my co-workers, in administration, and most unfortunately in the students themselves in questions like "When is the test?", or "How much does this count towards my grade?"

It tears at the core of who I am as an educator to watch such a brokenness everyday and see no one take action against what is, eventually, sure to be a systemic failure. Teachers who are contempt to do what they have always done, students who are force fed the idea that their test scores are the definition of what is to be celebrated, a mentality that we must be alike to be above reproach: all of these afflictions stir beneath the surface of a 'model school district'.

But it is quite the contrary. 

It is toxic.

I leave feeling sick to my stomach from the amount of effort it takes to continue doing what I know is right, and not to fall to the ranks of people who are so full of disdain toward things that are new or challenging that they lose sight of what is most beneficial to the students. I refuse to fall in the cracks. 

I will fight this disease of complacency, even if I do it alone. 

Unfortunately, just as with a systemic illness, recovery is much slower than with a structural break. Brokenness started from within, and that is where the healing must begin also. My fight will be slow, and there will not always be obvious gains. But just as with internal medicine, I have to trust that constant, consistent efforts will begin to create a change from the inside, too.

Please believe me when I say I do not take the word cancer lightly. I, like most everyone, have been personally effected by the devastating tolls cancer can take on a person's body. Unfortunately, I know the pain and turmoil it can bring into so many lives. 

I choose my words intentionally.

I'm fighting a cancer, and I keep telling myself I'm not alone.