Budget cuts were finalized yesterday evening.

We're losing $600 per student this year. The school board announced last night that:

--five teachers have lost their jobs effective January 25
--all high school librarian positions have been eliminated
--all info tech positions at the schools have been eliminated (which means at Nameless we'll have 5 computer labs and over 350 computers in the building, but no one who can fix them when something goes wrong)
--many, many secretaries have lost their jobs (including one woman who is one year away from retirement and whose husband is dying of cancer--all medical benefits cease)

In addition to the personnel cuts:

--all but ten computers will be eliminated from the high school libraries
--all subscriptions to research databases (magazines, newspapers, journals, etc.) have been eliminated

And this was just the first round.

Meanwhile, the legislature in Lansing, who is supposed to be figuring out how to fix these problems, has decided to go on vacation for two weeks.

There's this local organization that was instrumental in defeating the county school millage at the last election. I learned the bastards continue to exist and have taken on a new goal: reform local school spending. (I don't want to name them because I don't want their attention drawn to this blog. Speak of the devil and he is like to appear, and all that.) I don't teach in the county, of course; I live there. I learned they were having a public meeting about their new goal tonight, and as a county resident, I decided to attend. Just for fun.

( A Fox Enters the Henhouse . . .  )

Full set of photos of the completed student Peepshows here: http://www.sff.net/people/spiziks/peepindex.html . Go look!

UPDATE

We have winners!

Later that day, the OP posted a Peepshow video.  I hate watching myself on video.  But here it is, if you want to see it.  My students thought it was pretty cool!

The Oakland Press ran the article today--on the front page!  The web version is available here:

http://theoaklandpress.com/articles/2009/11/11/life/doc4afa8aada4472229018090.txt#photo1

Every year, each building at Wherever Schools awards Teacher of the Year.  This year, I was nominated.  (!)  I got a certificate and a congratulatory letter from the principal, and a copy of the original nomination.  (Nominations can come from students, parents, and other staff.)  I didn't win, but it was great to get the nomination.  Cool! 

I just got off the phone with a repeeper--er, reporter--from the Oakland Press.  They're doing a little story about the Peepshow!  The reporter interviewed me on the phone and they're sending a photographer around tomorrow to have a look at the peeps in progress.  Neat!

Peepshows have been an Internet meme for a long time.  I think it started with The Lord of the Peeps , and went mainstream when the Washington Post did a national contest.  Last year's finalists are here.  (If you've never heard of a Peepshow, as opposed to a peepshow, it's a diorama made with marshmallow Peeps--chicks and bunnies--and given a silly title with the word "peep" or "bunny" in it.)

And then it occurred to me: why not do this at school?  What fun!

But Peeps in the fall?  How?  Ah, grasshopper--this is why one studies Google-fu.  A fair amount of searching led me to a secret web site that sells chick Peeps year-round, but only by the case.  Fine by me!  I ordered three cases (24 boxes of five Peeps).  I also bought popsicle sticks and googly eyes.  The day after Halloween, I also went around and bought up a whole bunch of ghost and pumpkin Peeps for half price.  That, in addition to the resident supplies I have in my classroom and what I could steal scare up elsewhere in the school building, set me up!

The Peeps weren't supposed to arrive for another few days, but UPS turned out to be surprisingly efficient, and they arrived way early.  I checked the calendar.  In a week we have parent-teacher conferences.  Perfect!

Today I handed out the assignment.  "You'll be creating a Peep diorama about a myth we've read in class.  On the due date, we'll put them in the library.  I'm going to gather a set of secret judges who will decide the winners for Best in Second Hour, Best in Sixth Hour, and Best in Show.  I'm also going to alert the local paper and the TV station--what the heck--so maybe there'll be a write-up there.  I'll post all the Peepshows on the school web site as well, and the Peepshow will be on display during parent-teacher conferences, too."

Both my sections of mythology got pretty enthusiastic about it.  They plunged through cardboard boxes, cut paper and cloth, and altered Peeps.  The ghosts turned out to be surprisingly popular--several students wanted to try depictions of Hades--so this evening I had to run out to the store and score a couple more cases of them.  I took pictures with my digital camera so we can post the Peeps process.

The best part is, a lot of my students dove back into their mythology books to re-read descriptions of certain scenes--without prompting from me.  Yay!

It was a long, long meeting.  It was me, the school psychologist, Sasha's English and math teachers, the Teacher Consultant, the English and the Language Learner program teacher.

The short version is, the school claims Sasha's inability to add two and four without counting on his fingers and his inability to understand time (he doesn't understand the difference between a month and a year or between a week and ten days) is a cultural or language problem.  This is patently absurd.  His younger brother, who's had the exact same amount of schooling, can add and subtract perfectly well.  But no, they said, it's because he didn't go to school when he was younger and his English isn't fluent.

We went round and round on this for quite some time.  It was all of them against me, and none of them would move.

They =did= say Sasha qualified for help under Title I as an ELL student.  It would give him a certain amount of time per week with a tutor, probably twice per week, and he could take tests and do other things.  I'm not happy with this resolution because as a special education student, he'd get help daily, not just twice a week, and we could set conditions such as "gets extra time on tests," which we can't do with Title I.

Everyone said things like, "Oh, we're happy to make sure he gets extra time, if he needs it."

Uh huh. My long, long experience with schools and teaching tells me that verbal assurances mean absolutely nothing.  It must be written down, and it must be something the teachers are required to accommodate.  I'm aware that most teachers want to help.  Sasha has a couple right now.  But eventually you'll run into that teacher who believes that the kid is faking it or the teacher who doesn't care or the one who refuses to make exceptions because it makes things more complicated, and then you need that piece of paper that says, "You MUST do this."  (One of Sasha's teachers refused to contact me until I called the prinicpal and said, "I've e-mailed Teacher X to contact me three times about Sasha's grade, and I've gotten no response. I hate to be a tale-bearer, but I really need to talk to him.  Could you mention
this?"  I got a phone call within an hour, but I shouldn't have had to even go that far.) You also need someone on site to run interference, who can catch problems before they become disasters.

In the end, I was presented with The Form.  The Form basically says all these people met, we talked, and we all agree that Sasha isn't entitled to special services.  (Title I is on another form.)  There's a line for all present to sign, including the parent or parents.  But here's another trick most people don't know.  At the bottom of the form is another blank, almost hidden.  It basically says, "I disagree with the above assessment."

If I sign there, there are other repercussions.  I think I can force another assessment, by another group of people.  But I'm not sure if that's the case.  I have to find out.

I signed on that line because I =don't= agree with the assessment (and my signature doesn't change Sasha's eligibility for Title I aid) and to give me time to find out exactly what can happen.  I can change my mind later.

I'm very tired of dealing with this.  I want to be a normal parent who spot-checks their kid's homework and who has the very occasional phone call from a teacher.  I want to be the parent who only shows up once a year at conferences, if that often.  But tomorrow I have to research the ramifications of Sasha's meeting, and then Kala and I have the meeting with Mackie's teachers and the school social worker about his behavior, and then it's back to Sasha's school for cleanup on his thing.

My Communication I class this year love giving speeches.  The usual cycle in Comm I is a speech project, then some communication theory, then another speech, then more communication theory, then another speech, etc.  To date, the students have always treated speeches warily or with dislike.  This class, however, asks daily, "When's the next speech?"  They'd do speeches every week if they had a choice!

Last week, Sasha was playing basketball in gym class.  He bumped into another boy, and the other boy pitched a shit fit  He told Sasha he was going to "get" him.  The next day, Sasha avoided the kid in class.  In the end, however, the kid tracked Sasha down and threw a punch at him.  Sasha ducked, and the punch grazed his ear.  Then Sasha pushed the other kid's arm aside and he strode away.

A crowd of kids had gathered by then, which alerted the gym teacher.  She sent both Sasha and the other kid to the office.  The discipline officer said, "I could write you up for fighting, but I'll just put you down for horseplay with a warning. Is that okay with you?"  Sasha nodded.  When he got home, he showed me the referral sheet. 

I went through the roof.
( Read more... )

I met with the school psychologist last Thursday at Sasha's high school.  He admitted that the school had messed up and unfortunately there was no way they could make the Monday deadline and he apologized several times.  I said the school was in violation of several state and federal laws, and if I reported them to the Intermediate School District, they'd be in for a nightmare of paperwork.  (This is putting it mildly.  There'd be a full-blown investigation, potentially into the entire special education department to see if there were any other violations.  It would be the equivalent of an IRS audit.  By a proctologist.  On steroids.)

"You do have the right," he said.  He really wanted to add, "But please don't," except that wouldn't have been proper.

"What are your plans?" I asked instead.

He went through them.  Another IQ test.  An achievement test.  Three more observations by two different psychologists.

I cruelly played alpha male.  I took up most of the space on the couch we were sitting on.  When I realized I had nothing to write with, I reached over and appropriated his legal pad and pen without asking.  When I needed to consult a calendar, I held out my hand for his Blackberry, and he handed it over without comment.   All this to let him know I wasn't happy and that nothing was forgiven.  As a psychologist, I'm sure he knew exactly what I was doing (though did he know I knew he knew . . . ?), and he dropped into the role of beta.  All without a word being spoken.

Who says men aren't subtle?

He filled out a formal IEP request form and added to it another form that said I was giving the district an extension.  Here, I held off with my pen hovering above the signature line.

"I don't like the idea of signing this," I said.  This wasn't posturing.  I was trying to figure out the best course of action.  I didn't know this guy very well, and had no way of knowing if signing it would let him slough off or if it would let him relax a bit so he could better act.  Conversely, how far should I push?  By refusing to sign, would I make him upset at me and negatively change the outcome?  Would bringing in the ISD speed things up or slow things down?  If he had to do a mountain of paperwork, that might slow services for Sasha, since the psychologist's workload would increase.  Or should I not sign but say I'd sign it retroactively later if I were happy with the outcome?

My only goal was help for Sasha.  I didn't care about an investigation or punishing the district except as a means for getting Sasha the help he needs.

All this caused me to hesitate, with my pen--his pen--hanging above the page for several moments. This was unintentionally torturing the psychologist, who was all but groveling now.

I finally put a date on and signed the release.  The psychologist tried not to sigh, though his posture was much looser as he left the room to make copies of everything.  I promised to send him some extra information about Sasha he'd requested, and I left.

Today, we talked on the phone again.  He'd given Sasha several tests and wanted to set up a post-evaluation meeting/IEP meeting.  This was heartening to me: it meant that he was going to list Sasha as qualified for special services.  At last!  I gave him a window of dates and times that worked best for me, and he said he'd coordinate with the teachers and let me know when it would be.

"I don't think all six teachers will be able to come," he added quickly.

"I didn't think so," I replied, remembering how difficult it is to get more than three to attend IEPs at my own school.

"But we do want his math and English teachers there, if at all possible," he finished.  "Aleksandr's here with me, and I wanted to tell you he's an extraordinary young man.  He knows he didn't do well in middle school, and he wants to do well here in high school.  He also wants his younger brothers to succeed, and he thinks it's important for them to see him do well, so he wants to work."

This, I think, for Sasha's benefit more than mine, but that's cool.

Today Kala gave Mackie's teacher a handful of popsicle sticks each labeled "20 minutes."  At the teacher's discretion, he can give Mackie a stick for good behavior, and Mackie can cash them in for 20 minutes of TV, Wii, or City of Heroes time.  This, of course, is the instant/random reinforcement modelshekkara mentioned.  The planner would also continue.

Today when I picked him up, Mackie excitedly held up a planner with three smiley faces in it and he gleefully reported that he'd earned four popsicle sticks.  Whoo!  We'll see if this model will keep working.  Much relief there.

After work, I drove over to Sasha's high school to see what I could learn about the special ed testing.  I went to the appropriate office and asked for the secretary I'd talked to before the school year and e-mailed later.  A woman I didn't recognize said, "Oh, she doesn't work here anymore."

"Ah!" I said. "That would explain why she hasn't returned my e-mails.  Are you her replacement?"

"Yes."

"I'm Steven Piziks.  My son is Aleksandr Piziks.  We put in a request for--"

"Oh!  I know who you are."  And then followed a sort-of explanation.  The head of the special education department had been out of the building for two days, her office was locked, and Sasha's file was in it.  But his case was an ongoing concern and they were dealing with it.  So sorry they hadn't contacted me.

"The deadline is Monday," I said.  "That's the thirtieth day."

And I left to get Mackie and Aran.

I arrived home to find Sasha with a phone message.  A psychologist had called and left a number.  Eh?  I called back.  It was the school psychologist for Willow Run High School.  What followed was pretty much an "Oh shit" conversation from his end.

You see, if they blow the deadline and I report them to the Intermediate School District, the ISD will write up Willow Run to the State of Michigan as being in violation of state and federal law.  This will trigger a nightmare labyrinth of paperwork and reparations that no Teacher Consultant wants to live through.  (I mentioned this situation to Nameless High School's Teacher Consultant, and his eyes went wide.  "I don't envy them," he said.  "Not a tiny bit.")

The psychologist apologized a couple-three times about not getting to Sasha sooner.  I remained mostly silent and let him talk, letting him know nothing was forgiven.  He said he had observed Sasha in two classes today--art and biology--and that Sasha seemed attentive and on-task.  He also said he looked at Sasha's grades on-line and saw that Sasha was passing all his classes, though he had a D- in algebra.  (Translation: "He has no problems requiring special needs intervention.")

"Did you notice that his history teacher hasn't recorded any assignments, but has just recorded a C- with no justification?" I said.  "Sasha tells me that he understands very little in history class.  I've tried several times to contact his history teacher, but the man never gets hold of me.  Did you talk to his math teacher?"

"No."

"Ms. C--- has expressed a lot of concern about Aleksandr's ability to get through algebra."  Here I also explained some of Sasha's difficulty with math.  "And the reason he's gotten good grades in biology so far is that Ms. M---- has returned most of his work to him and had him do it over again, either with her or with me.  His English grades are good because I tutor him.  Actually, I reteach him in just about every subject."

I also gave him the standard speech about Sasha's background, and we talked a little bit about the IQ test from the summer.  I also mentioned that the deadline is still MONDAY.  "We dropped the ball," he admitted, though he didn't give details.  He seemed a bit nervous, which I can understand.  If they blow the deadline, they're hosed.

He asked if there was a time this week that I could come in to sign some forms and get a little booklet on my rights as a parent "in case he's classified for special services," he said, and went on to explain the forms in some detail.

I let him babble.  I didn't tell him that I already know special ed forms inside and out because I already have a special needs kid in school.

He's under a tight time constraint.  Sasha will need an extensive written evaluation, more observation (now that I've said he needs help with math), forms from his current teachers, and other stuff.  And they only have TWO SCHOOL DAYS LEFT.  Everything has to be completed and filed by Monday afternoon, so they can't be still working on it by then.

Kala said she'd be willing to let them have a one-day extension before filing a violation with the ISD.  I said I'm not.  I've already spent hours and hours dealing with this issue, making trips to the school, calling, e-mailing, letting them know what's going on, and gotten nothing in response.  The only way I'll be willing to give them extra time is if they give me IN WRITING on Monday what extra special they'll give Sasha beyond what he'd normally get.  He should have had help weeks ago, and he's paying for their mistakes.

I suspect that all this was trigged when I CC'ed the principal on that last e-mail to the special ed secretary.  In the e-mail I mentioned the Monday deadline and made it clear that I was a parent who knew The Rules.  I think the principal yanked someone into her office and did some serious shouting.  Hence all the speed.

Watch this space . . .

Apparently, quite some time ago, Obama made noises about lengthening the school year.

http://www.detnews.com/article/20090927/POLITICS03/909270334/1022/rss10

The article doesn't say how he'd go about doing this--the federal government has little say in state education--or when he floated this idea, just that it was "earlier this year."

Yeah, okay.

This little chestnut surfaces every so often. Chinese kids, Japanese kids, Indian kids all spend more days in school than American kids, and they have higher scores in math and science, we should have more school days, yada yada yada.  Presidents always say this.  It makes them look tough against lazy teachers and ungrateful students.

They overlook a few facts.

( The Overlooked Facts . . .  )

On Wednesday I went down to Willow Run High School to get a login ID for the school's on-line grade program. I also did a quick round of his teachers to see if any were around and managed to talk to his biology teacher. Sasha had turned in all of his work, but his teacher had asked that he re-do a fair amount of it, which he hadn't mentioned to me.

I also found out that some kids still remembered Sasha from the single year he spent at WR Middle School four years ago, and one of the little shits started right in calling Sasha the same name he'd been bullied with back then. Sasha exploded, but the teacher caught it and wrote up the offending kid instead of Sasha.  The office saw from the kid's file that he'd done this before--and, I assume, saw that we had raised a stink and eventually pulled Sasha out of school because of the bullying--and told the kid, "Apologize to Aleksandr or you get in-school suspension."

The kid chose in-school suspension. I was glad to hear that the school was quick to act.

Later that evening, we went over Sasha's English work. Two grammar worksheets and a bunch of stuff for "The Most Dangerous Game." Here we're lucky--I teach that story, along with almost everything on his reading list, so when the worksheet asks things like, "What is the theme of the story?" I don't have to dig up the answer.

The trouble is that I refuse to give Sasha the answers.  I take him through finding the answers himself, which means I'm often re-teaching.  This takes up enormous amounts of time, and I end up telling Sasha he needs to take more notes and PAY MORE ATTENTION in class if he wants to avoid two hours of homework.

"But I don't understand in class," he says.

"Then you need to say so," I tell him.  "Ask the teacher for help. That's her job."

"She won't help me."

"Have you tried it?"

"No."

It's an endless cycle and will be a long year...

Sasha also started school this week--high school.  It was nervous around here for everyone concerned.

Tuesday was a half day, and Wednesday after I got out of school myself, I dashed down to Willow Run High School to see if I could catch any of his teachers after the first full day so we could talk.

I found his math teacher in her room, very upset.  Her sixth hour class was, apparently, a group of monsters.  Guess when Sasha has her?  A couple other teachers were talking to her as well, and we gave her advice on handling the situation.  I also gave her Sasha's background and told her that his math skills aren't really up for algebra, but we're hoping to get him special education help soon.  She was supportive and willing to work with him.

I also caught his English teacher briefly--she was on her way out.  She hadn't taught English 9 for a few  years, and couldn't remember off the top of her head what they'd be reading that year beyond ROMEO AND JULIET and "The Most Dangerous Game."  I'll probably have to read most of Sasha's assignments aloud to him.

I missed his other teachers and tried again on other days, but still missed.  I'll probably have to make appointments.

He hasn't had any homework yet.  (I've already given out several assignments to my own students.)  He hasn't even gotten any books!  Sasha says this history class only has a classroom set of books because so many students haven't returned (and paid for) their books that the district doesn't have enough anymore.  I wonder if that's the case with all his classes.  It says quite a lot about the people who live in this district, unfortunately.

Perversely, I'm glad that things are working this way.  If Sasha were a regular kid, I'd ben looking to get him into a different school, but in this case, Willow Run will be a place where he can handle the curriculum.

It's weird, but I feel more in control now that Sasha's in high school.  When he was at middle school, I never entirely felt like I knew what was going on or how things really worked.  Here, I know the structure, I know the lingo, and I know the instructional methods.  I know what to expect.

Sasha seems to be handling things well so far, at any rate, though there hasn't been any major work yet.

The first week of school is always busy and tiring. It's not just that my schedule shifts from writing full time to writing and teaching full time, but we also have to get the boys' schedule going again.

My classes are enormous.  The smallest has 27.  My freshmen English classes--the largest I've ever had--have 34 and 35 students.  Even my mythology classes are over 30.  Fortunately, all my sections are . . . nice.  Really!  I don't have any difficult sections.  The freshmen sections are chatty, mostly because they're so big, but the students are a really good group.

There are innumerable errands to run--forms, paperwork, people to track down.  All the computers were replaced over the summer, which meant I spent considerable time customizing the one in my room.

It's all stuff I've done before.  It's all routine.  Nothing new.  And I'm happy about that.  New policies, new implementations, new procedures all eat up time and create enormous amounts of work.  I do new things in my classroom, but when I'm ready for it.

Forward!