Saturday, 16 November 2013

The importance of expectations; or, why our students fail.

Sitting in a staff meeting one mid week afternoon, I was thrilled by the newest science investments our school had made. A wonderful program promoting scientific exploration, self discovery and the use of real scientific terms. As someone who adores science, although I may not understand most, unlike my husband who took physics in high school, I was excited and elated at the prospect of our school encouraging our students to become true scientists.
To demonstrate the language encouraged within these units, the presenting teachers showed us a video in which students, aged between 5 and 13 were using terms such as ‘catastrophic, anthropod, and classify’. Incredible, I thought, the wonderful terms these students are using. Imagine the power this language will give them.
Then, from the back of the staff room came a snigger, and the comment “yeah, sure, can you imagine our stage 3 kids saying this stuff? Let alone the younger ones”. Chuckling ensued, and then another teacher “with the amount of ESL kids we have, we’re lucky to get a ‘hello’”. To my horror, the majority of the room joined in; “we have enough trouble as it is” “this is never going to happen” “our kids will never speak like this!” “Well, there’s no harm in letting them hear this language”. Finally, a voice of reason from our ESL teacher. Now was my time to chime in “if we don’t at least expose them to this language, they’ll never come close to picking it up. If we expect them to, they may just surprise us”.
And here it is; my philosophy of teaching in one simple word “expect”, or more specifically, ‘expectations’. You see, these teachers are not bad, in fact they are all incredible teachers, bar a couple here and there, and they put in so much time, effort and love. But, to hear these comments come from such a wonderful staff was, to say the least, disheartening.
Have you ever had someone tell you that you wouldn’t amount to anything? That there was no point in you trying? That you wouldn’t succeed, or you just wouldn’t ‘get it’? Ihave. It sucked. It made me want to give up, because if my own teachers can’t believe in me, why should I believe in myself?
Imagine, even worse, if you discovered that all of the teachers in your school had discussed in a meeting, the fact that you wouldn’t be able to do ‘it’? Whatever ‘it’ was?
This is the moment when children give up. Behaviourally, socially, academically. If you teacher does not believe in you, why believe in yourself?
I teach Early Intervention. I teach 5 year olds with autism, with mild, moderate or severe intellectual disability. Students who cannot yet walk, or talk, or use the toilet. But I have highexpectations for every single one of them. Do I have the same expectations for all? Do I expect every single child to be able to speak, be toilet trained and have perfect behaviour by the time they go to school?
Of course not. I’m not an idiot.
Some of my children may never learn to speak. Doesn’t meanI won’t try. I will always speak to them, and try to get them to say something back to me. Every babble, coo or cry is welcomed and celebrated, because that is communication.
Some of my children still won’t be toilet trained by the time they go to school. But I will never, ever, place them on a change table. They will always have their nappy taken off, and sit on the toilet while we get a new one. Every time they sit, every drop of wee, every time they help pull their pants up, is welcomed and celebrated, because that is using the toilet.
Some of my children will still tantrum every. Single. Day. And I’m not talking a little scream. No. I’m talking kicking me in the stomach, biting, pinching, and screaming. But I will never, ever give in to their demands. Every minute that they don’t tantrum is a minute they are learning to manage their emotions. Every time I tell them they can’t have it, or it’s not their turn, and they don’t tantrum, is welcomed and celebrated, because that is self regulation.
If I didn’t have these expectations of my students they wouldn’t begin to speak, or use the toilet, or manage their behaviour. Because these children don’t know what they are capable of. And sometimes teaching is not just telling children what they need to know, it’s teaching them that they can.

Daily worry of teaching; or why schools cannot become business

I wrote this a while ago in response to various changes my state premier was proposing for the education system.

I worry that my students will not receive the support they need, and will struggle in every aspect of their educational life.
I worry that the children I have spent so much time and effort on are going to go into school without the SUPPORT they DESERVE.
I worry that my children, when I have them, will be going into an educational environment that will not support them as learners.
I worry that my husband, who gave up accounting to become a teacher will be forever a casual/contract teacher.
I worry that schools will be full of teachers that say 'yes' to whatever the principal wants for fear of loosing their job.
I worry that schools will become stagnant places without any professional discord.
I worry that classes will go back to places where the teacher must MANAGE 40 children, rather than INSPIRE 20.
I worry that schools in areas of high need will no longer have teachers, because there will be no incentive to move.
I worry that teachers will finally give up, and move to the private sector.
I worry that teachers will no longer be able to teach every single student.
I worry for my future.
I worry for my husbands future.
I worry for my students future.
I worry for the future of the world. Because, lets face it, this is not just NSW. We are part of Australia, we are part of the world.

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Teaching is not, and should never become, a business. We are not revenue driven, performance based. Sometimes our students may not get the best results, but they will develop a love of learning, and a desire to do better. That should, sometimes, be enough.

Why I teach




Little boy in my class. Last year there was no language, only biting, scratching and kicking. Now, he is talking and just last week started writing his name! Funny though, his name is Antonio, but he will only write antio because he doesn't like to repeat the letters. What a crack-up! This week, he drew a pig and a cat (picture) then a person. He pointed to each and said 'oink', 'meow' and 'hi'. He is one child that has made so much progress. Last year I would have suggested a special school for him, now I'm suggesting a support class.

Moral of the story? Never, Ever judge a child based on their disability or behaviour. They always have potential. He has become such a gorgeous kid.


This is why I teach.