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Find Your Voice, Shape Their Future

The reality of our education system is this: being effective often isn’t good enough. During tight fiscal times, the programs typically cut are those that operate outside of the norm, the first teachers usually let go are those who’ve dared try something different. Everyone in education knows this. And while erring on the side of caution may lead to job and program stability for most adults, this fear to make a real difference in the education and lives of children is what has allowed the inequities and achievement gap to widen in schools across the country.

So what can teachers do?

We can tell our stories…

“Story is the foundation of relationship. With words alone we can create connection, establish community.”
~ Author, Christina Baldwin

My alternative education program in Rochester, New York was on the chopping block in the early-90s. Every other district in our area had eliminated theirs and the Board was pressing my Superintendent to cut where he could in order to maintain the status quo for such things as after school bus runs, sports programs and extracurricular activities. While certainly not an enemy of these aspects of high school life, my primary concern was with the 20 students in my program. Nearly 2,000 students attended this high school, if not me, then who would speak up for them? My kids didn’t take the bus after school, few participated in sports programs, and even fewer involved themselves in clubs. What they had invested in, though, was their alt.ed. program – an oasis of academic, social and emotional support that allowed them to re-engage in school at their pace and comfort level. So how was I going to get the message to the School Board and Superintendent that eliminating the one thing that kept these 20 students coming to school would be a travesty?

I told their stories.

With my principal’s support and encouragement, I typed a list of my student’s names followed by two or three sentences describing why they were in the program, sharing their personal obstacles and triumphs since being a part of our classroom community. Because this could potentially be shared publically, I removed the names and identifying information before submitting the document. Two weeks later, I attended the Board meeting. When the issue of what was to be cut was the next item on the agenda, my hands began to shake. I had no way of knowing if they’d read what I’d submitted; if they had been moved enough to see why eliminating this program would be catastrophic for these kids and their families. But when the superintendent spoke, it was clear my kids’ stories had been read, and shared with the Board, and heard. Both the superintendent and the Board president admitted publically that they had no idea there were so many students in the district who’d faced such enormous challenges and they were proud that the district had a program in place to meet those needs. By the close of the session, my program was not only not eliminated, but the superintendent pledged additional counseling support and asked that I continue to share the struggles and achievements of these students. I told him that wouldn’t be a problem and thanked him for hearing what needed to be said.

Over the years, I kept my promise. I continued to share stories with the Board and Superintendent, continued to hold my position on the Pupil Assistance Team in my high school where I was an advocate for those students who didn’t have an adult in their corner, continued to gather data in order to show the necessity of expanded services. Within ten years, the program grew from fewer than 20 students in grades 8-11 to nearly 50 students in grades 9-12; an additional teacher was added; a school psychologist was assigned to our program three days a week and we were given two guidance counselors just for our students. And that modeling paid off: my students were empowered to have their own voices heard. They lobbied the building principal and district administration for permission to rename their program. Once Crossroads was adopted, I worked with a team of students and an architect to design the new space for the program in the high school’s reconstruction project.

Stories matter that much.

And they make a difference beyond district boundaries as well. Like many states, New York has an Alternative Education Association and I became a member in order to connect with other educators and continue my learning. Then I heard about a new publication called the Alternative Network Journal that was looking for submissions about strategies to reach disengaged teens. My first piece was called, “When we gonna read another book?” about how I used YA literature in my classroom. And my second article centered around writing strategies. I didn’t have a chance to submit my third because, by then, I’d been asked by the editor to pen a monthly column. I called it “Off the Shelf” and it became my connection to educators all over New York. My students got a kick out of seeing their class and projects in print and I got a kick out of having the chance to present at the annual state conference.

Next stop? Nashville. I submitted a proposal to speak at the National Council for Teachers of English on how to reach the reluctant reader. And, since moving to Oregon last year, I’ve presented at two other conferences about how to reach kids in crisis order to teach them. While grateful for all of these opportunities, I feel sort of guilty. I don’t see myself as having any sort of magic answer to the essential question of how to be an effective teacher. But I tell some great stories, share what worked for me and throw in a bit of learning theory to back up the results. But it’s not the research that catches people’s attention, it’s hearing about my kids. When I share the stories of Latoya and Desmond and Calvin and Joe and Sarah – that is what makes the difference. When teachers hear their own students’ lives in these stories and imagine their own classrooms and how they can take some of these ideas and approaches and learn ways to make them their own.....That is powerful. That is transformation.

I know there are myriad external coaching programs throughout the country to assist schools in reforming the structure and vision and framework of their programs. And I’m aware that many schools are benefitting greatly from this support. But, for me, I’m still a grassroots kind of gal – as I did in my classroom, it’s about one kid at a time, one story at a time. And like the iconic ripple in the water, those individual stories begin to spread outward, adding to and overlapping other stories until, before you know it, the whole surface is refracting and doubling back with the power to change the landscape.

The stories I told about my kids changed Board policy in my district, the articles I wrote and shared with other teachers allowed me to have conversations with educators I wouldn’t have met otherwise so I could learn from them and them from me, and the opportunities to present my classroom experiences with teachers across the country has shown me that there is no better gig on the planet than to find the most effective way to make a difference in the education and the life of a child.

Listen to your own voice, share your own stories – there’s an eager audience out there. We teachers need to become our own ripples and make enough of a splash that we alter the future of education in our own schools and throughout the country.

References

Baldwin, Christina (2007) Storycatcher: Making sense of our lives through the power and practice of story. New World Library.

First appeared in Democracy & Education April 2009, pg. 62-64

All speeches and articles are copyrighted by, and are the property of, Laurie Thurston, and may not be reprinted without permission of the author.