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October, 2009:

Does Preschool Matter?

I’ve just finished something I’ve come to love. The fact that I love it does not speak well of my mental health. I love being on the only woman – the only teacher, the only one who has ever had to get the attention of 35 human-type children – on a televised panel.

I guess it takes one wise Latina to balance out the guys.

Regardless, I’ve just returned from taping a panel discussion, hosted by one of my favorite reporters, Ray Suarez, for a show called Destination Casa Blanca – Destination White House.

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The show addresses political issues of importance to the Latino community, and arguably one of the most vital issues is education. The panel had a researcher, a civil rights advocate, a private school voucher advocate, Ray and me.

The topic was early childhood education and whether or not it mattered to the success of low-income Hispanic children.

Well, yes, I said. It does. The researcher said, yes it does. The civil rights advocate said, yes it does. The private school voucher advocate said, well, if it does, it doesn’t last so, no. It doesn’t.

That’s when the debate began.

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Miss Lily, the Music Lady

For the past five years, I’ve been a volunteer in Miss Marilyn’s class here in DC. It’s not so much for the kids, I’ll admit.  I need a kid fix or it’s hard to get through too many weeks.

So, I get to be Miss Lily, the Music Lady every now and then.

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And I get to hug kids every now and then.  And sometimes, I get to write a poem about it.

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You have to go around the block to hear the word on the street

A friend recently told me, “Don’t take this wrong.  But you’ve been around the block.

Now, how could I take that wrong?  I kind of sort of think I know what he meant. I’ve worked in public schools and for public schools for a long time. It’s been my block.  My neighborhood.

My first job in a school was in 1973 when I graduated from high school. I was a lunch lady in a school cafeteria—hairnet, comfortable shoes, the works.

Salt Lake City in the winter by NEA-HQ.

I didn’t know the kids’ names so I’d just make up nicknames.  “Hey Superman, those peas give you muscles!” “Hey Cutie Poop, make me a milk moustache!” I was a fabulous lunch lady.

When they had an opening as a kindergarten aide, I got it, and I’d bring my guitar to school.  My babies knew all the words by heart to the hit single, “Don’t Stick Your Finger Up Your Nose ‘Cause Your Nose Knows It’s Not The Place It Goes.”  And we sang it with dignity. I was a fabulous teacher’s aide.

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When the good news really isn’t…

I often complain about the lack of “good news about schools” stories in the media.

Sure they get the story when a third grader brings a gun to school but I never saw my 6th grade Science Fair on Channel 2.  So, hey, I was thrilled, thrilled, I tell you, to see a good news story on the front page of my Washington Post.

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I could have spent the day a happy woman, but noooo. I just had to read the whole story. I wanted to love this story. I wanted to call up the Post writer and invite him over for a pedicure (which I believe is the highest form of human gratitude). But I am haunted that the good news was the bad news.

It was a sweet piece on the success in Montgomery County, Maryland, where a superintendent is getting well-deserved credit for concentrating on closing the “achievement gaps” between white kids and black and Hispanic kids.

(I hate to be picky, but this is actually standardized-test-score gaps which, please trust me, is not the same thing as achievement but anyway the point is…)

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