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.

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.

I was 20 years old, and the kindergarten teacher said to me, “You’re good with these kids.  Have you ever thought about going to college and becoming a teacher?” That was the first time in my life anyone had told me I might want to go to college.  And from that moment, it was all I thought about.  I was going to go to college.  I was going to be a teacher.

I got every low-income student loan, grant, scholarship–whatever I could apply for. I worked part time as a legal secretary. I was a night receptionist for a weight-loss clinic. I played folk music with my husband in pizza parlors and every bar in Salt Lake City. Both of them.

The University of Utah taught me how to teach.  I was trained how to teach a child phonics, but we spent as much time learning how to teach them to love reading.  I was trained in assessment and how much tests could tell me about a student.  But we spent as much time learning what no single standardized test could ever tell me about my babies:  What could make them laugh and think and care and create.

I taught elementary school for 19 years in middle-class suburbs and in the one-room school located in the family homeless shelter. And I’ve been a fabulous teacher.

Now I work for the members of the National Education Association representing 3.2 million good people who work for America’s public schools, colleges and universities.  We represent the school secretary and the middle-school algebra teacher and the university English professor.

In this position, I have to know about legislation that affects how children are tested and labeled and funding for Special Education and how to get information to parents about what might improve their child’s prospects for a college scholarship.

And I try not to waste my teacher skills.  My kids got a smelly sticker for a good answer.  But they got two stickers for a good question.  I want the hard questions from the Rotary Clubs or the Bar Association.  I want them to understand that my answers come from years of teaching my students to love learning. I want to remind them that their favorite teachers were the ones who got them excited about the science fair or the debate club.

I remind politicians that many of them would never have been labeled as particularly gifted if we’d only known their standardized test scores, and that there is so much more to good teaching and real learning than could ever be boiled down to a multiple-choice test.

I see fabulous partners everywhere. The custodians here in the building. The researcher at the conservative think-tank down the street. The guy in the middle seat on the plane. Even people who don’t mean to be fabulous partners can’t help it.

These are the people in my new neighborhood. They are fabulous because they me tough questions.  I ask them tough questions.  We talk about ideas and we have wonderful conversations that I believe will help shape new solutions.

And I see you.  I’m hoping this blog will be part of more conversations.  I hope you’ll move in.  I hope you’ll chat over the backyard fence.

I’m told I’ve been around the block. So what? How else do you meet your neighbors?