“Why?” I asked. A few flakes fluttered to the ground.

“Because it’s so cold.”

It’s New England. Something inside me snapped. I don’t mind a snow day, but “cold” days this far north? School shouldn’t be canceled for cold. Officials say kids can’t wait at the bus in the cold, and what if parents don’t dress their kids right?

I’m a parent–I’m insulted by the insinuation. “You’ve seen these kids. They sag their pants and wear shorts all year.” It’s true. Teens challenge authority.

Twenty-below is no time to challenge authority–it’s the time when parents must step in and say, “Get that coat on or I’ll ground you forever.” Teens who disobey don’t actually have to be grounded–a punishment that only hurts the parent. They can be shipped to Walt Disney’s cryogenic lab to wait for the big thaw.

It’s bad enough the public hates teachers because we get the warm days off–they’ll really hate us if we start taking off cold days, too. Year-round school advocates decry the learning lost in summer watchdog groups will insist on another standardized test to measure the learning we’ve lost in winter–the tax burden will become too great.

We can’t have that.

“Listen up!” I said. Usually when a teacher says “listen up” it’s a cue everyone should go back to their own personal conversations. The way to get kids to listen for real is to say things like, “homework,” “…all failing” “Go ahead and talk for a moment while I get this set up,” or pretend to tell a juicy secret to an adult or passer by.

“Listen!” I said. “Where do you live?”

“Um….” “Um” is an education disease. It takes over the minds of otherwise bright students and turns them into teens.

“Rhode Island.” We’d need more geography lessons to pass the PARCC test if we still had “ummmms” on that question. I was scared to ask a followup.

“What’s the weather like in Rhode Island in the winter?” Since the kid got the “um” wrong no one wanted to throw out an answer. I was now terrified for the PARCC. Alternate careers raced through my mind like the wind tunnel racing through theirs. Could I waitress again? Go back into insurance? Work full-time in tech? What could I do when I got excommunicated?

“Cold?” answered one brave student.

“Yes. Cold.” Relief. Someone pulled through.

Here are a couple of ways to know you’re an old teacher instead of a young one. First, you don’t care what kids think about your fashion. Second, when kids hear your favorite Pandora or Spotify stations, they say, “I LOVE 90’s metal! My mom listens to that!” The last–and maybe most disheartening indicator–is when you start telling  “I remember…” and “in my day” stories.

“This isn’t winter.” I told them how I went to college in Rochester, New York. I lived off campus and walked.  “I lived here.” I drew a map in the air with my hand. “It was a mile and a half to campus that way.” A vector. If students didn’t know geography, I’d teach them math, though I wasn’t certified for math–it was a risk.

“I had to walk to work many days.” Students understand how awful bus routes are for those who depend on them most. “It was four miles that way.” I pointed. Another vector. “No one closed because it was cold.”  I could see the PARCC question now. Johnny walks to class one way and traveling at a speed of negative three miles per hour. If Casey walks to work at the same time, but walks one mile per hour faster because she doesn’t sag her pants, who gets to Florida first?

I continued the “in my day” story. “I didn’t like earmuffs–much like you don’t like to pull up your pants. Earmuffs didn’t look cool.” Why would someone as old as their mom care what looked cool, they thought. Teachers::cool fashion–those wouldn’t be on an analogy section of SATs.

“At twenty below without earmuffs, you can feel your ears freezing solid. The type of freezing where your ear falls off your head and lands in your hand. Then, you get gangrene.” I’d used math against them, now I was using science. They’d pass this PARCC after all.  “When it’s this cold and you breathe in, your nose starts to crystalize…you know what you’ve got to do to survive then?”

“Ummmm…” I hope that’s not the number one answer on their tests. No wonder we’ve got an educational crisis on our hands.

“Dress warm! I wore earmuffs. They were much cooler than walking to school like this,” I put my hands over my ears like I’d done that fateful day, decades before they were born.

“Did people stare at you, Miss?” I said no one looked at me because the only apartment I could afford was wedged between the psych wing and the jail. I looked pretty normal.

Time to wrap up the diatribe, “There’s nothing worse than a frozen butt crack,” I say wisely.  “So, pull up your pants, get those hats your grandmother knit you, and stop telling your parents ‘I’m not cold’.  Wear your coat, and get to my class…safely.”

Dawn Casey-Rowe is an educator in Rhode Island who is heavily involved with tech startups focused on educational resources.  She is a regular contributor to ConversationED, Edudemic and TeachThought.  Her blog is cafecasey.com.

Adult life’s coming fast and it has the great potential to be terrible. All that freedom, fun, fantasy–it’s turning into piles of “How much does that cost?” Not just college costs, but bills, too. I tell them about the damage inflicted by bills.

Bills should be out in the open for kids, simple “read ‘em and weep” numbers serving as the primary intrinsic motivation to get kids learning their math, science, history, and writing. Give them real-world lessons early on.

What if, instead of worksheets, we used unhealthy treats. Give students big bags of candy. Take 30% away and give it to one kid, who we’ll call “the tax man.” Then steal the bag from the kid not paying attention and call that “loss of earning potential.” Label a few students history majors. Leave them each with a single piece of candy. Call the rest STEM people. They get the rest of treats–a giant pile. See how fast that motivates kids to get back to work.

I finish The Bill Monologue, feeling somewhere between a standup comedian and a horror director. At the point in the scene the killer pulls out a knife I pull out a bill. A real paper bill. Even though most of mine are digital, the nature of bills is a real one’s never far away.

Students gasp.

Shock and terror blanket the room. The “I’ll graduate and be free” attitude morphs into “How many hours at what rate will I need to work to pay that off?” followed by, “What job pays that much?” I don’t tell the deep, dark, truth–that that is never paid off because something else comes lurking around the corner, same as the horror movie. There’s a part one, part two, ad infinitum.  That’s a lesson for another day. Today’s lesson is more like Rocky I. I’ll crush them but let them get off the mat for the big win in the sequel.

My definition of adulthood is the concrete moment students realize they’ll have to get actual jobs in life instead of going to parties.

They run the numbers on the spreadsheets I forced them to create for the occasion, foreheads wrinkling. They check for an app that eliminates disappointment.

“If I could go back to high school,” nearly every well-meaning adults says, “I would in a minute.”

Not me. I wouldn’t. No way. Going back to a zit-filled existence filled with uncertainty, girl drama, no prom date, and other people controlling my life? No thank you. I like where I am just fine.

It’s my job to convince students they will, too.

Sure, I show them amortization tables and loan calculators. They see the devastating effects of debt interest and failing make a good life plan. I tell them four years of college isn’t a lifetime of “experience,” but a blink of the eye compared to what could an eternal obligation.

Done right, college can put a student on a path to amazing success. Done wrong, it’s the equivalent of selling one’s soul to the devil. I tell them of my own debt. The few who weren’t scared during The Bill Monologue ask my age, ask the amount of loans I still hold, then drop to the floor in convulsions.

One student asks why I took out more loans for a job that paid less.

“It’s the million dollar question,” I tell them. I say money’s not the only reason to choose a career.

Suddenly, I realize no eighteen-year old can conceptualize any of this. They have no idea what they’re doing. They want to be doctors, nurses, teachers, lawyers–the same six jobs over and over because they don’t even know the possibilities. And if they don’t know the possibilities, they’ll choose the wrong path.

We shouldn’t research college at all. We should start by researching life.

“Stop right there!” I say. I make them close their eyes and imagine.

“Imagine you have a coffee. You’re walking in to work. You’re happy. What do you want to be doing all day? What makes you love work?”

I say I love my jobs. If money was no concern, I’d do my jobs for free. “What would you do if you loved your job so much you’d do it for free?” I remind them they have access to the entire global marketplace at their fingertips.

We put the fancy college marketing fliers aside and we make lists–lists of passions, lists of talents, lists of skills…lists of things they’d love to do all day. They say that career planning always seemed to be about one or another of the academic fields, never about hobbies, talents, skills and passions.

It took me until I was forty to figure that out myself. They’re a couple decades ahead of the game.

I draw a stick figure picture on the board. It’s a guy on a cloud handing something down to a second stick figure with a caption, “June 11.”

“What’s that?”

“God handing you a diploma. You’re waiting for graduation day to start life. As if you’ll have a magic vision. That’s not how it works. You have the same brain now as you will in June. Start today.”

Blank stares.

I give them the steps–finish making their lists, keep working on them. Do one thing each day to learn something that will make them great. In six months, a year, they’ll be amazed at the effects of that journey.

I tell them I know adults who never give this stuff a moment of thought, either. I promise them if they start today, they’ll pass those adults by.

Suddenly, the things we’re doing aren’t for some test or for that day when God hands them a diploma. They’re real. They’re part of a puzzle where students take control of their own destiny. They begin reading, researching, and doing three times the work I’d ever ask them to do…on their own, not for credit and not for a high-stakes test. They’re doing it because it matters, because they’re going to use it, and because they’re going to reach the stars.

That is what school is all about.

“That’s why I loved standardized tests. If I wanted to beat The Man and get to the next level, I had to do it on paper.”  I tell them, “I filled in the circles, then a few weeks later, scores came in the mail. Then we went around to see who I was the smartest.” Truth is, I had friends way smarter than me who didn’t do well on standardized tests. That wasn’t the point, though. Beating the test was all that mattered. It was a badge of honor.

I learned something about test taking in college. I took a physics class with a friend who drank too much. He always came to class with a Big Gulp that wasn’t filled with soda. I had a large coffee because I worked the night before.

On exam day, he showed up happier than normal. It seemed he’d drunk and refilled his Big Gulp. He was ready for the exam.

“We have an exam!” I said. “You can’t show up like that!” He was ready for my objections.

“Scientific research shows you must take exams in the state and conditions under which you studied. That’s how you maximize your performance.” He was a football player. “Why do you think coaches always say, ‘Practice as if it were real?’ This is how I studied. I am replicating those conditions.”

He got an A. I was completely sober and knew more. I didn’t get an A. I’m not condoning this behavior. I’m simply observing.

We encourage kids to learn one way. We test them another.

Picture a standardized test setting. The room is serious. All posters have been removed. Teachers circulate the room. They are not allowed to talk, be nice, or smile. They must read the directions–and only the directions as written. They must watch to see that there is no cheating. There are rules about who can move, how and when to take a bathroom break, and what happens if a student gets ill and has to leave. There is certainly no music, engagement, or collaboration. Teachers are nervous–I once knew a teacher who was told she could lose her teaching license because she disposed of scrap paper incorrectly. Students know this is high-stakes. They’re nervous, too.

Now picture a good classroom–the type you’d want to be in or you’d want your kids to have.

An effective classroom is a classroom where students are engaged. Sometimes it looks like constructive chaos. Learning fills the room with such a buzz that when class is over, nobody wants to leave.

These classes have smiles, activities, discussions, changes in direction, variation in pacing and design, differentiation, students leaning over to help their peers. Everyone is learning.

The other day, one of my seniors came to class singing a song about the Plague we learned four years earlier. After four years she said, “Remember Fleas on Rats, Miss?” That’s an effective lesson.

Kids say, “Remember when you exploded the soda can?” “Remember when you chased the chicken?” “Remember…”

We teach with energy, we teach to the crowd. They remember. They retain the skills. Engaging students is so important entire evaluation systems have been built around this. Our very jobs depend on engaging students.

But then…

We test them by making them read passages that don’t apply to their lives.

Last year, I tried to get through a sample PARCC exam. I’m the type of instructor and coach that doesn’t put my people through things I haven’t done.

I made some coffee. Violation one. Coffee is not permitted. Students do not get to bring refreshments into a standardized test.

Then, I read the questions. I always read the questions first on a standardized test. It’s an effective strategy. I didn’t understand the questions. I adjusted my glasses and read again. A bit better. Boring, though.

I read the passage–something old and translated from Greek.  I’m not a Greek scholar.  I got bored, answered a work email and refocused. Violation two. If a student had so much as checked the time on an iPhone–something we do by habit–her score would have been instantly invalidated.  If a proctor had failed to see and report that, “Oh, she’s just checking the time, I know her,” the school could be at risk as well as the teacher’s license.

Violation three–my music in the background. Students who study best with music–science has proved this effective–must test in silence. Silence causes my mind to wander. I lost focus again.

I reread the question and passage. “What?” I’m intelligent–the chances of me not understanding a high school ELA test are low. “What is this guy saying?” The words blurred together and boredom held my neurons hostage. I have 1.5 grad degrees and I couldn’t power through the test.

I gave up. “Enough of this nonsense, I already have enough diplomas.”  I have the debt to prove it. I got more coffee, Violation 4, and put the experiment to bed, promising to do it another day. I have not done so since.

I thought back to my own standardized test days. I didn’t have to take tests to graduate. I did take PSAT, SAT, GMAT, GRE and a couple others. I always fell asleep. They were boring back then. They’re still boring today. The difference was they were elective.

I have fallen asleep on section three of every single standardized test I have ever taken. The tests are long. I breathed deep. I couldn’t get up and move around. No coffee–or in my high school days it would have been tea. I breathed deeper, deeper like a zen master, until the deep breathing evolved into sleep.

I’d wake up six minutes later–six minutes was the magic number. A trail of pencil traveled down a column. I’d wake, assess the damage, and do my best to catch up. Thankfully, I’m good at tests. Imagine if I was not?

The bottom line is this: we engage and energize students, preparing them for life, then we sit them down to questions on high-stake tests that disengage them with ambiguous answers written in a language nobody speaks–academic. This, I learned the hard way, writing tons of stuff nobody read.

The average news post is written on a sixth grade level. Most people read blog posts, feeds, and informational text, and video’s emerging as the medium of choice.  Yet we test with circle tests whose format hasn’t changed since the advent of the number two pencil.

What if…

We tested using gaming technology that kids actually use? We built tests into challenges, design thinking, and real-life situations?  We used the former high-stakes tests formative assessments showing where a student stands with the aim of improvement, not shaming or fear?

There are tons of arguments against creating a high-stakes environment in schools. “There are too many tests.” “Tests aren’t used appropriately.” “Tests take away from what teachers are teaching and force them to teach to the test.” “Certain groups of kids don’t test well and those kids are penalized.” “The tests aren’t relevant.” “Tests force districts to pay out when they could be funding band, sports, and other things for students.” I could continue.

Today, I’m not making any of those arguments. Today, I’m arguing one thing. Perhaps the tests aren’t even scientifically valid because we are testing students in conditions other than those in which they learned.

I’m sure there’s someone far smarter than me out there who’s an expert educational cognitive science. I’m not. I’m just a pretty successful person who falls asleep on section three of every single standardized test I take and was too bored to finish the PARCC sample questions.

Lucky for me, I’m good at tests, but maybe, just maybe, in today’s environment I’d be one of those students who’s labeled a failure, made to have remediation courses, or in some states, held back.

But if we don’t even test in the conditions in which we teach, are we measuring accurately?

The way I see it, we have two choices–make standardized tests fun, like our classes, or stand at the door with some translations of ancient Greek and a sheet with circles and a number two pencil day after day. That way, when the Big Tests come, students will be comfortable in that environment and good and ready to do their best.

Dawn Casey-Rowe is an educator in Rhode Island who is heavily involved with tech startups focused on educational resources.  She is a regular contributor to ConversationED, Edudemic and TeachThought.  Her blog is cafecasey.com.

But I’m not that important, I don’t make the rules. I understand that life’s all about data and without data many people would be without jobs.

Just think of the guy who says, “Every Monday following a full moon, Tampa Bay scores three touchdowns in the third quarter.” What would I do without that information? If I didn’t have the ability to watch the Dow Jones go up and down instantaneously and know I was even more broke than ten minutes ago, I’d be at a complete loss.

America thrives on its charts and graphs. I teach students the written word carries agenda, perspective, hidden propaganda, and it’s up to them to decode that information and decide what to do with it. Things are not “truth” just because they’re in writing. Things are “truth” once we’ve applied our experience to the matter and decided what actions to take or what thoughts to have.

But for some reason, the minute we throw a number into the mix, all bets are off. It’s like people turn off their brains or something, “Nine of of ten people surveyed believe the commentator the minute he states a number.” I’m not sure if that’s true. I just made that up. Bet you believed it, though.

It’s why I don’t trust the numbers and scores.

When I teach research I ask a question, “If you want to learn about a subject, what do you do?” Students say I should google it, read a book, or do something that involves watching, reading, or listening to a source.

“If I want to learn about Abraham Lincoln, I don’t read one book. I read six or seven. Just to start.” Eyes pop open. “Then, I google each author and find his or her bio. What’s the background? When was the book written? What other books did they write and what historical school did they study under? Only then can I truly make an informed decision myself by analyzing all the information I’ve stuffed into my brain not only about what these people wrote but why they wrote what they did.”

“The skills of a researcher,” I tell them, “Involve all five senses. Input the information, synthesize it, then make the call.” This is the part they’re not comfortable with, making the call. When I press them to make a decision based on the facts, and tell them their decision is the one we’ll go with, they’re uncomfortable.

When I do this, they get even more uncomfortable. “Everyone gets 100%. Being right isn’t important. The exercise in thinking is what’s right.”

One student called me Oprah. “You get 100! You get 100! Look under your seat–you get 100!” I like that. I’m going to let that stick.

I was teaching about statistical outliers using a world religion survey. At the time of the survey a few years back 22% of the world was Muslim and 33% Christian. We surveyed the room. The entire room was Christian or secular with a Christian background.

“Gee, is that a problem? How many people, if the numbers are right, should be Muslim?”

Someone ran the math. One person calculated, one person estimated.

“4.5.” “5.”

“What do we do?” Blank stares.

“Change the numbers.”

“Okay, so you want me to erase the world-wide statistics and lie?…It’s okay, politicians lie all the time. We should?” Grumbles. More blank stares.

“Change the class.”

“So I should get a guest imam to convert 4.5 of you. Four people and a short kid, or four people and one near-conversion?” Blank stares.

“What should we do?”

One genius responded. “Look at a bigger area?”

“Yes! Widen the sample. Ask why. Genius! Rhode Island has a heavily Catholic population. It’s not a fair sample. ” I explained we must be on the lookout for numbers and patterns everywhere, and question them the same way we’d question words.  “When the numbers lie, you must ask why.”

That’s what I teach my kids. Numbers spin things just like words. Sometimes people are outright lying to us. Sometimes there’s just a sample that doesn’t represent the whole. Maybe we simply need more information.

Numbers have as much ability to mislead as the written word. I’d never let anyone do quality research by examining one printed source. Numbers are no different. Today, that’s even more critical, because much of where we get our info first is live-feed, like in-person reporting via Twitter streams where people are in the middle of the action but not trained as objective reporters or researchers.

When I give kids permission to think, to analyze, and tell them there is no wrong answer, only improvements in theories based on more facts, interpretation, and research, something magic happens. We go to a whole new level. Kids are used to being graded on rote material. Teaching them to analyze effectively and have the confidence to stand up for their results gives them the power to conquer the universe.

Now, what’s all this mean for teachers? For district leaders?

The same principles apply. The numbers aren’t the gospel. Every minute we spend with a child starts to paint the whole picture. That’s the real child. Not the scores.

Data in isolation means nothing–context is everything. When I get a bunch of numbers and scores, it gives me a one-source opinion. Is this a statistical anomaly for this kid? Was this test on a good day, a bad day, is he a school-hater with a passion for other things? Will those other things make him a rising star?

I don’t like to look at the data, stats, and tests right away. A student’s mind is so much bigger than that. You’re not “the low group” or “the special ed kid” to me. Nobody’s boss cares about any of that.

No researcher worth his or her salt would never paint a picture using only one source. It mystifies me how students get classified, labeled, tracked, or held back by scores alone. And how very, very intelligent people fail to ask “Why.”

My students learn this skill. “When the numbers lie, you must ask why.”  I’m looking forward to the time district and national policy does as well. Use the numbers, but not for fear–to learn and improve, not to intimidate.

Congratulations to ConversationEd for starting this conversation.

Dawn Casey-Rowe is an educator in Rhode Island who is heavily involved with tech startups focused on educational resources.  She is a regular contributor to ConversationED, Edudemic and TeachThought.  Her blog is cafecasey.com.

If you’re an aspiring educational leader, one thing you need to know is first year teachers are cheap. You can get about twenty new teachers for the price of an old one like me. That’s a bargain. New teachers are young, enthusiastic… Besides, I could die at any moment. All the junk food in American society’s reducing our life expectancy by the hour–I’ve got Common Core-aligned stats to prove it.

Best to hire a handful of young teachers and get rid of all the dead weight.

I’m here to help you get the most out of your new hires. I remember what it was like to be a new teacher. I was so excited to be teaching I would’ve washed your car then come back to coach every sport, advise all the classes, and start fifty clubs. That’s a lot of bang for your buck.

Ahh, I remember it like it was yesterday. The transition to teaching could’ve been a financial disaster, but I had one thing most first-year teachers don’t have–a corporate job. I planned to leave Corporate America to teach but I couldn’t afford to just leave. I’d just taken out another twenty-five thousand dollar loan for the privilege of cutting my salary in half and I still needed health insurance. My friends laughed–especially the ones who’d achieved the post-college goal of paying their bills by themselves.

My boss was one of those leaders who inspires people to greatness. I look at leaders both in and out of education and wish they could all be like him. He cared deeply for his people, and he knew teaching was the right move for me. He let me work weekends so I could eat something other than cat food, which is decidedly not vegetarian. I stayed, even into teaching.

Every other week, I’d get a paycheck from each job and compare them. They were nearly the same–twenty hours of corporate work equals sixty hours teaching. There were other perks to keeping that job besides the money–the corporate copier. I’m sorry–I realize now that was company paper. It never occurred to me at the time. I just couldn’t imagine being in a workplace without supplies and working copiers, which is roughly what teaching is.

I’d put the stack of papers in the copier when I got to the office, push the button and go work. I’d come back in a week and everything I needed to teach was ready for me. I didn’t have to yell, swear, fix the machine, bring my own paper, wait two days for things to come back from the copy center or fill out requisitions for paper. It was worth the 2.5 hour commute just to use the copier, even if I was doing it for free.

Most new teachers don’t have the luxury of such a transition. They work twenty-four hours a day and feel they’re not doing enough. I’m glad I made it enough years where I have some experience, but if you’re an educational leader and you haven’t hired ten new teachers to replace the likes of me, you clearly never took a business class. If you’ve already made the commitment to hiring new and inexpensive teachers to get you through the budget crisis, this is for you.

The Ultimate Guide to Getting the Most out of New Teachers:

1. Give them the worst schedules and let everyone tell them “We’ve paid our dues and someday, you’ll get to teach this.” It’s a proven method for training new teachers fast. Trial by fire. The good one’s will make it through. Give them the classes that are the toughest to teach or manage. Everyone’s got to learn somehow. Best to get them up and running on the fly.

2. Make sure you take away all the gadgets and tech they just learned about in teaching school. Your new teacher’s probably pretty psyched to get students into the 21st century, but the real world of school doesn’t actually allow them to use such things. Technology is “broken, blocked and banned.” After all, what if students do bad things? And what district can afford to upgrade their Windows XP anyway? We’ve got standardized tests to pay for. Set the expectations early so they don’t expect to use YouTube in their classes later on.

3. Go up to them with a smile and ask them to coach, advise, and sit on every committee. That’s how I got my first class advisor position–my mouth was filled with sandwich and my boss blindsided me, “I’ve got a problem!” The problem: the freshmen needed an advisor. Phew. It wasn’t “You’re fired!” Of course I’ll be the advisor!

4. Make sure they feel paranoid. They’ll do a better job that way. If they’re constantly hearing messages like “tenure this, seniority that” they’ll work twice as hard. Make sure people say things like “You’re so lucky to even have a job.” Make sure they know their very life and the lives of their students and all future generations of children their students may have will ride on that vocab list. Indeed, the very American way of life as we know it is tied to their performance.

5. Give them a classroom and an old text book in September and then stop by in June. They’ve got the book. That’s all they need. After all, they graduated from teacher training. They’re professionals. What can you do for them? You’re busy. You have initiatives to meet. They’ll appreciate the latitude you give them by never showing up again.

6. Evaluate them with rubrics and checkboxes. Stop by and check off the boxes, nodding your head vaguely. When they ask “Did I do a good job?” tell them not to worry about it. Three weeks later, throw a paper copy in their boxes with little to no feedback and a couple really low scores–everyone needs improvement, after all. Leaving them to wonder how they got those scores will ensure they’ll work extra hard to improve in every category.

Do any of these situations feel vaguely familiar to you? I’m not an educational leader–I’m “just a teacher” but when I see a new teacher, I want the light to stay in his or her eyes. I don’t want them to feel hazed and beaten down–the job’s tough enough as it is. More teachers burn out than emergency response professionals. Many schools in need of improvement  chew them up and spit them out, creating a cycle where teachers both teachers and students suffer. This tarnishes the field of education in both in the eyes of the media and the hearts of the community.

Thankfully, many schools have mentor programs, but even for those that don’t, support networks–professional learning networks– or PLNs–lie outside of school as close as Twitter chats like New Teacher Chat at 8PM ET on Wednesdays (#ntchat) or EdCamps held throughout the country. New teachers can leave that sense of isolation behind and understand the nation is there to support them so they can master their craft.

New teachers need to feel they are not alone. They need that sense of teamwork, camaraderie, and esprit de corps. They bring fresh ideas to the table, getting paid much less for doing, in many cases, even more work. Their happiness and development must be a priority for schools and educational leaders.

It’s easy to see new teachers smiling and walk on by. As educational leaders, make sure you don’t. Get to know them well. These are the people, who, when you make the right hires, will change your organization. Make sure they feel you’re committed to them for the long term. It will pay students back many times over.

[Shameless plug: I wrote a book called “Don’t Sniff the Glue: A Teacher’s Misadventures in Education Reform.” Presales will be starting soon. I’d be honored if you’d visit my blog at CafeCasey.com and sign up for the mailing list so I can let you know when you can get a copy. Thanks for reading ConversationEd, too.

Dawn Casey-Rowe is an educator in Rhode Island who is heavily involved with tech startups focused on educational resources.  She is a regular contributor to ConversationED, Edudemic and TeachThought.  Her blog is cafecasey.com.

I didn’t want him to drop out or come to school naked–I wasn’t sure which was more probable but neither seemed a good outcome. I took the kid shopping. That was Old Me. Old Me did crazy things like feed kids, clothe them, and let them go “Back to School” shopping in my cabinets–the cabinets I spent all summer chasing sales to fill.

I teach in a high poverty school. Some of my students have serious needs. To fill those needs, I’d go from store to store examining sale fliers and collect boxes of supplies. So much that if a colleague complained of being out of board markers, I could toss one over.

“You sure? Let me pay you for that.” No. It’s how teaching works. We all understand the game and we do favors for each other in times of bounty.

There have been lean years, however, where there was less bounty than an empty roll of paper towels–where I ran my groceries on thirty dollars a week and wondered if I was going to keep my house and business.

Yet still, I felt compelled to shop for my classroom. I wanted no child to do without.

Then one day, I stopped shopping. Here’s why:

I was being taken advantage of.

Teachers are by nature givers. No one goes into teaching to make a profit, expand their business, or take over the world. There just aren’t opportunities for that type of financial growth in the classroom. By nature, teachers serve and give. In my upcoming book, I tell a story where I give a student the shirt off my back [Spoiler alert: It was a hoodie and I had a shirt underneath…nothing to see…move along…]. “Shirt off my back” isn’t an expression. These things really happen–more often than you’d think.

One day, a former student told me to stop. “Listen, a lot of people are taking advantage of you. You need to stop letting them.” He stressed many students are grateful, but others using my generosity to get things. I wasn’t doing them a service. I needed to let them struggle a little and invest in themselves.

I realized he was right. There were still students in dire need. We help those students. But the kid who needed a pencil every day? No more. I wasn’t helping students, I was giving an easier path. Successful people are prepared, and find creative solutions to get what they need, even if it means giving up something else. Life’s about choices. It’s all about what students value.

I looked at my credit card statement.

It was ugly. And it didn’t lie. By reading the statement instead of mindlessly throwing some money at it every payday, I was able to see the exact things I bought for school. They were itemized–the office store, the Big Box store, the warehouse store. I was buying food and supplies–everything from feminine items to granola bars. I gave them away like a game show. In the process I was giving away some of my family’s financial security.

Then, during the Great Recession, I received an attention getter from the heavens. My credit card company more than doubled my interest rate. “What’s this?” I inquired. “I pay my bills ahead of time, and I have the highest credit rating!”

“You have a high credit to debt ratio…it’s just something they started looking at.” I cut up the card and paid it off. That radically changed the way I looked at both credit and classroom purchases. Never again would I run a credit card balance so I could buy things for work.

I thought about my corporate past.

At most places of employment, if you need something to do your job, there is a supply cabinet. I worked in Corporate America. I didn’t have to go to Staples and stock up on pencils. It was all there for me–part of the gig. If I needed something that wasn’t there, I’d tell someone or buy it. The material would arrive or I’d be reimbursed. The company wanted me to do a good job and in turn provided me with the tools necessary.

I’m a teacher. I already care about my job or I’d be somewhere in Corporate America doubling my salary. If I think about the goal, “the company wanted me to do a good job,” and the contract, “and in turn provided me with the tools necessary,” we see that in schools, the second half is often missing.

Teachers have been filling in the missing half for too long. That, in psychology terms, is called “enabling.” Enabling is when one person in a relationship continues to allow negative or dysfunctional behavior to continue by covering it up rather than insisting on the proper solution–one that corrects the negative behavior.

When teachers spend their own money on their classrooms, they are, in effect, providing a false budget–they are lying about the amount of money it takes to do the job. Schools know this, but turn a blind eye. “Mrs. So and So only needs fifteen dollars a year.” Then, they squeeze the bottom line even further. “We think you can do it for ten.” Towns are guilty of this when they don’t pass the right budgets forcing schools to pad their budgets to survive–it’s an endless cycle of dishonesty with teachers at the bottom.

Many teachers blame their bosses. I don’t. My boss is a hero. When dealing with huge unjustified cuts to her budget, she preserved the things that matter–teachers and important programs for kids. Then she said, “Now, don’t ask me for any pencils.” She shouldn’t be put in a position where she has to say that.

This is a policy problem. It rests at the governmental level–ironic, because this is the level making demands for reform which require the supplies they’re not supplying. We call that “unfunded mandates.”

The solution?

My single income household will no longer take part in covering budget gaps for unfunded government mandates. My credit cards will not make up the difference, and I will not enable students to take the easy way out. I won’t give them a big list, but I will hold them accountable for bringing a few simple things they need to succeed–something to write with, and something to write on.

The truth is, all students need is love. We don’t say the “L” word much these days–it’s controversial. I could say “compassion” but I mean love. I love my students, every one. My greatest joy teaching is in getting to know each student as an individual, breaking through the barriers, finding out how I can serve that student and lead him or her to success. I don’t need a lot of fancy stuff for that, just time to build relationships.

How do I create the time to do the things that matter? Stop doing silly things, like shopping. Stocking up for back to school items on the cheap requires planning, attention to detail, couponing, and driving around–hours of my time. I could spend that preparing to get to know them when the walk into my room in a few weeks.

“Time is money.” That’s true. In “The Four Hour Workweek,” life hacker extraordinaire Tim Ferriss talks about the value of time. Tim’s smart. He calculates the value of his time when doing a particular task in order to see what he can outsource or eliminate completely to create more value. I eliminate useless chasing down of material goods, and am concentrating on simplicity and relationship building. Teaching is about love and service. It is not about shopping. It is certainly not causing yourself fiscal harm.

Teach with love, it’ll carry you through. As for the material goods, if work doesn’t provide them, let everyone do without.

Dawn Casey-Rowe is an educator in Rhode Island who is heavily involved with tech startups focused on educational resources.  She is a regular contributor to ConversationED, Edudemic and TeachThought.  Her blog is cafecasey.com.

We need to rethink the way teachers are certified. It’s certifiable.

Did you know with one extra course I can teach your children Russian? A university transcript says so. I’ve clearly forgotten everything but the bad words. Bad words are fun, but I try to save them for emergencies, not vocabulary lists in classrooms. When students swear, I explain it sounds silly if you think about it, “He pissed me off.” He had to urinate so hard it knocked you over? Really? When people swear in non-native tongues, it sounds even worse. I wouldn’t want to be a Russian teacher.

But swears are what I remember best about Russian. My Russian friends would say things like “God damming you!” I’d laugh. They weren’t amused. I don’t swear in other languages. I said the “s” word in once Russian. They laughed. It translates to the verb for going #2. No one shouts, “I pooped!” when they are “pissed off.” It doesn’t work.

If I want to swear properly in Russian–in case you do let me speak Russian in front of your kids–I can say the word for female dog with righteous indignation, or I can use a phrase that roughly translated means “penis from the mountain.” Imagine you are very, very mad. Can you say “penis from the mountain” and maintain your anger? I don’t think so. All in all, it’s best not to swear. I think there’s a good commandment about that that covers swearing for a couple of religions, but rules and etiquette address speaking nicely in secular society, too.

The point is I can take one grammar class and certify to teach a language I do not speak but I am not certified to teach things I can actually do, like teach writing, for which I get paid, or literature, which I love, in the current system. I’d have to go get an entire degree in English, which I already speak, at great expense. No thanks. I’m done paying for college. I am still paying off the degrees I currently have.

We are on the cusp of a learning revolution. Students are figuring out they have the world at their fingertips. Many schools aren’t letting them use it. “Put away your phone!” is pretty standard, although embracing technology would kids have limitless possibilities for learning–if we show them how to apply it “for real.” For real isn’t to pass my test. For real is to start a business, follow a passion in life, or reach for the stars. Students know they know they have this power. Soon, they won’t stand for less than learning their passions. I don’t.

It’s how the real world operates. I get excited about things. I take online free courses.  I even have a certificate from Google Analytics Academy. I learn because I love to learn, I am curious, or I need the information to function in work or society. Nobody tells me to do it, and nobody currently recognizes it. We need a way to recognize and certify self-initiated learning as the learning revolution progresses. We must recognize this for teachers and students. Not all learning takes place in the classroom now. That trend will continue and expand as more of the world’s knowledge is uploaded to the cloud.

Students learn online all the time. I had an entire conversation about Steinbeck with two freshmen. I nearly cried it was so deep. Then they revealed the truth, “Yeah, I saw it on Thug Notes.” The student said he might even read the book. That’s a win. A student became interested in a great author. I told him a secret, “I use Thug Notes too. And briefs, and summaries.” Then I sit down for coffee with Steinbeck when I can.

What if we recognized self-initiated learning for students and teachers?

There’s going to be a tipping point where we must. Will you tell my student he can’t code because I put him on Code Academy? We don’t offer a course and it’s a good career move to learn, so he did. Will you tell me I don’t speak a language or know a topic because I learned it on Coursera, Rosetta Stone, or Stanford Online instead of handing over my mortgage payment to a local university?

Years ago, I wanted to certify to teach basic science. Dual certification seemed to be all the rage for keeping a job. I like science and I have a bunch of courses behind me, though not enough by The Man’s standards. It’d be fun to teach some science. Instead of teaching students history–about dead people, I’d teach about how climate change killed those dead people or how they rotted in the sun during the plague. Science.

Eventually, I smartened up. Paying a few thousand dollars to be rubber stamped to do the same job, teach six classes a day, isn’t economically smart. It would have taken money I didn’t have from my household and paid back nothing but financial stress in return. In the normal world, a person gets a promotion or raise when learning additional skills. Not so in education, unless you leave the classroom to be an administrator, which many do for that reason alone.

The learning revolution that’s coming allows students–and teachers–to learn for free. After all, we’re supposed to be life-long learners. The system needs to catch up. College isn’t the only way to learn. It’s really expensive. I have an additional degree I never finished for that reason.

Self-initiated learning is going to be the wave of the future. A smart employer knows a self-starter when he or she sees one. Self-initiated learning is giving kids skills in tech, entrepreneurship, and motivation to reach for those stars. They learn what they want and need on demand. We must recognize those skills not say, “Nope, that’s not on your transcript, you’re a half credit short.” We preach proficiency, competency, and skills with the Common Core. We need a way to recognize them without a number two pencil.

This should be no different for teachers.

Imagine the classes I’d teach if I wasn’t tied down by the requirements of certification. I’d teach insurance adjusting, business, tech, writing. I’d integrate science and social science, history and literature, and I’d even love to teach in a language lab where students pick their particular language and I guide them on their way.

I’d teach the lessons of life, how it kicks you around if you don’t have the skills to learn what you need to know in a hurry, then use them “for real.”

Students must be flexible enough to learn the skills they need, then put them into practice. That’s real life. Schools don’t emulate that.

The “learning revolution” will continue to grow.  Free online courses, YouTube, and TEDx are currently available to the public, and more and more people are taking advantage of them to learn new skills. We should give remediation credit, extra credit or professional development credit for these. People choose to learn what fascinates them because it’s not being taught in our schools or organized as professional development, but because they love learning or need the skills. Learners are leaving gurus in the dust, learning despite the system, not from the system. We must catch up and recognize these “off the books” skills.

Some fear technology will replace teachers. It won’t. The best teachers know they are mentors and guides, not paper graders. They individualize instruction and teach students how to learn the things that matter most, even if there is no recognition on a transcript. It’s time to find a way to recognize student skills. I put students on LinkedIn for that purpose. If school doesn’t recognize you, kid, the world will.

Students must be formally recognized for what they know. Teachers must be certified for what they can teach, not for only for the college courses they have under their belt.

Graduation season is upon us. It’s the time of year when students come back and say, “Miss, nobody taught me this!” Today’s student must be able to recognize this ahead of time and learn the “this” they will need on their own. In many cases, they’re doing it. It’s time for us to endorse it.

Someday schools will catch up. We won’t worry about filling in bubbles, we’ll worry about showing students–and teachers–they can be great, embraced by the system rather than boxed in by the requirements. I hope that day’s soon, because, the learning revolution has begun.

Dawn Casey-Rowe is an educator in Rhode Island who is heavily involved with tech startups focused on educational resources.  She is a regular contributor to ConversationED, Edudemic and TeachThought.  Her blog is cafecasey.com.

Want to know what I had for breakfast this morning? Ask Google. It’ll tell you. It’ll also tell you how to fix your car, swear in a foreign language, brew beer, or build a space station. Education’s changing–you can learn anything at the drop of a dime, and schools aren’t even close to catching up. We’re in the beginning of an education revolution. If you think ed reform’s volatile, wait until students realize they have a voice in this system–that they can vote by directing their own learning using only their cell phones, tablets, and laptops and a little ingenuity.

But wait–most of them aren’t allowed. “Put away your cellphone,” is the battle cry, with signs at the door saying, “Cellphone free zone.”

I wonder about this. The kid with the phone out is probably trying to research your assignment, not call his girlfriend, but what do I know? Rules are rules, after all.

Adults and professionals use personal technology to survive–when was the last time I went to the bank? I do everything online or with my phone. Chances are if I’m walking to the bathroom during my very brief lunch, I’m multitasking reading an email from a parent or colleague. But for some reason, many students are stripped clean of technology. What’s left is sanitized beyond usefulness.

There’s a major urban school system not too far from me that blocked Google–students must use another approved search engine. In the 21st century classroom, I’m not sure if this is Shakespearian comedy or tragedy.

Students want technology–it’s the way they learn. It’s the way we operate in society. Often, middle of the road schools suffer. Well-off schools would never stand for subpar technology, and the poorest schools receive money to make sure they’re not lagging behind. This leaves schools in the middle with broken down infrastructures and blocked and banned sites. I say this a lot–broken, blocked, and banned is no way to propel our students to excellence. We should be the road, not the roadblock.

Here are the most common roadblocks we’re fighting in getting tech in the hands of students and teachers where it belongs.

1. “It’s expensive.” Tech isn’t expensive, relatively speaking, if schools get out of the way. There are many apps and platforms that are free or reasonably priced for students and teachers, and mainstream platforms–like blogs and Twitter–that can be repurposed for education. Unblock these things, and you’ll find students and teachers creating and collaborating in no time. Taking baby steps in technology is not expensive. What’s expensive is ignorance. Not allowing teachers–trained professionals–to access and use class-appropriate technology is insulting to our professionalism and creates students who don’t receive an equivalent education compared with students who have technology. Students must navigate tech seamlessly in order to be ready for the best jobs. Any school that willfully prevents teachers from teaching students how to do this is not doing its job and should be held accountable by whatever standards we can. It’s negligent.

2. “You don’t know the bad things they do.” Yes I do, because we did bad things before iPhones and Facebook were invented. For every digital indiscretion, there is an old-school equivalent. Bullying, name calling, inappropriate pictures, unkind behavior–all of these existed when I was in school. They exist today, too. Not just in schools–in life. This is why we need to give students tools they need now, under our supervision, so they can practice kindness and community building.

Some might say “stick to the curriculum,” but I’d disagree. Technology is everywhere and connects us all. Home, school, and community must work together to teach our children not only curricula, but to become independent thinkers, able to make the tough judgment calls when we’re not around. Technology will be a large part of this in their lives. We must teach our students the responsible and visionary use of technology because those are the values we’ve created in our community.

3. “Teachers won’t know how to use student devices and it’ll be confusing.” Heck, I don’t know how to use all the devices in the world. When I don’t, I say, “Who’s my Window’s expert–I’m a Mac girl.” Some kid steps up right away. This promotes an atmosphere of collaboration between my students and I, where I show them I’m willing to learn from their areas of expertise at the same time as I share mine. It’s a good thing. Many educational apps are web-based, so students simply need access to the internet, not a specific device. I’ve never run into a situation where a student couldn’t use his or her own device, but if I did, we’d figure it out. Life would move on.

4. “What about the digital divide? Not all students have access. It’s not fair.” What’s not fair is failing to prepare students for the real world because some kids don’t have as much tech as others. What’s even less fair is school systems creating a new divide–in career readiness–because we refuse to teach progressively with technology that’s already available.

Most of my students have some type of tech access if I give due dates in advance. If a student has a problem, I let him use class computers or give the weekend to get to the library–it’s Rhode Island. Libraries are two feet away. I say, “Be creative, get the job done.” I’ll give time, resources, and suggestions to do so.

Then, I tell them that in my day, computers weren’t invented, and we had to go to the library and sit there with index cards. If students whine, I tell them video games and microwaves weren’t invented, either, and I remember the first song on MTV back when MTV actually played music. By that time, they’re running to the library or the class computer just to get away from me. The bottom line–life requires an ability to work around problems–thinking outside the box is a marketable skill. They’ll get the job done.

5. “We need professional development.”  We cannot wait for PD to get tech into the hands of our teachers and students. PD, the way it’s done in most places, usually isn’t individualized and helpful anyway. Tech-based PD has to be hands on and appropriate with support and follow up. We’ve done some great stuff at my school, but the bottom line is teachers are supposed to be life-long learners. There are a world of resources out there to help. When I need to learn something, it’s my responsibility to take the initiative and learn it, not wait for my boss to schedule a workshop. That’s not the example I want to set for my students. The other day, I crashed a colleague’s class to see how she was using a platform. I may try what she showed me in my class.

Technology doesn’t have to be threatening. Teachers who are not comfortable with tech can start slowly. The problem with teachers starting on their tech journey is many fear rocking the boat because schools emphasize evaluations and test scores. Teachers don’t want to mess up their numbers. The way to solve this is with supportive administrations and tech savvy teachers willing to encourage. I’ll write more about this in another article, but the bottom line is even my six-year old can pick up new gadgets and figure them out–without PD. PD should be a support, not a crutch, and certainly not an excuse to wait to employ even the most basic technology.

By not allowing students access to technology commonly used in society, we’re saying, “We know you need this to be successful, and we choose not to give it to you.” That’s okay if we admit it. We can’t talk about increasing student performance and simultaneously ignore best practice. Trying to take technology from students who were born with it in their hand is roughly the equivalent of someone making me sit at Bob Cratchit’s desk with a candle, a piece of coal, and a quill pen asking me to do the bookkeeping for the school district, then telling me there’ll be a high-stakes test or evaluation based on my performance.

I want technology in the hands of the students and teachers who want to use it. Sadly, it’s an option for everyone. When some schools give students the green light for technology and others stop them cold in their tracks, it creates a national system of inequity where students given the premiere tech treatment will be ready for the best opportunities, and the others will be trained for minimum wage.

Which one will your child be?

Dawn Casey-Rowe is an educator in Rhode Island who is heavily involved with tech startups focused on educational resources.  She is a regular contributor to ConversationED, Edudemic and TeachThought.  Her blog is cafecasey.com.

Teachers give homework. Mentors change lives. If schools replaced teachers with mentors, classrooms would be revolutionized forever.

This isn’t semantics – it’s a paradigm shift. 

I learned this watching startups (scrappy young ventures usually starting in basements or garages). At first, the urgency around the issue of having mentors didn’t make a lot of sense to me. But I found young entrepreneurs constantly asking about mentors and how to find a good one.

Finding a mentor is difficult because the best ones are very busy. It’s tough to march into an office of someone you admire and beg them to let you latch onto them, “Hey, you started three companies can you spend an hour a week teaching me how it’s done?”

Students are lucky, though, because they often have access to instructors who’ve done amazing things in life. And these instructors are required to spend five or six hours a week with them, guiding them to success. Most instructors are willing to do much, much more than simply assign homework. In fact, many educators would be thrilled to hear the words, “Will you be my mentor?”

If only we saw schools as mentoring opportunities…

School leaders attempt to build relationships among teachers and students, but very few educators see teaching as lifelong mentoring. Schools often assign mentor/mentee relationships like caseloads. We take the students doing very poorly in school (they are usually referred to as the bottom 33%) and they are divvied up among teachers. I might get last names A-L and another teacher in my hall may get M-Z.

That might work for a superficial relationship where we just check in with on another, but that isn’t a true mentoring relationship. Real mentors change lives. They teach students to create connections in their prospective fields, provide value to those with whom they’re connecting, and maintain long-term relationships. They teach students to shed dead weight, to move on when necessary, and they pick up the pieces when students fail, inspiring them to start again and to learn from each opportunity. They give them vision, one that lasts a lifetime.

I’ve mentored students. And these relationships continue far beyond the cap and gown.

Only now do I recognize the mentors in my life–the people who made me successful: a brilliant linguist, a martial artist, an unparalleled historian, a brilliant writer, a couple of entrepreneurs. These people saw something in me and convinced me to be a better person, often times without my knowledge. Their influence and insight changed the trajectory of my life. If this works for me, and works for multimillion-dollar business owners and CEOs, why wouldn’t it be something we give to our students?  

If we’re looking at best practices for education reform, we need to start looking outside education and into the world at large.

Mentoring isn’t about instilling in students the 3R’s; it’s about instilling in students the 3Ps: passion, persistence, and power.

As we redesign schools, we have a unique opportunity to find practices that work and use them. Mentoring is one of those practices. I don’t want to be a teacher anymore. Teachers give tests and assign homework. I want to be a mentor. I want to support students as they create the masterpieces that will be their lives. I can only do this if we make school less about the test and more about the mission–treating students like the unique individuals they are with gifts that will change the world.

Mentoring works.

Dawn Casey-Rowe is an educator in Rhode Island who is heavily involved with tech startups focused on educational resources.  She is a regular contributor to ConversationED, Edudemic and TeachThought.  Her blog is cafecasey.com.