Not too long ago, I heard about a parent-teacher conference that I wish I’d sat in on. The story goes that this parent-of-a-struggling-student kicked off the conference by explaining how he, the parent, would teach the class.

The first suggestion was that the teacher should make the class interesting. The second suggestion was that the teacher should show how the class material related to the students’ everyday lives. Both were brilliant ideas that had never ever occurred to this teacher in all his years of teaching. And yet the third took the take:

The teacher should explain how he wished he’d worked harder in school so that he didn’t have to become a teacher. That would inspire students to hit the books, pay attention in class, and perform well on assessments.

Upon hearing this story the first time, several barbed responses occurred to me. My favorite of the bunch was “Sir, I retired when I was 28. I teach because I love teaching children.” Why? Three reasons. First, both statements are technically correct, which is the best kind of correct. Second, “I teach because…” is a positive statement that hopefully will segue into a positive, productive discussion. Third, it makes the jerk a little more insecure about his own accomplishments in life, or lack thereof.

Actually, if I’d heard that third suggestion in person, my eyes would’ve bulged out, my jaw would’ve dropped, and I would’ve been too shocked and insulted to respond right way. I’m told that the teacher kept his composure, wisely let the comment slide, and went on with the conference, which was probably the most professional way to handle the affront.

While it is true that we want our students and our progeny to have better lives and careers than we had, there are probably better ways to articulate the thought.

Ereyesterday, I had a fun chat with my dear friend Dr. Hmnahmna regarding Common Core mathematics. Here’s a transcript, edited slightly for clarity and national security:

DR. HMNAHMNA: From what I’ve seen of “Common Core” math (the quotes are deliberate), it’s not nearly as stupid as people think. I say “Common Core” because all Common Core does is say that you should have certain skills at a certain point.

VDV: I don’t think it’s stupid, but I do think it’s needlessly complicated. They’re giving as much emphasis to shortcuts and tricks as they are to basic algorithms and tables. I think that’s a mistake.

DR. HMNAHMNA: What most people call “Common Core” is various curricula that implement those standards.

VDV: Correct.

DR. HMNAHMNA: There’s actually deep concepts buried in those “shortcuts” and “tricks”.

VDV: I don’t deny that one bit. I question the utility of the approach, and I fully expect that as these students reach high school they’ll be worse at math than current high schoolers.

DR. HMNAHMNA: Here’s an example of chunking:

Basically, this breaks the problem down into easier to manage chunks. If you’ve ever made change running a cash register, this is the way it’s done. It also demonstrates the commutative and associative properties of addition and subtraction in a concrete way. And if you’re trying to quickly subtract 712 – 648 in your head, it works much better than trying to remember the borrowing algorithm that we learned.

VDV: Again, I’m not denying that the tricks/shortcuts/alternate methods aren’t useful. I think the traditional method has far greater utility on paper. And I don’t mean “on paper” to mean “theoretically”, I mean actually on paper. The larger the numbers get, the less I’d want Joe Average to rely on a mental calculation, and the more I’d like him to rely on tried-and-true. I’ve seen a lot of students try to guess their ways through simple arithmetic work, and if they don’t guess right, the attitude is “oh well”. I shudder to think what’s going to happen when the CC wave comes through. Maybe I’m wrong, though.

DR. HMNAHMNA: Is your students’ approach a matter of not knowing the method? Or is it just trying to blow through and not caring? Because I haven’t figured out a teaching method that can overcome cockiness/laziness.

VDV: [Redacted list of SMERSH-approved torture techniques] overcome cockiness and laziness. Unfortunately they aren’t permitted by the curriculum. Seriously, though, what I meant was that training the masses to do it in their heads will lead to less patience with pencil-and-paper, and less willingness to use it.

DR. HMNAHMNA: The other big advantage I’ve seen from these other methods is that they are designed to promote a deeper understanding of what you’re doing when you subtract 712-648. And demonstrating it using teaching methods that are applied again in higher math.

VDV: When you put it like that, I think of the analogy of plumbing vs. fluid dynamics, or history vs. historiography. Or of the argument over the correct “first ten numbers” (0-9 vs. 1-10). Do they need the deeper mathematical understanding, or do they need extensive practice in efficient arithmetic calculation?

DR. HMNAHMNA: I happen to think that innumeracy is a big problem and that deeper mathematical understanding is important, though practice for efficiency is also important.

VDV: I agree. I see no reason not to introduce algebra/geometry earlier.

DR. HMNAHMNA: If I had to choose, I’d rather have a deeper understanding and slightly less efficient.

VDV: If I had to choose that for the Hmnahmnas and the [our friend who majored in mechanical engineering and is an industrial manager]s and the [our friend in military intelligence who majored in history and physics]s of the world, yes. But we’re also talking about the people who mess up your change at McDonald’s.

DR. HMNAHMNA: I think the example above will actually help the people at McDonalds not mess up your change. Note I said that it is the exact method you use to count change– count up from the total to the amount of cash handed over.

VDV: That’s why I used that example.

DR. HMNAHMNA: And hopefully, the deeper understanding will remove the blank stares when the total is $6.03 and you hand them $10.10.

VDV: May I propose a minor flaw with the analogy? If chunking, cashiers don’t have to keep track of how much they’re handing back (i.e., the difference). They just have to keep adding bills and coins until (price + change) = (initial payment).

DR. HMNAHMNA: Maybe I don’t understand people that are stupid at math, which is entirely possible.

…

Dr. Hmnahmna has a doctorate in mechanical engineering. It’s entirely possible.

…

Byzantine arithmetic is not unique to our era. About a month back, I picked up an 1877 edition of Ray’s New Practical Arithmetic: A Revised Edition of the Practical Arithmetic. Four bucks at a flea market. Here’s some Core-esque material from page 29:

I shouldn’t have posted this. Someone, somewhere, might get some ideas.

…

Yesterday I was told by another friend, who has operated cash registers far more recently than either Dr. Hmnahmna or I have, that many modern cash registers have dedicated buttons for each denomination of currency. That means that a present-day cashier can get away with not knowing how much cash the customer handed over. If the customer gives the cashier two twenties, the cashier can just press the $20 button twice.

I replied that even that might prove too complicated one day. What if the cashier doesn’t recognize the digits on the bills or coins, or can’t tell the difference between Grant and Franklin, or doesn’t understand that a $20 is worth more than a $10? I mean, looking at two digits is so much tougher than looking at one. We need to make counting bills and coins as simple as humanly possible. Therefore I recommend that henceforth, all portraits and other decorative images on American currency be replaced with symbols from video game controllers. Problem solved, and we’re one step closer to pure idiocracy.

My proposal also eliminates any possible debate about controversial figures appearing on our currency. Honoring Andrew Jackson by putting him on the twenty is questionable for several reasons, but what did ✕ or △ ever do to anyone?

…

This was literally my hardest post to write, and is probably the hardest to read.

A coupla weeks back, a student asked an odd question. She asked how the members of the Second Continental Congress got to Philadelphia to work on the Declaration of Independence. Before I got the chance to answer that question, she asked another, much braver one: “Did they have cars?”

I hope I stopped the teasing and tittering before it got started by explaining that cars, as we recognize them today, wouldn’t be invented for another 100 years or so.

Anyhow, that “silly” question got me thinking. Consider that to the average teenager, cars have always been around. Their parents and grandparents grew up in a world with cars all over the place. We can easily grasp the idea that cars haven’t always been as advanced as they are today, but visualizing a world without cars– and I mean going beyond the intellectual knowledge that cars haven’t always been there, I mean really visualizing what life was like as if we were there– grows increasingly difficult with each passing generation. (Consider also that there isn’t much history taught in elementary school, and if you haven’t sought out this sort of information, and if it hasn’t come up in a history class by the time you’re in my classroom, it makes sense you wouldn’t really know when the automobile came around.)

Look at telephones. Today’s high school seniors were born in a world where cell phones weren’t ubiquitous, but they probably don’t remember it well. I remember pre-ubiquity pretty darn well: it was much more difficult to get in touch with people, cordless phones were a big deal, you used pay phones more often, caller ID was less common, prank calls were more common, and so on. My parents remember the days of someone from the telephone company coming over to install or repair your AT&T phone– and you were stuck with AT&T because there were no other phone companies. My grandparents, once they finally got phones, had party lines.

I remember a time before cell phones (yes, they were invented before I was born, but they didn’t trickle down to Joe Average until 10-15 years ago). I can imagine what the world was like without any sort of phones, but I don’t think I can truly appreciate what that world was like. And I think that makes it harder to count the ways in which the world is more awesome than ever before.

The faster technology advances, and the more that people are born into an increasingly advanced world, the harder it is for people to understand their ancestors’ everyday lives and to appreciate the material progress of mankind.

I probably wouldn’t have liked this when I was a teenager, but I’d like to see some sort of lesson or ritual or holiday that involves living with the technology of generations past. Some people might call that “camping”, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean a 1963 day (and night) where you live with the technology of 1963– no cell phones, expensive long-distance calls, music from the radio or the record player, a black-and-white TV, etc. (“Kids, this is how your grandparents lived.”) I mean a 1923 day with a party line phone, limited indoor plumbing, limited access to cars, no TV, maybe a pre-talkie movie, and no microwave or fast food. (“Kids, this is how your great- or great-great-grandparents lived.”) I mean an 1873 day with no cars or TV or phones or electric light. Let’s even throw in the clothing of the time, though I wouldn’t throw in the medicine or lack thereof of the time, because we’re trying to cultivate a sense of history here, not bring back the plague. Maybe we could also get the town/city/surrounding community to tone down the light pollution at night so we could actually see some stars.

Living that way for a day and night (though three to five days per time period would really drive it home) would do a much better job of showing kids how we used to live than any course or lecture or dinnertime story. It would be a far more powerful way of envisioning and connecting to our pasts. Sure, it’d probably be miserable to live through as a kid, but take solace in imagining your own grandchildren griping about “2013 Day” and having to make do with a smartphone that wasn’t built into your hand or not having a heads-up display projected on your contact lens.

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When I went to college, I had a PS/2 with 4 MB of RAM and 128 MB of hard drive space when I went to college. When my dad went to college, he used punch cards to write simple addition programs on a computer the size of a room. When my grandfather went to college, he had a pencil, a slide rule, and some paper. My great-grandfather didn’t go to college; he had a shovel and a railroad wrench.

We’re three days in to the new year, and all three days I’ve had a vague and nagging feeling that something was just plain un-right. I wasn’t able to place it until this evening.

I spent a good chunk of pre-planning trying to determine the best layout for my classroom given the increased class sizes. In all that time I spent trying to figure out how to arrange 35 desks in my room, and which other pieces of furniture to rearrange or remove in order to accommodate those desks, and where to move the items that once sat upon the pieces of furniture I had to remove, and which desks were too badly broken to re-use, and where to get replacement desks from, and whether I felt like cleaning the desktops before the angels put their heads down on them, and where to put the small desks, and where to put the big desks, and where to put the red desks, and where to put the blue desks, and how to implement feng shui and optimize the flow of ch’i through my classroom and whether I was spending way too much time on the whole matter when I should have been goofing off… I forgot one small detail.

I forgot to hang my flags– Bennington, Washington’s Standard, and Gadsden. Those flags have adorned my classroom walls since time immemorial. ‘Twill be rectified tomorrow.

One of the most melancholic moments of my childhood came on the first day of third grade. That was the day it truly hit me that my friends and I only had a year left on the good playground– the one with the tall, cylindrical jungle gym that served as our spaceship. It was a great jungle gym; it had interior and exterior bars, so we could pretend that the interior set was our engine room. The rounded bolt heads were the buttons that sped us through space, raised the shields, fired the weapons, and scanned for life on the sandbox or teeter-totter. Awesome, I know.

So that day, I was down because in a year’s time, we’d be torn from our beloved ship. Fourth graders and used a different playground, one with a plan old boring hemispherical jungle gym. All you could do with that is climb it, and what fun was that? It didn’t have interior bars– how could you possibly fix the engines? And the buttons were the wrong kind of buttons, and there weren’t enough nearby objects to scan, and so on. It was dome-shaped, not rocket-shaped, so unless you wanted to pretend it was some weak old flying saucer, you were out of luck spaceship-wise. Maybe we would eventually happen upon a way to imagine the fourth and fifth graders’ jungle gym dome into something awesome, but wouldn’t everyone be better off if my friends and I were permitted to keep using our preferred jungle gym to fix the warp core and blow up Klingons? The knowledge that I was going to lose the ship put a bit of a damper on each day we played.

Anyhow, that’s how I feel about this school year because the brain trust up at the College Board decided to ruin the AP United States History exam.

About a year into my teaching career, I realized that I wanted to teach American history in addition to (or instead of) government and economics. But we already had APUSH teachers in place, so I had to wait three years to get my shot. Loved it right off that bat. I’m probably better qualified to teach government and economics courses, because I have more coursework and credentials in those areas and because I’ve actually read those textbooks, but APUSH is certainly my favoritest of the bunch. One reason is that it’s a year long whereas my other classes get unmercifully cut off at the semester’s end. Another reason is that, being essentially a great big wonderfully elaborate story that attempts explains how we got to now and today, I find it inherently less dry than the government or economics classes. Another another reason is the multitude of viewpoints, and the endless onion-like layers of history, and that in peeling them back you’ll always find more to the story. I love it more with each passing year.

And the College Board has gone and pooched it. The upcoming school year will see the last APUSH exam administered under the current format: an even balance of writing essays and answering objective multiple-choice questions. The new format, to be administered in May of 2015, puts far more emphasis on writing– which is good– but what few multiple-choice questions remain (it’ll be less than half the number we have now) will depend mostly on how well a student can read a primary or secondary document.

Don’t get the wrong idea: utilizing information from documents is a vital skill, but the expanded essay portion will more than cover that skill. The new multiple-choice section de-emphasizes objective knowledge (i.e., knowing facts) and instead emphasizes reading skills. So if you don’t know much history, but you’re a strong reader, you’d be screwed on the current version of the exam, but you’ll do well on the new exam. The lazy but bright kids will benefit from the upcoming change.

Conversely, if you have an abundance of objective knowledge about history but you’re not as strong or as fast a reader, you might do well enough on the current version, but you’re in a lot of trouble on the new version of the test.

In short, the new test will emphasize reading skills more and historical knowledge less. It’s more of an intelligence test and less of a history test.

I followed the APUSH listservs for months after this decision was announced. There were virtually no positive comments about the changes to the exam. Granted, the squeaky wheel gets the grease, or at least the attention if not the grease, but I don’t remember seeing anyone stick up for these changes.

The new exam and course design may turn out to be fine or even better than the current exam, but it’s hard to see either of those possibilities happening. But we’re still a year out, and in the meantime, I’ll just have to enjoy smooshing as much APUSH as possible into my students’ brains.

…

I’ll edit tomorrow if necessary.

Dear Mayor Emanuel,

Hear me out:

I currently teach in Duval County Public Schools. My base salary last year was approximately $41,000 due to having a bachelor’s degree and being in my tenth year of teaching .

The base salary of a full-time appointed teacher in a 38.6-week position in Chicago Public Schools with a bachelor’s degree and 10 years in the system was over $70,000 last year .

Your school system offered a nice raise to the teachers union, which responded by going on strike. I’ll take the union at its word that the strike is actually a response to the charter school movement and the evaluation system and so on and so forth, but still, it’s a nice raise they turned down.

With all that in mind, I make the following proposal:

Hire me to teach in one of your high schools for $70,000 per year, with whatever benefits you’d give to a tenth-year teacher. My salary will never change–not even for inflation– so that’s $70K this year, $70K five years from now, $70K ten years from now. You can use whatever evaluation system you think is “fair,” you can fire me at will, you can fire me without cause. And if I decide I made a mistake, or become unhappy with the job, or get tired of the snow, fine– I’ll quit, no harm, no foul. We’ll shake hands and that’ll be it.

Just drop me an email, and I’ll have my people talk to your people.

Sincerely,

Vincent D. Viscariello

P.S. Perhaps “sincerely” is a bit of an overstatement since I know you’ll never read this letter or make this deal, and if you did we’d probably both end up floating in the Chicago River with dry-erase markers jammed in our eye sockets. And I’m pretty darn happy with my job down here, so even the sweet deal I proposed might not be enough to pry me away. I guess the point of all this is that it’s been way too long since some of the teachers in your city went hungry.