"Out on Good Behavior, Chapter 1: Various Narratives, and an Introduction to One of my Parole Officers"
This is the first in a series called “Out on Good Behavior: Teaching Math While Looking Over Your Shoulder” by Barry Garelick, a second-career math teacher in California. He has written articles on math education that have appeared in the Atlantic, Education Next, Education News and AMS Notices. He is also the author of three books on math education (https://www.amazon.com/Barry-Garelick/e/B013Z77J9Y/ref=dp_byline_cont_book_1 ). Says Mr. Garelick: “If this series goes right, it will be the fourth book.”
And yes, you’ve seen this before; earlier versions have appeared here, but he feels that enough time has passed that you’ve forgotten that that ever happened.
1. Various Narratives, and an Introduction to One of my Parole Officers
If you are reading this, you either have never heard of me and are curious, or you have heard of me and have pretty much bought into my “narrative” of math education. I tire of the word “narrative” (almost as much as I tire of the word “nuance”) which I see in just about everything I read nowadays. I thought I’d charge it rent, so to speak, since it seemed appropriate to my recent experience teaching seventh and eighth grade math for two years in a K-8 school in a very small town in California. It is a one-school district so superintendent and principal were always close by. After receiving praise from the superintendent both formally and informally, I received a lay-off notice. This is common in teaching, with the newest teachers receiving such notices and usually getting hired back in the fall. Nevertheless mine was final.
It is tempting to make my termination fit the narrative that the teaching profession is trying to rid itself of teachers like me: teachers who choose to teach using explicit instruction, and a teacher-led classroom. It would definitely fit my abandoning the official algebra textbook I was supposed to use (Big Ideas) and instead using Mary Dolciani’s 1962 algebra textbook. The narrative would also include my practice of posting the top three scores, with names, on the latest quiz or test. Also, I explain procedures even going so far as to just tell students what they need to know rather than plying them with endless questions in an effort to get them to say something that gives the semblance of deep understanding. However logical, compelling and righteously indignant such narrative might be, I received nothing but praise from the superintendent and principal. My termination will have to remain a mystery.
I realize that the praise I received might represent people seeing what they want to see. For example, I once told my latest eighth grade algebra class that my classroom is one place where they won’t hear the words “growth mindset”—to which the class reacted with loud applause. The current educationist narrative strongly believes in “growth mindset” (that is, belief in oneself) – that confidence leads to engagement which breeds motivation and ultimately success. I believe it’s the other way around.
So I describe my teaching as, “providing my students with the necessary instruction to achieve success, which leads to motivation, and engagement, etc etc etc”. It doesn’t matter what you say after “motivation and engagement”. Those are the magic words that give way to the “look and feel” of growth mindset thinking—if asked.
And I was asked—by my mentors. In California, new teachers must undergo a two-year induction program with a mentor with whom they meet once a week. (Yes, I’m new; I’m on a second career, having retired a few years ago and went to Ed school to obtain my certification to teach math.)The end result of the two year inquisition is that one’s teaching credential is changed from preliminary to permanent. Failure to do this within a certain amount of time means you don’t have a license at all. So it is a rather important process.
I have had two different mentors for each year I’ve been at the school. I’ve come to think of them as parole officers, who ensure that the newly released prisoners from Ed school adhere to the bad and ineffective practices taught there. My wife has warned me not to call them by this term, since they were well-meaning and nice to me—and my permanent credential was issued. Should they be reading this, they may invoke the narrative of being offended. Therefore, as one who is out on good behavior, I will say that “parole officer” is meant in the nicest and most affectionate way possible though I won’t promise that I won’t use it again.
I met with my first mentor well before the school year began just to see what I was going to be dealing with. She was a woman in her 60’s who had taught high school biology for thirty years. She talked about math education and the topic of (wait for it) math anxiety came up.
“I want to give you one piece of advice about math,” she began.
I somehow knew this wasn’t going to be pleasant.
“Students should do math not only in the classroom, but outside; give examples of real world problems. Many students dislike math because they find it irrelevant.” As a final proof to this statement she added that it is common for adults to say: "What on earth did I learn algebra for?"
I let a few minutes pass and managed to say that in my experience with word problems, the relevance to real-life never mattered to me. “The usefulness of algebra always seemed evident,” I said.
“That’s probably because you liked math and had an interest in it, and therefore had an inclination to learn it. But there are some kids who, for whatever reasons, hate it, and have a hard time with it.” It was clear she had given this “you’re the exception” argument before.
My seventh grade class that I taught my second year very likely fit my first mentor’s narrative —a highly discouraged group of students with significant deficits in their math education. I mention them now because the other day, I ran into someone who lives in the same small town where I had taught. He knew my students and he also had heard that I had been let go. He expressed his regrets, and then left me with this:
"You must know this. Your students love you. They tell me they really learned a lot about math and that you were the best math teacher they ever had."
I admit that I’m bragging, but I also can’t resist deepening the irony of whatever narratives you may choose to think are at play.
And yes, you’ve seen this before; earlier versions have appeared here, but he feels that enough time has passed that you’ve forgotten that that ever happened.
1. Various Narratives, and an Introduction to One of my Parole Officers
If you are reading this, you either have never heard of me and are curious, or you have heard of me and have pretty much bought into my “narrative” of math education. I tire of the word “narrative” (almost as much as I tire of the word “nuance”) which I see in just about everything I read nowadays. I thought I’d charge it rent, so to speak, since it seemed appropriate to my recent experience teaching seventh and eighth grade math for two years in a K-8 school in a very small town in California. It is a one-school district so superintendent and principal were always close by. After receiving praise from the superintendent both formally and informally, I received a lay-off notice. This is common in teaching, with the newest teachers receiving such notices and usually getting hired back in the fall. Nevertheless mine was final.
It is tempting to make my termination fit the narrative that the teaching profession is trying to rid itself of teachers like me: teachers who choose to teach using explicit instruction, and a teacher-led classroom. It would definitely fit my abandoning the official algebra textbook I was supposed to use (Big Ideas) and instead using Mary Dolciani’s 1962 algebra textbook. The narrative would also include my practice of posting the top three scores, with names, on the latest quiz or test. Also, I explain procedures even going so far as to just tell students what they need to know rather than plying them with endless questions in an effort to get them to say something that gives the semblance of deep understanding. However logical, compelling and righteously indignant such narrative might be, I received nothing but praise from the superintendent and principal. My termination will have to remain a mystery.
I realize that the praise I received might represent people seeing what they want to see. For example, I once told my latest eighth grade algebra class that my classroom is one place where they won’t hear the words “growth mindset”—to which the class reacted with loud applause. The current educationist narrative strongly believes in “growth mindset” (that is, belief in oneself) – that confidence leads to engagement which breeds motivation and ultimately success. I believe it’s the other way around.
So I describe my teaching as, “providing my students with the necessary instruction to achieve success, which leads to motivation, and engagement, etc etc etc”. It doesn’t matter what you say after “motivation and engagement”. Those are the magic words that give way to the “look and feel” of growth mindset thinking—if asked.
And I was asked—by my mentors. In California, new teachers must undergo a two-year induction program with a mentor with whom they meet once a week. (Yes, I’m new; I’m on a second career, having retired a few years ago and went to Ed school to obtain my certification to teach math.)The end result of the two year inquisition is that one’s teaching credential is changed from preliminary to permanent. Failure to do this within a certain amount of time means you don’t have a license at all. So it is a rather important process.
I have had two different mentors for each year I’ve been at the school. I’ve come to think of them as parole officers, who ensure that the newly released prisoners from Ed school adhere to the bad and ineffective practices taught there. My wife has warned me not to call them by this term, since they were well-meaning and nice to me—and my permanent credential was issued. Should they be reading this, they may invoke the narrative of being offended. Therefore, as one who is out on good behavior, I will say that “parole officer” is meant in the nicest and most affectionate way possible though I won’t promise that I won’t use it again.
I met with my first mentor well before the school year began just to see what I was going to be dealing with. She was a woman in her 60’s who had taught high school biology for thirty years. She talked about math education and the topic of (wait for it) math anxiety came up.
“I want to give you one piece of advice about math,” she began.
I somehow knew this wasn’t going to be pleasant.
“Students should do math not only in the classroom, but outside; give examples of real world problems. Many students dislike math because they find it irrelevant.” As a final proof to this statement she added that it is common for adults to say: "What on earth did I learn algebra for?"
I let a few minutes pass and managed to say that in my experience with word problems, the relevance to real-life never mattered to me. “The usefulness of algebra always seemed evident,” I said.
“That’s probably because you liked math and had an interest in it, and therefore had an inclination to learn it. But there are some kids who, for whatever reasons, hate it, and have a hard time with it.” It was clear she had given this “you’re the exception” argument before.
My seventh grade class that I taught my second year very likely fit my first mentor’s narrative —a highly discouraged group of students with significant deficits in their math education. I mention them now because the other day, I ran into someone who lives in the same small town where I had taught. He knew my students and he also had heard that I had been let go. He expressed his regrets, and then left me with this:
"You must know this. Your students love you. They tell me they really learned a lot about math and that you were the best math teacher they ever had."
I admit that I’m bragging, but I also can’t resist deepening the irony of whatever narratives you may choose to think are at play.
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