Education Reform - Really?

Why do people think education reform exists?  Many people who watched Waiting for Superman were shocked, appalled at what is happening in some schools.  The anti-charter folks called it propaganda.  The pro-charter folks loved it.  However, if they were honest with themselves, they could say there are good charter schools and bad charter schools, just like there are good district schools and bad district schools or good private schools and bad private schools and definitely good home schooling and bad home schooling. 

So why do people think education reform exists?  I believe it exists for the sake of students, who are in fact children. 

My journey in education has been more like Lombard Street than a straight trajectory.  I entered the education industry in the area of drop out prevention.  (If you don't think it's an industry, you need to start there with your processing.)  After starting my first school, I went back to school myself.  I realized I needed more "book learnin'."   I've done that a few times in the 13 years since. 

Competition has made us all - charter, district private - do our jobs better.  No longer can an administrator say to a student, "if you don't like how we do things, too bad."  (I heard it with my own two ears.)  The student and parents can go elsewhere.  When done right, the charter delivery system can also hold students and parents more accountable.  The wonderful thing about school choice is choice.  If parents and students don't think a school is a good fit or don't like the level of accountability, they can go to a different school.

So how do we keep our direction in education reform going the right way?  By always asking, what is in the best interest of kids. 

Next blog:  What happens when you're the pig on the breakfast plate of school reform?  Some amazing encounters I have over the years.

What does it mean to be part of the sandwich generation, really?  Today would be an example. 

My phone startled me out of a sleep.  Well, actually I had been awake an hour or so earlier when Chuck got up.  That was long before the sun made it over the mountains to the east.  I tried to sound alert and awake when I answered; but chances are I didn't fool anyone.  I can't remember what crisis it was about, there have been too many others in the past 18 hours since then.  Fortunately Chuck had picked up the drycleaning the night before so I had plenty to choose from and could throw on a pair of pants, shirt and jacket after a quick shower. 

My mother sat at the kitchen island in her light green robe, reading the newspaper.  I took the time to explain to her that Chuck's mom would be coming back to stay tonight.  I could tell before I got around the corner that she had made coffee.  I thought how nice is was as I filled my cup and reached for the cream.  "Every form of refuge has it's price,"  I say to myself.  She seems to think it's important to carry my coffee for me as I go to the car.  So every morning we have this same ritual: she carries the coffee and hands it to me when I get in the car.  It used to bug me; but I realized in some strange way it made her feel good, so why should it bug me.  It's a little weird on the days that I am not carrying anything, though.

Today I have to head north to one of my schools.  Instead of driving the Honda as usual, I'm going to take the Sequoia because I'm bringing back Manzanita bushes for Rachel's wedding.  It's a good thing I don't have to drive the Honda because it's still full of baskets for the wedding and other wedding crap.  Another sign that I am in the middle of the sandwich.

I wonder what part of the middle of the sandwich I am.  Sometimes I'm probably the lettuce and tomato - fresh and there to make things more palatible.  Other times I think I'm probably the mustard - there to spice things up.  Or maybe the cheese or the meat or whatever else is the part of the sandwich that gives  a person energy.  Other times I'm smelly tunafish that's been left out too long.  Hey, I'm human.

So tonight as I try to wind down, I now have two mothers in the house again, I'm getting ready for a daughter's wedding and, oh, did I mention that over 70 non-family members rely on me to make sure they are paid and things go smoothly.  Now I'm sounding snarky. 

What about the sunshine?  When I smelled the coffee this morning, I glanced out the window, and there were my pots of flowers, smiling back.  What a way to start the day.

When I think back over my life, I think God knelt and kissed me on my forehead when I was very young - this to say my life has been touched by Him for as long as I can remember.  It's not that things have always been great or that I've always been acutely aware of His presence.  It's more to say that to separate me from Him would be like trying to separate two colors of sand being simultaneously poured into a glass container - virtually impossible.  And who I am because of who He is in me is unrecognizable compared to who I would be without Him.  It's not to say that I am perfect or a great rep for him; but I know I am different. 

While I'm not an evangelist, in fact I've always thought that actions speak louder than words, my mom once said that I talked so much about Jesus to my third grade teacher that she started going back to church, she just felt compelled to do so. 

When I was about 10 or 12, we attended the Clairmont Presbyterian Church in Atlanta, GA.  It's one of those big old traditional churches: brick walls, white steeple, gold and grey inside with traditional woodwork.  I told the pastor that I wanted to speak in church, and he let me.  I don't remember what I talked about, but I remember it felt right to be up there speaking to the large congregation.  I could almost see my friends in the balcony from where I stood behind the pulpit.  I could tell that they were shocked to see me up there; but I didn't feel shocked.

When I was 15, I went with a group of kids who were a few years older than me to do  Vacation Bible School in Virginia's coal country.