Jumping for "Jay Zuzs"

At one time my sister, Caren, was a a nonbeliever emphasis on the word was. I guess having two handicapped siblings and a father passing away at an early age could cause disbelief. I remember her asking me once, "How can you have faced all the bad things that have happened to you over the years and still believe in God?"

My simple reply was, "How can I not?"

My oldest sister, Chris, worked hard at trying to get Caren to believe. She would look up churches for Caren to attend in Arizona, Utah, and Montana. Caren would go to church with us, but would not go on her own, and she definitely did not like attending churches where an expression of faith was demonstrative.

After attending church with Chris in Texas and myself in Arizona Caren started exploring churches. A few summers ago she surprised me by suggesting we try attending some churches in Montana. A church that was near the movie theater we attended (This was a good lure for Caren because after church we could go to the movies.) was a Vineyard nondenominational church. I knew that a nondenominational church was the way to go for Caren, and I had a friend that attended a Vineyard church in Arizona and she assured me that they were "quiet" worshippers. 

Caren and I entered the huge church and the first thing we noticed was the casual dress, but Montana is a casual place where Berkinstocks, socks, and shorts are worn to weddings. When the musical worship started a very young band got on stage which we were okay with. They started to play and many of the worshippers ran to the the stage and raised their hands in praise and started swaying to the music and jumping which we were okay with. A few minutes later a few people laid prostrate in front of the stage, and Caren gave me a look, but we were okay with it. This continued for about 30 minutes. Suddenly from behind I heard someone shout, "Jay Zuzs heal this woman!" Caren and I turned around just in time to see a woman slapping another woman on the forehead with the heal of her hand. Knowing Caren's dislike for demostrative praise I said, "Caren, we can leave, if you want."

She replied, "No, I am okay. Let's give the preacher a chance."

After another 20 minutes of singing, swaying, laying prostrate, and shouting, "Heal this woman, Jay Zuzs!", I was beginning to feel uncomfortable and I suggested, "Ummm, really, Caren, we can leave, if this is too much for you."

She smiled at me and replied, "This is kind of entertaining. What do you think the preacher is gonna do?" And at that moment the preacher entered. He was a middle-aged man in a basic cowboy "uniform" (Wranglers, and boots). I thought we might be okay and then he started praying and praying and praying and praying and praying. Thirty minutes later, he asked for another song and he hadn't even started the sermon, yet. 

The song started, the people rushed forward, the man laid prostrate, the woman shouted, "Heal, Jay Zuzs!" and then it happened Caren's final straw was pulled. Two woman ran up by the stage and started waving flags. Huge flags, the kind of flags that male cheerleaders wave at college football games.

It had been over an hour and a half and no sermon yet, but there was a lot of praying, shouting, lying prostrate, swaying and now flag waving. I might be a bad Christian, but an hour and thirty minutes is about as much sitting in church that I can do without looking at my watch wondering when things are going to finish up. Thank, Jay Zuzs, Caren looked at me and said, "Okay, I think we can sneak out and nobody will know."

I didn't want that experience to scare Caren away from attending church so a friend of Caren's and I convinced her to try a different church. It was called the Cowboy Church. It was so "cowboy" that it was held at the Grange. On a Saturday night, the three of us entered the very small building where folding chairs were lined up for seating. As I scanned the room, I looked at Caren and said, "I think I recognize some faces in here."

"Oh, you do not," was her reply.

We sat in the very last row, just in case. The small room was stifling hot with the only means of air being two floor fans. One of those fans happened to be next to us, so we were okay. At that time a man and woman entered with their dog which is casual to the extreme. The dog looked like a Bernese, huge and very hairy, and it looked very hot. But not to worry the lady that brought the dog to church proceeded to turn the fan so it blew directly on the dog and only on the dog. 

I continued to have that deja vu feeling. I was sure I recognized people in the room. Then the preacher stepped up to the podium to begin the service and it was the preacher. Caren and I looked at each other wild-eyed and started to giggle which is not a good idea in such a small, close space. Lying on the floor in a far corner of the room I saw them, the flags. I pointed them out to Caren and her eyes almost bugged out of her head. In unison, we turned to Caren's friend, Pam, and giggle whispered, "We gotta go!"

Pam replied, "We can't go. That would be rude. The place is so small and everyone will see us."

"No, really we should go," we implored.

"Come on, girls, you can handle this," Pam insisted

After an hour of sweltering heat with no breeze because the dog needed it, swaying, lying prostrate, shouting, "Heal Jay Zuzs" Pam turned to us and giggled, "I think we might be able to sneak out and not get noticed."

As we tiptoed out of the building someone stopped us and asked if we were okay and why were we leaving? Caren and Pam both pointed to me and said without skipping a beat, "She has to pee and you don't have accessible bathrooms."

I looked at the person with my best crippled kid who has to pee look and squeaked, "Yea, sorry!" 

A few months later, Caren was at a party and a woman asked her to attend a Bible study class. Caren said she wanted to say, "Hell no", but the lady was so nice she said, "Sure, I know where it is I will meet you there," knowing she could bow out. The lady must have known Caren might chicken out and she insisted on picking Caren up. Caren attended the Bible study class and has been going every Friday since then.

In September of 2007, Caren met her friend from Bible study by Flathead Lake and QUIETLY gave her life to Christ. I had the opportunity to hear Caren give her testimony to a large Bible study group and she said, "I felt the weight of the world lift from my shoulders when I gave my life to Christ." 

"Thank you, Jay Zuzs!"

Paco's Perspective

I don't discuss religion or politics. I just want to say I am glad we are back in Montana. I love the mountain air, and I, especially, love playing with Osa.

The Flip Side

I have two questions: Who is Jay Zuzs? How did that dog Reflection get to Montana? I didn't see him in the van on the drive up. P.S. Osa scares me. She is one big dog.

Look What WE Did

A Professional Learning Community is a strategy for school change and improvement. The five major attributes to a PLC are: shared leadership, collective creativity, shared vision, supportive conditions, and shared personal practice. The optimal word here is shared. No longer can teachers close their doors and teach however they feel like it. In a PLC teachers collaborate in areas of first best instruction, assessment, intervention, and planning. Teachers must work together for the greater good - student achievement. In the book Raising the Bar and Closing the Gap (DuFour, DuFour, Eaker and Kathanek) it states that our ultimate purpose is to make sure that every child learns rather than every child is taught. 

We began implementing a Professional Learning Community at Tomahawk Elementary School two years ago. It was a paradigm shift for many of the staff members, especially, myself. Many that I have taught with in the past would not believe how much I have changed my thinking and philosophies due to PLC. At times I have been accused of going to the "dark" side. But for me I have finally seen the light. In order to explain I need to introduce you to one student, Osvaldo.

Osvaldo came to Tomahawk from Mexico with his mom and his twin brother Orlando.  In a "conversation" with Orlando and Osvaldo it was discovered through Orlando that they came to the U. S. because Osvaldo burnt down their house. When Osvaldo was asked if he really burnt down his house his reply was, "We poor. It not house. We live in box."

One of my first "teaching" moments with Osvaldo was during Reading Zone. Reading Zone is something I started for the students so they had a place to come to read during their lunch recess. Osvaldo's 3rd grade teacher realized the potential for this time to increase her students' reading achievement and she made sure that her students, especially, those students falling far below came daily. Students come to my office, sit on the floor, and read. It is a very casual time. I usually have at least fifteen students during each grade level lunch time. I read with as many as I can, but I don't always get to everyone every day. 

The first time I had Osvaldo "read" to me I opened his book and pointed to the first word - The, and he looked at me. "Do you know this word?" I asked.

He shook his head no. "Do you know any sounds that the letters make?" I continued to probe.

He shook his head no. "Do you know what this letter is?" I asked pointing to the - T.

He shook his head no. "Do you know the name of any of the letters on this page?" I pleaded.

He shook his head no. I sang, "I guess we will be starting at the very beginning. It is a very good place to start." He didn't get my joke or my reference to The Sound of Music. 

Osvaldo and Orlando came to Reading Zone just about every day and I tried to read with them both just about every day. There was a six-week gap when Reading Zone was canceled due to unforeseen circumstances. 

The other day Osvaldo came into Reading Zone with a Magic Tree House book, Dinosaurs Before Dark! It is a chapter book. It only has about 70 pages, but it is a major step in reading beginning chapter books because there is only one picture per chapter, if that. My first thought was, 'No way! Osvaldo can't read this book, but I will let him try.' "Osvaldo, you are reading Dinosaurs Before Dark?" I asked surprisingly.

"Yes, I am. This is first Magic Tree book," he replied with confidence.

"This is the first magic Tree House book. Let me tell you something that is going to help you understand this book and all the other 45 magic Tree House books. The main characters, Jack and Annie, found a magic tree house with tons of books in it, and when they point to a picture in a book and wish to go there the tree house takes them there. They always face some kind of problem, solve it, and return home where no time has passed."

"I know, Miss Cattyham, my friend tells me."

"Okay, Osvaldo, then let's do it!" I say with hesitation in my voice because there is nothing worse than listening to someone trying to read a text that is way too hard for them.

Osvaldo, happily began, "Chapter one, Into the Woods, Help! A mooon - s-t-er, A monster! said Annie. Yeah sure said Jack, a real m monster in Frog Creek, Pennsylvania. Run, Jack said Annie. She ran up the road. Oh, brother. This is what he got for spending time with his seven-year-old sister. Annie loved pre tend stuff . . . ." Osvaldo continued to read the first pages with a slight hesitation to sound out one other word he didn't know. Osvaldo, the boy who read at DRA (Developmental Reading Assessment) level 1 one hundred thirty days ago. Osvaldo, who didn't know a sound for a letter or even a letter at the beginning of third grade was reading and comprehending with accuracy and fluency a chapter book.

One might be asking, "What does a boy named Osvaldo have to do with a Professional Learning Community?" Osvaldo is a result of a Professional Learning Community. Osvaldo has a great third grade teacher who works hard at first best instruction. But all the teachers on the third grade team and all the teachers including Art, Music and PE and the rest of the Tomahawk staff had a hand in Osvaldo's success. 

LAS (Language Acquisition Specialist) and myself (Achievement Specialist). The three of us worked to improve first best instruction in her classroom. Osvaldo was given common assessments and put in a group depending on his performance on the assessment. Osvaldo participated in intervention during the school day planned by the third grade team. Osvaldo participated in third tier intervention on fluency by the MAP (music, art, and physical education) teachers the last twenty minutes of the day. Osvaldo attended after school intervention where students are placed in flexible groups based on specific standards. Osvaldo, also, participated in a special third grade intervention when data showed that the third grade wasn't going to make AYP (average yearly progress) as measured by the AIMS (Arizona Instrument to Measure Standards) that every staff member at Tomahawk planned and taught after school for eight weeks.

Osvaldo was tested on the DRA two days ago by the testing team. He reached a level 30. Osvaldo went from a level 1 which is the first level in kindergarten and reached level 30 which is the first level of a third grade reader. Osvaldo made three years of progress in one year. Osvaldo is 1 out of 998 students, but he is not the only one that has made the progress that he has made. 

Sometimes it is difficult for people to accept change. It is frustrating to have to do things differently and shift paradigms and philosophies. The rigor of a PLC is overwhelming at times, and there are days when I want to sit in my office and bawl, but I don't have time. A Professional Learning Community is work, but it WORKS! I have seen the results and so has Osvaldo! 

Look what WE did!

Paco's Perspective

We have to collaborate to keep Flip out of trouble. I have to come and get you when he isn't where he is suppose to be.

The Flip Side

That is not collaborating that is tattling!

Birdie on the First Hole

I have spent the last ten summers in Bigfork, Montana with my younger sister, Caren. The beauty of Montana never ceases to amaze me. When we drive to the big city for groceries the sight of the mountains and forests takes my breath away. Eagle Bend is a golf course in Bigfork, Montana. It has an eighteen hole course and a nine hole course, and it is surrounded by Montana's scenic beauty. Eagle Bend is a very ritzy and expensive course, if you golf the eighteen. Caren gets a summer pass for the nine hole course which is very reasonable, so Caren and I "golf" every day. She golfs and I follow her around the course and keep score. Good thing I am crippled because I would never be able to play golf because I can't follow the damn ball.

Caren is an excellent golfer, of course, she is great at any sport she does, and if she isn't great at it she won't do it. She has a great drive and she usually doesn't hit from the women's tees. We go golfing everyday and everyday she smacks that ball down the fairway, and after every drive she says, "Did you see that one?"

And after every drive I reply, "Nope."

Sometimes she hits it off the course and she asks, "Did you see where that one went?"

I reply, "Nope."

One might ask, "Why go, if I can't see the ball?"

I really hate golf. I think watching golf on T.V. is as much fun as watching paint dry. But, I love the time I spend with Caren, and it is better than staying home playing hide-n-go-seek with the dog. Caren has played that course so many times that she could do it blindfolded, so she doesn't have to "concentrate"! There is really no pressure on her because I am the only one that sees (well . . . . knows) what she does. So we can talk the whole time. I think we solve the world's problems by the the sixth hole at least.

The first hole on the nine hole course at Eagle Bend is a par four. It is a straight shot to the green. The green is surrounded by hazards. There are trees to the right and a pond to the left of and behind the green. "It is a nice little pond. It is clean. It is neat. The water is warm and there is plenty to eat." ** The cart path is to the left of the green and follows along the pond, and in that pond there is a nest, and in that nest there is an egg, and the cattails grow all around, all around, and the cattails grow all around. In the trees to left a sound is heard. It's the trill of that damn red-winged blackbird. That blackbird hates me I want you to know. His goal is upon my head to put a peck, or is it the nest he needs to protect. In the trees, that bird lies in wait to swoop down and peck my pate.

Caren gets on the green usually in two. She walks down the left side of the fairway away from the pond. I, on the other hand, have to take the golf path. Everyday I think maybe he won't be there, but everyday he is there . . . . . . waiting. In my own little pea brain I truly believe he is waiting for me. Caren gets on the green in two. I hide behind a tree while she putts. When she is finished putting she shouts, "Okay! Run, Cathy, run!"

Every time I hear her shout, "Run, Cathy, run," I envision the scene from Forrest Gump where his girlfriend yells everyday, "Run, Forrest, run!" I replay the scene in my mind where it shows time passing and Forrest gets older as he runs, and he runs faster each time, and at the end of the scene his braces fall off of him and he is able to run without braces. I see myself zooming down the cart path, the wheels of my chair falling off, me running to the second hole freely with no handicap.

Reality . . . I ZOOM in my chair by the pond. The blackbird swoops out of the tree, flies across the fairway with only one goal in mind . . . . pecking my head! I try to duck which is very funny because I can't duck I can only shrug my shoulders. The bird attacks. I can't smack him because I have to drive with one hand, and I can't raise my hands above my head anyway.

One might ask, "Where is Caren?" She lying on the fairway giggling and between snorts she is shouting, "Run, Cathy, run!" or "Stop, I am going to pee!"

In that pond there is a nest, and in that nest there's a bed of hair, and in that hair there lies an egg, and the blackbird lies in wait, lies in wait, and the blackbird lies in wait!

Paco's Perspective

I hate birds. I don't like it when they are in my yard. The smell of bird repulses me.

The Flip Side

Bird? Did someone say bird? Where? Bird? Where?

** Yertle the Turtle by Dr. Suess

M-O-T-H-E-R . . . . . nah . . . . . M-O-M

Does anyone remember that old song where the singer describes his mother by saying something that starts with each letter in the word mother? You know, M is for the many . . . . . . . The past week I have been trying to rewrite that song for my mom for Mothers' Day and I am doing a lousy job. It's not because I can't think of wonderful things to say about my mother. The problem is I can't think of clever words to match the letters of the word, mother, that go with the memories. My other major problem is I hate the word, mother, and I am sure it is because of all the, "Muther F this" and Muther that" I have heard. Over the years the word, mother, has been bastardized.

So I decided to use the word mom instead of mother, and I still can't think of clever words that go with the letters of the word, mom. But tomorrow is Mothers' Day and I have been thinking about writing this for some time. Even though I haven't said anything to anyone about writing this, I am one of those weird people that once I make a commitment to do something (even if I only made it to myself in my head) I have to follow through.

M is for the aMazing (see, I told you so) things she has done.

My mom raised with the help of my father four great kids. I know, there are moms that have raised so many more children, but I am not here to have a "My Mom is Better Than Your Mom" contest. Two of the four children she raised were handicapped. I am talking about raising handicapped children in the sixties when handicapped children were put in homes. I don't remember ever thinking I couldn't do something because I was handicapped. My brother, Brad, and I did what every other kid did. We went camping, rode motorcycles, went to summer camp, climbed mountains, and attended public school way before public law 94-142 (this law stated: all handicapped children had a right to a free and public education). My mom was the "You can do it!" cheerleader, and my dad was the engineer that modified everything so we could do it. I wouldn't be finishing up my thirty-first year of teaching school, if it wasn't for my mom who drove me to and from junior college every day. (Or my father who figured out a way for me to drive, so I could attend ASU.)

Besides my brother, Brad, and I my mom had two other children. My "sistahs", Caren and Chris. Two wonderful, loving women that have no comparison. I love getting together with my sisters. Chris is the kind, calm, loving one. Caren is the f-u-n one, and me, the NOT F-U-N one. Here is a conversation we might have:

Caren comes into the room wearing her country dancing "uniform" (see my story about Wrangler butts) and shouts "Hey, lets go meet up with some friends and go dancing!"

Chris replies in her Texas accent, "Anything y'all want to do is okay with me as long as I am with my 'sistahs'!"

I chime in, "Okay, I will go, but please don't dance on the tables this time!"

"Stop, being a pissypants! Are you going or not?" Caren chides.

Chris drawls, "Now, now, don't call your sistah a pissypants."

"It's all fun and games until someone loses an eye!" I mumble as I follow them to the car. I don't know how my mom did it, but she managed to raise three girls with completely different personalities. We were raised to be individuals and whoever we were was okay with our mom as long as we were good, honest people.

Like many others. I have fond memories of my mom in the kitchen. She made dinner every night. We never had fast food, and very seldom ate out at a restaurant. My mom was and still is a great cook. She is the queen of comfort food. My dad was a meat and potatoes man and he hated it when my mom "experimented". When Caren and I go to have dinner at mom's she always makes those meals that we loved as a child.

O is for the Other children she raised.

Our house was that house in the neighborhood where all the kids hung out. Not the drug house. Not the party house. Not the f-u-n house. It was the mom house. Our parents welcomed everyone and my mom fed everybody. My friend, Cheryl, called my parents other-mother and other-father. Brad had a friend whose family moved and he wanted to finish school in Phoenix, so he lived with us. When I became a teacher I was still living at home and I taught in the neighborhood where I lived, so many of my students would visit. My mom would feed them, of course. When I moved into my own place many of my ex students would continue to stop by my mom's house for a hug and a free meal.

M is for the Many times we laughed.

I have many memories of silly laughter with my mom. You know, those laugh until you pee moments. One time Caren made my mom mad, and I don't even remember what she did. I can only remember seeing my mom chasing Caren down the hallway with a cast iron frying pan. Of course we all followed Caren and my mom down the hallway because we just couldn't believe that she would arm herself with a frying pan let alone use it. When I turned the corner to the bedrooms they were both sitting on the floor laughing and shouting, "Stop, I am gonna pee!"

Those words were our mantra growing up. I can't tell you how many times I heard the words, "Stop, I am gonna pee!"

We were not a swearing family. I remember getting slapped by my mom for saying "frigging" and when I complained that I didn't say the actual F word she replied, "Yea, but you were thinking it!" One day after spending time at the mall hearing kids drop the f bomb right and left my mom came home appalled. She just couldn't understand why anyone would use that word and why there was such a love for it. So we decided to spend the day dropping the F bomb.

"What the F are you doing?'

"I am watching my F ing soaps."

"Can you believe what that F just said?"

"Do you want anything F ing special for dinner?"

"Please, stop before I pee my F ing pants!"

I never laughed so hard in all my life. There was a woman that wouldn't say shit, if she had a mouthful dropping the F bomb all day long. At the end of the day she said, "That was kind of fun, but now we are done and I better not here you say that again!"

I love my mom. I respect my mom. I admire my mom. I remember when I bought my own townhouse and moved out. I had been living there for a few months and I got sick. It was no big deal just flu or something. I remember sitting alone in the bathroom with my head leaning against the wall crying, "I want my mom!" As I look back on that moment I think that was kind of silly, but I also think it shows what a great mom she is because I will always want her in a time of need.

Happy Mothers' Day, Mom!

Paco's Perspective

I like that Mom lady! She loves to hold me in her lap and give me loving!


The Flip Side

Does she have treats?

It's A God Thing

I only sleep a couple hours a night, so I spend a tremendous amount of time channel surfing and thinking. I get my greatest ideas at 2:07 a. m.. The other night or morning I was surfing and came across a Joan of Arcadia marathon on the Gospel Music Channel. I immediately turned on Tivo because when one is surfing one is always looking for a better wave.

If you are not familiar with Joan of Arcadia you should be. It was a wonderfully insightful T.V. program. It only lasted a couple of seasons, most likely because it was a very insightful show, and it required thinking and reflection. I have found that people don't like to think and reflect, especially, when it comes to T. V. watching. They aren't called couch potatoes for nothing. I digress (a lot), Joan of Arcadia is about a teenager that God talks to and shows himself to her in various personalities. Joan of Arcadia was one of those shows that made you wonder.

I was up very early again (on a Saturday), so I decided to watch Joan of Arcadia, and I am so glad I did. First, I needed something to write about, and I have been racking my brain for some time trying to get an idea. Second, I needed some reflection time. Finally, it was time for a God Thing. I have a tendency to stray from the really important things in life, and every once in a while I need a wake up call. Joan of Arcadia reminded me of some of the truly important things:

Don't ask God why? He doesn't like to answer why questions. Usually when one asks why one doesn't like the answer one was given. Kids don't like to be asked why for two reasons: 1. Most of the time they don't know why, and 2. When a child is asked why it makes them think that their first answer was wrong. Instead of asking God why, I think we need to ask, "What do you need me to do for you?" Instead of asking, "Why do I have to do this?", ask, "What can I do to make this work?"

Have pride in what you do. I don't have a problem with this, as a matter a fact, I think I have too much pride. My reflection on this would be I walk that fine line between pride and conceit. I need to be more humble.

Be a catalyst. I looked up catalyst on dictionary.com and it stated that a catalyst causes an important event. A catalyst is the cause of a chemical reaction. Synonyms for catalyst are: incitation, motivation, stimulant, incentive, and spur. I want to be a catalyst, especially, in the field of education. I want to motivate, incite, and spur. I want to be a catalyst for change. As I was looking up catalyst, negative catalyst popped up. A negative catalyst is an inhibitor of a chemical reaction. A catalyst creates the fire and a negative catalyst stomps it out.

All actions have consequences. I have learned this the hard way. I should think before I speak or write and I don't, and I have lost many a friend because of it. I really need to be careful about that because I don't have that many friends to lose. I am down to about five and that includes my "sistahs", so maybe I should slow up. One of my five friends, always speaks before she thinks. I call her my "open mouth, put in foot" friend, and everything that comes out of her mouth is pure honesty. I appreciate her unadulterated truth even when it stings. I want to think before I act, but sometimes I just don't have the time to tip-toe around people's feelings. I need to be careful about stepping on people's feelings. And I usually am, I step carefully right in the middle of every one.*

Take on others' burdens. Janet and her family did this for me three years ago. I am unable to live alone. I need a caretaker. My mother did it forever. She was a saint and still is. My younger sister, Caren, took on that burden until her husband was transferred out of state. Before and after Caren, I have had some wonderful caretakers and I have had some really bad ones. Janet and her family rescued me after a really bad one who robbed me blind when she moved out. What I am going to say is going to offend many, so turn away, but having me around is like having a pet. You have to make sure that the pet is fed, watered, pottied, and cleaned. You can't go away for the weekend without making sure the pets are taken care of. Janet has always contended that God told her to take me on. One day someone at work was asking Janet why she had me come live with her and her family.(First insight, don't ask why.) Janet replied that the person wouldn't understand. The co-worker continued to probe Janet for her reasoning behind taking on such a burden. Janet just smiled and replied, "It's a God Thing!"

I pray someday that God will talk to me the way he talks to Janet and Joan of Arcadia. In one of the episodes of Joan of Arcadia Joan is mad at God. She yells at him, "You didn't tell me I was suppose to do that." And God replies, "No, Joan, you weren't listening." I need to listen to God more closely because I don't think he is going to call me on my mobile.

I have only watched half of the Joan of Arcadia episodes that I Tivoed. I had to stop and do some work, and instead I stopped and wrote this blog. When I watch the rest of the episodes there just might have to be It's A God Thing, Part 2!

Paco's Perspective

God sent me to you. Didn't you know that, or were you not listening again?

Flip Side

God sent you guys to me, or I would have been roadkill.

* Epossumundas by Colleen Sally

Stack 'em Deep and Teach 'em Cheap

The state of Arizona is experiencing its worse budget crisis in recent history. The state of Arizona has a three billion dollar deficit. Since, fifty percent of Arizona's budget is spent on education (which happens to be in the bottom five for the amount states spend on education), then the cuts will affect the field of education the greatest.

Every school district in the state has been given a directive to cut a certain amount of money from their budget. The state doesn't want to be pinned as the "bad guy", so it is making the school districts be the "bad guys". For example, in many district all day kindergarten will be discontinued because this is where most districts can make the greatest cut from their budget. When constituents call there local representatives and complain that the state discontinued kindergarten the representatives can say, "Oh, the state didn't do that. It was your school district's choice to cut all day kindergarten." I don't mind if someone screws up, admits it, says, "I'm sorry," and then works to make things better, but I really hate it when someone doesn't have the kahonies to admit to their mistakes. I SMELL A RAT!

Last year, Cartwright School District (whom I happen to work for) had to make a nine million dollar budget reduction, and this year Cartwright has to make a $7.4 million to a $9.8 million cut to the M & O budget. Of course, cuts to the M & O budget involve cuts to the school personnel which includes teachers, principals, secretaries and aides. Aides will be let go, teachers salaries will be cut, teachers will be cut, assistant principals will be cut, class sizes will increase. It is called The Stack 'em Deep and Teach 'em Cheap Theory.

I have always taught upper grades, so I am used to large class sizes. The cut off for grades four and five is 35 students which means in order to get another teacher each class has to be at 37 and one class has to be at 38. New teacher hiring for overloaded classes is generally done only at the beginning of the year. If classes become overloaded after Christmas, it is just too bad. Due to the state budget cuts, class sizes will increase. This means that the count for "regular" size class will be 37 which in turn will mean that classes will have to get to 39 and 40 before getting another teacher, and if the class sizes grow after that magical Christmas date one is up a creek without a paddle. (Primary class sizes, K, 1, 2, and 3 will be 34 and 35.) Stack 'em Deep and Teach 'em Cheap.

There has been a significant amount of research on the impact of class size on the education of children. Over the years there have been many research studies with different filters, but the one thing they all have in common is the results:

• Reduced class size can be expected to produce increased academic achievement. (Glass and Smith)
  
• The major benefits from reduced class size are obtained as the size is reduced below 20 pupils (Glass and Smith)
  
• Small classes have the greatest impact when experienced in the early grades. A kindergarten or first grade class of 13 to 17 students is ideal. (Tennessee's STAR Project)
  
• For minority students, smaller classes can shrink the achievement gap and lead to reduced grade retention, fewer disciplinary actions, less dropping out, and more college-entrance test taking. (Tennessee's STAR Project)

Two years ago I taught a fifth grade basic ELL (English Language Learner's) class. Most of the students in the class made two to three years progress. Seventy percent of the students Met or Exceeded the grade level standards as measured by the AIMS (Arizona Instrument to Measure Standards). That was somewhat amazing considering 25% of them spoke no English. I would like to say it was because of my magnificent teaching, but the most significant factor was I had a class of 12 students. Prior to the budget cuts it was the state's and Cartwright's belief that ELL students had a better chance of achieving, if the class sizes were kept at a minimal number. They were right. The ELL students made significant gains across the district.

Due to the budget cuts, this year's ELL class size numbers are at 25 and 30, and next year they will be at 35 and 40. Say good-bye to differentiation. Say good-bye individual instruction. Say good-bye to achievement gains. Say hello to Stack 'em Deep and Teach 'em Cheap. Our class rooms have high ceilings I am sure they will find a way to build lofts.

I do understand budget cuts, and I am losing part of my salary because of them, and I am not whining about that. But,the state of Arizona has a tendency to never go back. They continue to cut from the education budget. In my thirty-one years of teaching I have never seen the Arizona State government say, "Oooooooo, we have some extra money. Let's put in education."

Paco's Perspective

I don't talk politics.


The Flip Side

What's politics?

I'm Getting Off at the Next Revolution

It is that time of year when the stress level is so high you can feel it hanging in the airlike wet sheets on a clothesline. Next week is AIMS(Arizona's Instrument to Measure Standards) testing week. For schools and teachers everything is riding on this test. One can feel the pressure sitting heavily on one's shoulders. On top of all this stress and pressure I was extremely ill this week. All I could think of was that song, "Stop the World and Let Me Get Off".

Thinking of that song reminded me of another shtupid moment with my wheelchair. I would think that I would learn from my stupid mistakes. When I got stuck playing hide-and-go-seek with the dog I should have stopped playing hide-and-go-seek with the dog, but I didn't. When my wheelchair was almost totally destroyed climbing a mountain I should have stopped going on trails not suitable for wheelchairs, but I didn't. When I got a giant clip stuck in my mouth I should have stopped trying to open things with my mouth, but I didn't. Apparently, I am a slow learn, or what happens to me is so shtupid that I think it couldn't possibly happen again.

Quite a few years a go when I was much younger I was able to bend over while in my chair and pick things up from the floor. Today I wouldn't even begin to think of leaning in any direction that would get me off center in fear that I would fall. I was at my mom's house watching TV, and I saw the Sunday Funnies on the floor and decided I need to read them. I positioned my wheelchair next to the paper and proceeded to lean over the edge of my chair on the driver button side and reach for the paper. Of course, Shtupid hits the button with her ample bust, and my chair starts to move. I begin to turn in the living room. No problem, I will stop when I run into the footstool. I hit the footstool, pushed it aside, and continued to turn. No problem, I will stop when I hit the coffee table it is heavier than the footstool. I hit the heavy coffee table, pushed it aside, and continued to spin. No problem, I will will definitely stop when I hit the recliner. I hit the recliner, pushed it aside, and continued to spin. BIG PROBLEM! I had pushed all the furniture aside, and I was spinning in the middle of the living room getting more nauseous with each revolution. One might ask, where was my mother? I was wondering the same thing, where is my mother? Perhaps, in Canada!

As I continued to be a merry-go-round, I passed the recliner many times. Maybe on the next revolution I will dive into the recliner. Really, Shtupid you are crippled. You couldn't even pick up a newspaper off the floor without without getting into a predicament, and you actually believe you can hit the recliner? Yes, I do. I passed the recliner three more times sizing up the situation and building up my nerve. This is it I'm getting off this merry-go-round at the next revolution. I passed the footstool. I passed the coffee table and couch. I passed the TV. The recliner was coming into view and I was preparing to make my move.

Then I heard my mother say, "WHAT are you doing?"

"I . . . . . . . am . . . . . . . . . spinning?"

I didn't have to jump. I survived. I have survived many AIMS Testing weeks, and I will survive this one, too. I have survived many illnesses much worse than this, and I will survive this one, too. I am NOT getting off at the next revolution.

Paco's Perspective

What's wrong with spinning?

The Flip Side

Doesn't Paco realize we would get places a lot faster, if he didn't spin?