Let's Build Something Together

Parent engagement, parent involvement, parent power...words, words, words. In the swirling vortex that is education these days, we spend a lot of time talking about parents--our role, our responsibilities, and the challenges that we pose.

I'm a parent.  I'm an involved parent.  I am, sometimes, a demanding parent.  I, always, have high expectations--for my children but also for the educators in their lives.

In recent years my district has been through a lot of changes--some good, some great, some disasters.  We have a new Comprehensive Literacy Plan, a new Comprehensive Math and Science Plan, new district-wide implementation of PBIS, new formative assessments.  We are preparing to roll out new cut scores for our statewide summative assessments, we are also preparing to roll out implementation of the Common Core State Standards.  No matter how you slice it, education is changing at the speed of light.

Through all of these changes I keep hearing about the importance of parent involvement, and yet, at the end of the day, I consistently see that parents are an after thought.  We aren't meaningfully included on the front end of anything.  The superintendent of my school district said at a school board meeting recently that they had partnered with local business leaders to take them to a national conference on the Common Core implementation.  Really?  Business leaders?  Because local business leaders are going to come and read to my children every night before they go to bed?  Because local business leaders are going to check my kids backpacks every night and every morning?  Because local business leaders are going to look at my children's test scores and talk about them at the dinner table?  No, sir.  That would be me, their parent.

I do more than just check backpacks and read at bedtime too--as do most parents.  I listen, I ask questions, I show up.

I'm not playing for pity here.  I'm trying to make the case for something that is so simple, and simultaneously so complex.  Parents bring value to the decision making process in schools!!!  We may not make that process easier.  We may ask questions that challenge the educators assumptions.  We may need someone to explain the jargon to us, but I guarantee we're not the only person in the room who needs that explanation.  And--at the end of the day--I'm there working in the best interest of my child and the education of every other child in my city.

When schools take the risk of involving parents on the front end of decision making processes, they build allies.  When parents have the opportunity to be a part of a district initiative, they leave that process as an informed consumer.  When schools take the risk of allowing themselves to be vulnerable to parents, we respond with dignity and respect.  When I'm asked to be a part of creating a process that will improve education, I will always be a champion for it.  I will be ready to go to bat for the educators who have invited me to roll up my sleeves and get into the work of creating better schools side by side with them.  I am an equal.  I am a partner with educators, and they are partners with me.

There is a risk in all of this.  It is the risk of being imperfect.  It is the risk of betraying the fact that neither of us--parents or educators--has all the answers.  Quite frankly, I would be more than happy to take off my mask of perfection and speak my truth that I don't always know how to be the best parent that I can be.  I would also be grateful for the chance to say--with respect and gratitude--that I don't expect the teachers in my children's lives to be perfect either.

Be brave--dear educators--include us!

Brave

Last week my husband--who works at an urban 6-12 grade school--tried to intervene is a small hallway altercation between a few students.  He stepped in between two middle school students to talk with one of them.  Within a few moments he had been struck three times on the back of his head with a closed fist by a 19 year old senior.  He turned around, trying to understand what had happened, and was quickly surrounded by a circle of boys who were telling him to put his "hands up and fight." This is the stuff of nightmares, as far as I'm concerned.  He stood calmly, with his hands at his sides, repeating to the boys "I'm not going to fight" and hoped that security was on their way.  

And then, something extraordinary happened.  Several high school girls walked into the circle, surrounded my husband and started to walk him away from the situation.  They repeated the words that he has said innumerable times "let's just walk this way." They ignored the boys who were threatening him, they essentially escorted him out of the situation.  No one was hurt any further.  

I can play out this scenario a million times in my head.  I can see all of the ways that this could have gone horribly wrong, all of the ways that this could have ended in a very real tragedy.  The only tragedy that did result is that a 19 year old is being charged as an adult with a felony battery against a teacher.  And I mean it with all sincerity that I believe that a felony charge is a tragedy.

But instead of focusing on the awfulness of the situation, I am intentionally choosing to focus of the behavior of the strong, brave, young women who took a tremendous risk.  The risk of doing the right thing!

This is my note to them 

My name is Jenny Stonemeier--I am married to Mr. Stonemeier--and I am writing to thank you.  I have a feeling that in all of the attention that was and will be given to the behavior of a few boys, there will not be much attention given to you.  And I feel strongly that you are the ones who should be getting the most attention.  Unfortunately, our schools and our society is much more interested in focusing on negative behavior than on positive behavior.

I want to make sure that you understand what you did for Mr. Stonemeier.  I want to make sure that you know that I understand what you did for Mr. Stonemeier.  You took a risk--a huge risk.  You physically stepped into a DANGEROUS situation and you did what you knew was right.  And for that, I am incredibly grateful.

I sometimes worry that young people don't know how to take risks for the right reasons, they don't know how to listen to their instincts and do what they know is right.  I see too many people--young and old--taking risks for all the wrong reasons.  Exactly like the young men who were also involved in this incident.  They were definitely taking a risk, but what good could have come from the risk of violence against a teacher?

I know that I don't know you, but it makes me incredibly proud to know that you were willing to take the risk that you did, to help Mr. Stonemeier.  I hope that you might be able to find a way to continue to listen to your instincts, to continue to do the things that you know are right even if they are different from what your friends are doing.  I hope that you continue to show yourself, your family, your friends, and the world that your are smart, capable, independent thinking, and unafraid young women who are ready to make changes in our schools, our communities, and in the world.  I hope that you learn to feel the power that goes along with listening to, and honoring, your instincts.

I'm sorry that this situation ever happened in the first place, but please know--for the rest of your lives--that I am grateful for each of you!!

Labels Don't Serve Our Children

Labels Do Not Serve Our Children

I consider my own identity using many labels; woman, mother, advocate, policy wonk, etc.  The trouble is these labels only serve to describe a small part of who I am.  I learned this lesson the hard way as I prepared to send my 11 year old son off to 2 weeks of overnight camp for the first time.  My son--let's call him by his nickname "Doodle Bug", let's also agree to not tell him I'm using this name--is many things; smart, kind, funny, tall, goofy.  We all have labels.

The Doodle Bug also has a label of Asperger's Syndrome to go along with all of the other labels; and I made the mistake of using that label to describe him to the camp staff BEFORE I talked about all of the rest of the words that could be used to describe him.  The conversation with the camp staff started like this, "Doodle Bug has Asperger's Syndrome..."  Their eyebrows went up, they raised their chins and nodded slowly.  It was almost as if they were saying, 'Ah, yes, I know this kid' without hearing another word about him.  Then they started the rapid fire questioning, 'does he have any behavioral outbursts?',  'how does he react to loud noises?', 'how much support will he need during transitions?', 'we can get him a 1:1 staff person if you want'.  Oh dear, this had gone seriously off track.  They had made up their minds about who my child was and what his needs were based upon the words "Asperger's Syndrome".  The kind of support that my child needed at camp was rendered irrelevant because they had a preconceived notion of who he was based purely on his DISability--based purely on a label.

While I was at once struck by their eagerness to include the Doodle Bug, I was simultaneously bowled over by the impact that my use of labels had had on these professionals.

The Doodle Bug doesn't know that Asperger's Syndrome might be used to describe him.  In my house we don't talk about disabilities, we talk about the fact that everyone has things that they are good at and everyone has things that they struggle with.  My daughter gleefully contributes, "That's right Mama, you're no good at running."  I can't argue with the kid, she's absolutely correct.  We have these conversations intentionally in an attempt to teach ABLEness, an attempt to normalize the natural differences that exist within our world, an attempt to glorify diversity in all of its dimensions.  And here I was--leaving my kid at camp with a bunch of strangers--and I had just broken my cardinal rule.  I had used a label to describe my son and now I was back-pedaling as fast as I could to make sure that the camp staff heard ALL of the other things that I had to say about my child.

The lesson--not just for me, but for everyone--whether it's educators, swimming instructors, summer camp counselors, or religious community leaders LABELS DON'T SERVE OUR CHILDREN.  They evoke false images of a child's abilities, they speak half-truths about who we are as humans.  Labels reduce us to a list of symptoms, they clinicalize who we are, and they allow us to view each other as uni-deminsional.

I challenge us all to use words that describe each other more fully--better yet, I challenge us to say, "Have you met my son Doodle Bug?  He'd like to spend some time with you before he comes to camp for two weeks." and let people experience our children without the perceptions of someone else mucking up the works.  We would all be better served by this concept of ABLEness.

P.S. The Doodle Bug had a fabulous 2 weeks at camp and he is already planning how he can subsidize the tuition for next summer so he can go for all 8 weeks.