Showing posts with label Adequate Yearly Progress. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Adequate Yearly Progress. Show all posts

Sunday, January 29, 2017

It was National School Choice Week, again, and I totally missed it

Ok, so President Trump proclaimed last week National School Choice week, and like everything he does, it was big. Huge. Tremendous. Elephantine, in fact.

Because, of course, we've already had School Choice Week for years,  brainwashing the public into despising the schools this society so depends upon, so I guess this is a "bigger" proclamation than past presidents'. Or a huge one. Or a Trump-penis-sized one. Or, well, pick your buzzword. Anyway, the president is thinking big, and that's how we get things done in this country, apparently, so long as we ignore all tangible reality in the process.

So I was stymied. How to best celebrate the week, after the fact, in the spirit of our new administration and in the spirit of the America that, apparently, we've had all along? And how to make this celebration stand out amongst all the other big, huge, tremendous, gargantuan executive actions we've been reveling in this past week, everything from deporting Muslims to sparring with news executives?

I thought big. I thought huge. I thought irrationally.

And here's my planned School Choice Week Agenda, to be submitted after the fact but, sadly, all too easy to enact any day of any year for the foreseeable future:
  • Hold a bake sale in your school's cafeteria. Make sure all the money to pay for the baked goods comes out of your low-income students' pockets, and make sure it goes straight to your school's Bible Study Group. (If your school has no such group, create one quick before you get deported.) 
  • Give students homework vouchers. It's up to them and their parents to decide which assignments deserve their effort and attention (making saddles for dinosaurs in science class; grizzly bear patrol practice in Health; Legs-Crossing 101 in Sex Ed) and which don't (history lessons on Jim Crow laws and their permutations in the 21st century; reading anything with sexual issues in it in English class). 
  • Hold an informational meeting about the values of choice in America. And if anyone asks about the growing segregation of students that winds up being a byproduct of such movements, scream "Choice! Choice!" until they give up and leave. Then you win. 
  • Find the wealthiest, most competitive soccer mom in your neighborhood and make her PTA head. If she can't discern between federal and state law concerning student aid, praise her love of competition. If she thinks she's doing God's work by privatizing schools or that organizations trying to cure homosexuality need money, write an op ed about how awesome it is she wants to make schools cut each others' throats for students. 
  • Set your local public school on fire. Remind them that if they'd done periodic fire drills with an Adequate Exit Progress plan goal of 100 percent of all students out the door by 2020, they would have been fine, but since they didn't, tough titty. 
  • Write an op ed defending the role of the public school and its subordination to outside externalities wreaking their havoc on the population, thus making the job of public school teacher tougher and more necessary. Then roll up your op ed and smoke it. Seriously, no one gives a shit anyway. We have unlimited job protection and are "flush with cash," so we might as well start gathering apples to sell on the street. 
By Tuesday, we'll most likely have an Education Secretary looking to make connections with the schools that she's heard of who serve 50 million children in this nation but has never actually worked with. Time for the show of solidarity so many on the right are calling for, particularly when they won and want you to fall in line. So let's get some t-shirts made, and let's make sure our Pledge of Allegiance voices are in top timber. It's the dawn of a brand new, glorious, hideous, unavoidable reckoning. 






Friday, May 11, 2012

No Jedi Left Behind

Scene: Dagobah. Yoda sits beneath Luke Skywalker's X-Wing, calmly chewing his walking stick. In the distance, Luke can be heard doing calisthetics and crying.

LUKE: Uhhhhh, this is taking forever! I wanna be done nowwwww!

Suddenly, the blue, glowing form of Obi-Wan Kenobi appears.

OBI-WAN: You're having him stand on his head again?

YODA: Good practice, it is.

OBI-WAN: What is it with you and the head-standing?

YODA: What help can I be for you, Master Obi-Wan?

OBI-WAN: Oh, well, just a few things. There's some paperwork you need to fill out for the Council.

YODA: Paperwork?

OBI-WAN: You know, just the usual progress reports, standardized test scores, and, uh, Luke's IEP. It needs to be updated.

YODA: A whiny little bitch, he can be.

OBI-WAN: Yes, well... (spreads documents on a log) Okay, let's see. How is Luke getting at saber fighting?

YODA: Progressed that far, Luke has not. He must still learn--

OBI-WAN: You know, uh, maybe if you cut it out with all the rocks...

YODA: My own counsel I will keep on how I am to train! (swats Obi-Wan with his stick)

OBI-WAN: Okay, okay. I'm just saying...

YODA: Yes?

OBI-WAN: Well, it's not like he's going to be fighting the Empire by heaving boulders at them, is he?

YODA: What else do you want? Valuable time, you are wasting.

OBI-WAN: Rightrightright. Um, this is sort of hard to say, but...

YODA: Well?

OBI-WAN: Well, Luke didn't make Adequate Yearly Progress.

(beat)

YODA: You are speaking of what the hell now?

OBI-WAN: He didn't leap the minimum required distance in his fitness test, and he still can't throw people around with the Force. You failed him, Yoda.

YODA: I failed him?

OBI-WAN: Look--

YODA: Came to me at the age of twenty-two, he did! Normally, training starts at age five. Undisciplined and uncouth he was. A complete fricking slack-jawed yokel! And now he can use the Force and react faster than anyone else alive!

OBI-WAN: I know, but--

YODA: My fault the Empire took over, it was not! My fault he comes from an unstable home, it is so not!

OBI-WAN: Look, guy, demographics are not destiny. You can't use all that as an excuse.

YODA: Excuse! (seriously pissed now) You were the one who offed his father! Nice job, professor.

OBI-WAN: Um. (clears throat) I mean, the Council is spending all this dough to keep you here on this planet. We paid for the logs, the rocks he's throwing around, the gruel you have him eat and that nifty white t-shirt of his. We need to see some quantifiable results.

YODA: To have him at a Master level by now, unrealistic it is.

OBI-WAN: That sounds like the Union talking...

YODA: Something you want. The hell what is it?

OBI-WAN: I...uh, I didn't quite get that...

YODA: Spill it, hippie!

OBI-WAN: Look, I didn't want it to come to this. But the Council is going to have to take over if you don't get him ready to fight Vader by the spring semester. We feel that, by making this a mandate, you'll be forced to deliver and your instruction will improve more readily. (pause) Merit pay, you dig?

YODA: (heaves deep sigh) A proposal, you have come to give me?

OBI-WAN: No, look, this is totally bitching! We've got this program called Jedi Mastery Manager, and all you have to do is set your learning goals to whatever assessment you give him!

YODA: More paperwork up your butt, you can shove--

OBI-WAN: Like, say, when he does that whole fight-in-the-tree-and-it's-your-own-face thing? If he fails, we key in the skill he's supposed to be learning--

YODA: (looking over Kenobi's shoulder) "Acknowledge your own weaknesses so as to face your shortcomings and achieve inner peace"?

OBI-WAN: That's labeled JC-24.7. And we plug it into the computer and we can tell where you totally suck--

YODA: To hell, you can go.

OBI-WAN: I mean, where you rock as a teacher, right? And where, you know, uh, you can use a little help...

YODA: The student, Luke is. Up to him it must be. A Jedi must know discipline.
OBI-WAN: Rightrightright. No argument here, guy. Except...

YODA: Except...?

OBI-WAN: I mean, this is Response to Intervention we're talking, right? So what have you done to get him to take all this seriously?

(Long, awkward silence. Yoda stares angrily. Obi-wan shifts uncomfortably.)

YODA: Are you high or something?

OBI-WAN: Not since before I died. Anyway. Guy. The Council is totally behind you. We think you can accomplish miracles. Except, you know, unless you don't. Then we'll have to contract this school out to a charter.

YODA: What freaking charter? All the other Jedi are dead! He's about to fight his own father and you idiots want me to document whether or not he can walk a straight line!

OBI-WAN: Well, obviously you haven't been keeping up with the reform literature, guy.  Haven't you heard of that Hutt Success Zone on Tattoine? They're working miracles with those underprivileged Jawas. And, oh! There's also the KIWP schools!

YODA: Kiwp?

OBI-WAN: Knowledge is Wookie Power, man! They've got those hairy bastards levitating two inches off the ground! And they have kickass t-shirts too.

YODA: Yes. T-shirts.

OBI-WAN: So? Can the Council count on your assured success in the face of impossible odds?

(one more long pause)

YODA: I quit.

OBI-WAN: Ok. No problem. We've got a replacement lined up anyway. Graduated from the Harvard School of Business! Meet Professor Jar-Jar. He'll be materializing in just a--

YODA: Thank you, no. (impales self with lightsaber, falls to ground dead)

OBI-WAN: Hmm.

The End

"Paper and pencil, you do not have. For this, sorry I failed you I am."