I met my students and their families prior to the first day of school. Our building was opened for a tour, and my classroom was set up. I was prepared to quietly meet and greet children, let them roam through their new surroundings, and then, if the parents wanted, to chat a bit. I’ve posted before about what I look for during these open house sessions. Calm, relaxed, and not playing center stage, my students’ comfort during this initial meeting is always my top priority.

Many Title-I teachers have to put extra effort into building relationships and creating multiple lines of communication with the families of their students. Home visits, introductory letters or postcards mailed prior to the start of school, meet-the-teacher picnics, or good ol’ “Open House” events are required activities of many Title-I teachers at the beginning of the school year. Open door policies are reiterated by the principal, teachers, P.T.A., central office, and support staff, and teachers utilize multiple methods of parent/school communication throughout the year. Homework folders, weekly e-mail messages, home/school journaling, phone calls, additional home visits, and conferences scheduled, rescheduled, and rescheduled again are used to engage parents and families, and communicate to them that their involvement is appreciated, valued, and crucial. Family diversity, socioeconomic backgrounds, and general feelings about school environments aren’t off-stage scene accessories that may or may not come into play depending on the director’s whim or the temporary addition of a new actor in Title-I schools. These dynamic factors ARE the stage itself. Not so in my new district.

In my new district, almost all of my students are from military families, but there are a few civilian families that the school also serves. Over 70% of our student population relocates annually as this post houses a majority of its military staff for only one year. Military officers from countries all over the world also attend international courses on post, but only a few travel here with their families, members often speaking only their native language. A seventy-plus-percent student turnover (including possibly fifteen students from foreign countries in the entire district) changes the students’ faces, but not the common background and lifestyle of the children in our classrooms from year to year.

When I asked colleagues about the kindergarten report card and our first parent teacher conference, I was surprised to learn that I wouldn’t be giving my students grades until the end of the second quarter. For my first meeting with parents, it was suggested that our conference time be spent with me “letting them (parents) do all the talking.” I had a year’s worth of self-created mid-quarter and quarter assessment forms pre-approved by my principal, and asked colleagues for suggestions on when I should share my initial screening information and subsequent assessments with families, so that we could successfully partner in their childrens’ education. As a response to that question, and many more regarding parent communication throughout the year, my colleagues did not object whenever I marched to the beat of my own drummer. I sent home mid-quarter assessments when they did not. I regularly invited parent volunteers into the classroom and communicated with families several times a week via email, after school chats or phone calls, all expected standards of practice in my previous schools, but apparently not required here.

This year, my communication with parents and families was an area of commendation on my teacher evaluation. Like any other teacher, I was relieved to receive proficient and distinguished marks for my teaching practices, but was also torn, as areas in which my principal felt I excelled were areas where those behaviors and practices were expected by my previous Title-I administrators.  Knowing that I was communicating with my students’ families much more frequently than my colleagues were with theirs caused me to ask myself: am I over-communicating? Am I sharing unnecessary information with parents and wasting their time? Are there things they don’t need to know? Should I continue to invite parents in as volunteers every month, send home monthly calendars,weekly newsletters, and daily e-mails when the inclination strikes me?

I began to look for signs that might put me onto a more efficient track upon which my colleagues seemed to operate. Their newsletters and class updates were posted to their school web page. Parents asked teachers if they could come and volunteer, and to my amazement, some teachers responded with a firm but polite “no.” Parents arrived early for their parent teacher conferences, and were eager to see results from MAP assessments. Parents of my students would apologize for interrupting me or for asking me questions after school, implying that while it was my job to teach their children, it was not expected that I spend additional time as a parents’ guide.

After a year’s worth of rude awakenings and reflection, I have my answers. My teaching philosophy works for me. My teaching practices benefit those I feel should be involved in education: my students and their families.  Hopefully they will also be of benefit to my colleagues.  I will continue to communicate with parents, families, and administrators professionally and thoroughly, risking being perceived as having “gone overboard.”  While I appreciate finally having the materials, resources, and support needed to properly provide a wonderful kindergarten experience for my students, I will always have to temper my anger and frustration at the inequality that I know exists regarding this country’s public education. Many of my current colleagues may never walk in Title-I shoes, and I’ll have to pick and choose battles over teaching practices and philosophies carefully.

After my first year in La-la Land*, I have developed a new understanding of the now painful description that fits best when it comes to comparing Title-I and non-Title-I schools:

Apples and Oranges

No school district is perfect, but if this one, in this state, in our country, can provide so many resources and experiences that benefit students, why can’t they all?

*****

* “La-la Land” is the nickname to which this district is referred by many of my colleagues.

In-building ponds (stocked with fish, turtles and aquatic plants), “21st Century Science” rooms, multiple computer labs (in addition to the student laptops and teacher’s computer in each room), and SMARTBoards in nearly every classroom can be found in each building.

Glass walled libraries, art rooms that resemble studios, music rooms planned perfectly for acoustic expression, gyms with climbing walls, artful installments in hallways, and dining facilities that are not cafeteria/gym/multi-purpose room combinations also catch your eye.

My school has its own planetarium. Read it again: my school has its own planetarium. No, not the inflatable kind. Not the kind you have to assemble and be trained on to operate, disassemble, and then pass on to another school for sharing either. Certainly not a little tabletop jobbie that runs on two AA batteries in a room with all of its window shades pulled.  The bright white area in the photo above is actually the dome of the planetarium.

I’d never experienced a week-long migraine prior to that orientation. While our guides were informative and helpful, they seemed blissfully unaware of the murmured communication that was beginning to take place between some of the new hires, those of us with prior teaching experience…those of us who had taught outside of this new La-La Land.

“All this school needs is a Starbucks” whispered one. Another said she had been disoriented when touring her school for the first time because the upper level resembled a high-dollar mall in its architecture and décor (second photo). Yet another said she was getting tired of being looked at like she had three heads when she’d ask a grade level partner, custodian or secretary questions about risk management, classroom décor, protocols for testing, intervention resources, child and youth services, bi-lingual aides or staff, and drills (stranger danger, fire, earthquake, disaster, drop). Questions about acceptable photocopying, allowed videos, possible MANDT training, or visits from the testing police, those school visitors who walk into classrooms to check for proper (or improper) poster placement for state testing, were answered politely but with a palpable air of “wow-is-this-one-a-nut-job” by many of our new colleagues. I was asked why any classroom teacher would need MANDT training.

Those of us with Title-I experience not only wanted but needed to know our restrictions within and the liabilities and lawsuit history of our new employer. We needed to know all of the secret nooks and crannies that might house resources necessary to meet the needs of all of our students. As Title-I teachers, we were used to sewing purses out of pigs’ ears, and were ready to wheel and deal, beg, borrow and steal materials for our students. Title-I teachers know there is a battle to be won, that the battle must be won. Our students, schools, and our jobs depend upon our skill. Teacher “burn out” is our battle fatigue.

Amongst the Title-I new hires, the inherent inclination to not only quickly learn whatever choreography was in place, but to act with urgency motored us through our first quarter of school, and affected not only our attempts to bond with new colleagues, but made us stand out like sore thumbs in regard to our open communication and persistent relationship building activities with students’ families.

Many of our new colleagues gave us a wide berth.

To reintroduce myself, I’m a kindergarten teacher, wife of an active duty soldier, mother of three, and bi-racial (Inupiaq Eskimo and Caucasian). Thanks to Uncle Sam, my husband and our family have been restationed four times in the past six years, Alaska to New Mexico, New Mexico to Kansas, Kansas to Texas, and now Texas back to the Heartland. I’ve taught in Title-I schools for twelve years in three states. I appreciate and enjoy diversity and I believe in a common fairness for all.

My thirteenth year as a kindergarten teacher began last August, in my first-ever non-Title-I school. Once I finally received my teaching assignment, I was eager to sneak a peek into my new school, examine my classroom, and like all teachers with Title-I experience, start my “need-to-buy” list. What was it to be this year, new math manipulatives? Additional book sets? Dress up clothes, glue sticks, construction paper, or used computers so that students could have a technology center?

I found the school on post (it is not a D.O.D school) and was amazed at the beauty of the grounds, the condition of the building, and the newness of the kindergarten playground equipment. Upon entering the building, I couldn’t help but notice the ample light, not new but nearly pristine bulletin boards, perfect carpet, and eye-pleasing yet completely efficient architecture. I was given my key and was walked to my room by the school secretary, who immediately located the summer custodial staff to have them give me an estimated date for when my classroom, which already appeared spic and span, would be cleaned and ready for me.

I spoke with two custodians and asked if there was any place in particular they’d like me to store my belongings so that they wouldn’t be inconvenienced as they worked in my room. One asked how much I was bringing and was surprised when I told her that I traveled with all of my own classroom materials: a full library, math and science manipulatives, centers, computers, etc. “Why do you need those things?” was her incredulous response, as she directed me to where the previous teacher had stored the classroom inventory.

For the first time ever as a teacher, I had a fully equipped classroom. Every math, science, and reading manipulative necessary, and many “extras” as well, were neatly stored not only in my classroom, but in a workroom/storage closet that I share with only one of my three other grade level colleagues. When I asked how much of the materials were to be divided between me and my neighbor, the custodian, wearing yet another look of confusion, replied “None. These are all for your students. She has her own set.” She told me that my student computers would be delivered to the classroom the week before school started, but that my room would be clean and ready for me two weeks before then.

The custodians excused themselves, and left me standing in the middle of my classroom, my jaw on the floor. Out of what I thought was nowhere, I started to cry. I cried in appreciation, in awe, and finally in defeat, because I realized that no matter the national rhetoric, no matter the latest educational “movement” or “revolution,” true equality between schools, between states, between students within a single city, isn’t really happening.

It’s that time of year for kindergarten teachers: planning to meet “next year’s” (August’s) kindergartners. After Easter and spring break, school districts nationwide hold their Kindergarten Roundups, encouraging enthusiastic parents and usually eager-yet-nervous children to start making their immunization, school shopping and pep talk plans in the hopes that the first day/week of kindergarten is emotionally survivable for all involved. I have to admit, I’ve never been able to keep the image of lassoing five-year-olds-that-yes-have-made-the-cut-off-date out of my mind during spring registration, and in fact, several of my former administrators have even suggested that my colleagues and I “troll for kids that look old enough” as we drive through the school’s neighborhoods before work each morning. Each administrator has wanted our numbers to be as close to accurate as we can have them before school staff sizes are re-evaluated over the summer due to increases or decreases in enrollment- very understandable.

Teaching in schools with larger student and family populations that fall within lower socio-economic levels means that I have had my share of hosting kindergarten “sneak peeks” involving myself, my students, future students, and their preschool or Head Start teachers, and not the students’ parents. Typically, preschool teachers contact me and my colleagues in advance, asking us to look at calendar dates to find a morning or two when they can bring their students over to see what kindergarten is all about. They ask to sit in on storytime, centers, and participate in snack and possibly recess. I of course, give my Super Stars the heads up that younger visitors will be spending time with us during the week, and each year we inevitably agree that we should do what we can to help them feel comfortable during their stay.

Three or four students per preschool teacher arrive for their sneak peek, usually wide-eyed, and not at all reluctant. I purposely revisit old standby stories such as Brown Bear, Brown Bear What Do You See or Green Eggs and Ham for storytime, and my Super Stars teach their guests the motions to our fingerplays, “Two Little Sausages,” “Once There Lived a Quiet Mouse,” and songs like Shake My Sillies Out. The preschoolers visit the learning centers they are most interested in, and can tour the classroom and its materials on their own, with a friend, or with one of their teachers. Painting, playing with blocks, dressing up in the pretend center, counting/sorting/classifying with math manipulatives, pounding and rolling clay, putting puzzles together, working on the computer, playing musical instruments, or quietly looking at books…are some of the activities that I will watch my future students exploring during their visit. *

Why am I watching instead of putting myself front and center, vying for their attention? For one, I might not be their teacher in August. Two, I feel it’s important that the children make this transition successfully in their own way(s) and in their own time. It’s not important that students *like me* when they first meet me, it’s important that they feel welcome, and that they feel safe. And finally, yes… I’m taking mental notes, sometimes scribbling thoughts and observations down about each of the children as they familiarize themselves with their future environment.

~Does the child wear glasses? Hearing aids? Appear to have physical limitations that differ from his/her peers? What is the child’s size, and how does s/he use physical space? Does the child squint, or say “huh” or ask for directions to be repeated again?

~ I listen to them speak…is there an accent? Is the child bi-lingual? Is only English spoken in the home? Does the child speak English at all? Understand it without speaking it? Are there pronunciation issues separate from language comprehension and expression? Regardless of oral language, does the child prefer to use sign language of some sort, gestures, to communicate rather than speaking?

~ Does the child interact with others? Others of the same gender? Opposite gender? Does the student only demonstrate parallel play? Does the child recognize and choose to acknowledge and cooperate with transitions?

~ Is the child passive or aggressive? How about passively aggressive (that one usually takes time to observe once the new school year has started, unless parents, a previous teacher or daycare provider tells me in advance)? Allergic to anything?

~ Is the student a watcher or a do-er? A little of both? How long does it take him/her to come out of a comfortable shell?

~ Is the student aware of his/her own needs and wants, and is s/he capable and willing to be in control of belongings, potty issues, and sharing resources? Does the student ask for help?

~ Left handed? Right handed? Ambidextrous? Knows how to cut, hold a pencil or crayon, and move objects and materials from hand to hand smoothly?

~ How does the child move? Running? Jumping? Climbing? Walking, skipping? Does s/he have good balance?

~ Does the student appear well nourished, clean, wearing clothes that fit? Does s/he appear well rested? Is the child lethargic, or a bundle of excess energy?

~ Does the child like to complete one task before moving on to another, or does s/he flit and float, moving between activities and projects, dabbling a little bit here, a little bit there?

~ Are hands and kleenexes used when the child sneezes, or are sneezes wide open and shared with the classroom? Does the child still put objects like toys, pencils, crayons, rulers, scissors in his/her mouth?

~ I also listen to our guests, what I call “professional eavesdropping.” Do my students shout out “Hey, we have that book at our house!” Do they question what paint or clay is? I can learn a lot about my future students’ prior schema just by listening in on their stories and interactions while they’re in my room.

Colleagues at each of the schools I’ve worked have asked me if I can tell with just one visit which students have had prior exposure to a school-type setting or structured learning environment, if I can tell which students have been read to nightly at home, which students have experienced hands-on learning, which students have made mudpies with real dirt and water and which have only made them by drawing or painting them with a computer program.

Yep. I can. While I hope that Kindergarten Roundup leaves each preschooler with a good feeling and anticipation about the upcoming kindergarten experience, it gives *me* my own sneak peek, providing me with vital information that I feel better about having long before the DIBELS test booklets arrive in the building in the fall. Recognizing and appreciating the wondrous diversity, strengths, needs, and potential that each new class represents makes essential relationship-building happen more smoothly and naturally for our youngest learners.

Welcome to kindergarten! Bienvenido!