Tag Archives: Jen Reinharz

College & Career Readiness: The Fancy People vs. The Leaf Pile

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The table of contents of the Common Core Learning Standards has the words “College and Career Readiness” written so often that it’s no wonder the public tone surrounding this latest round of educational reform is one of anxiety, concern, and contempt.

From the father of a five-year old who supports the Common Core’s goal to make students competitive in a global environment and believes educators only started questioning tests when they became tied to job performance to the well meaning mommies who vent through social media about their child’s school experience as well as the image conscious, high performing school district superintendent who misrepresents that his administration only had four months to prepare for these changes, communities are wrapped up in the notion that the Common Core is the primary determinant of a child’s success.

Now, in theory, I agree with the idea of a common educational standard.  As a former commercial banker turned fourth grade teacher turned nursery school teacher and mother of elementary as well as preschool aged children, I welcome the idea of an educator generated, developmentally appropriate uniform set of learning standards that applies to all students regardless of the state in which they live.  So at the very least, if a child moved, he could enter a new classroom on par with his classmates.

Unfortunately, we’re not quite there.  After reading the documents and listening to teachers who are active in the classroom, it’s clear that, like in the past, the majority of requirements are still developmentally inappropriate.  Plus I’m hard pressed to believe that they are truly teacher generated.  Furthermore, the related tests are unnecessarily hard, even when compared with the tests created in conjunction with No Child Left Behind, which were rigorous in our state and also, by the way, questioned by teachers at the time.

But it will be ok.  I promise.  Veteran educators will tell you that there have always been evolving standards, requirements, pedagogy, and new ways to assess teacher performance.  In the twelve years that I’ve been in education, all or part of our state’s standards and the related tests has already changed three times.

Strong teachers with thoughtful and consistent administrations who put children first will carefully plan and adapt their curriculum as necessary to accommodate change and continue to work tirelessly to give students what they need regardless of how these changes may affect their jobs.  Furthermore, professionals dedicated to educating children will communicate to them that The Fancy People tests, as my former students and I affectionately called them, are a snapshot in time; a moment that does not define who they are, determine whether or not they go to college, or have any bearing on their level of success as adults.  Most importantly, these people will continue to encourage children instead to get wrapped up in simple school global readiness tasks like building a leaf pile.  Let me explain.

Earlier this month, Bubbe our socially sensitive, creatively thoughtful, and independent minded child enthusiastically chatted me up on the walk home from school about such an endeavor.  What started as a solo project soon turned into an effort of about thirteen kids strong.  First, a girl, he didn’t know impressively initiated a conversation and asked to play.  As their leaf pile grew, it caught the attention of another classmate who is known to be an interrupter of sorts with a thin verbal filter.  Then a third friend joined; a sweet, atypically developing child who had confidently constructed with Bubbe in the past.  The kids were having fun when a conflict ensued.

“What a stupid pile!” a boy yelled, jumping into the leaves without asking.

“Hey!  That’s not nice,” the group said.  “The pile’s not done.  And you have to ask first.”

“Oh.  I’m sorry,” he said.  “Can I help too?”

The group quickly forgave him.  “Sure you can.”

When the pile jumping got old, the Interrupter came up with an idea.  “Let’s make a leaf water slide!” he said.  Together, the group transferred the leaves to the playground slide.  They first tested the leaves alone; then the kids took turns sliding with them and into a pile at the bottom.  Recognizing the fun, a bunch of football and soccer players stopped their game and joined in.

What did Bubbe’s teacher and the recess aides do?  They watched knowingly and lovingly.  And as they blew the whistle to line up, the gaggle had one final leaf fight, threw the leaves in the air and yelled, “It’s Fall time!”

As far as I’m concerned, that experience prepared those children for college and careers in a global, competitive environment better than all the Fancy People standards and tests combined.  Twenty minutes of leaf play taught them to lead, initiate, share, imagine, invent, create, communicate, collaborate, take risks, play a part, make mistakes, forgive, be forgiven, and get along with different kinds of people.

Think about it.  Aren’t these the most useful and lasting determinants for success?  Aren’t these the skills we adults look for when hiring someone?  And aren’t these the traits we want in a classmate and coworker? 

So to the school official who feels pressured, the father who is hell bent on preparing his five-year old for our competitive world, and the worried mommies, please remember that stress breeds stress.  Tests and standards will become a distant memory.  Playing in the leaves with friends at recess will not.

But The Fancy People are at it again.  So what do you do?

First, read the Common Core Standards, at least for your child’s grade level, understand who crafted them, and learn more about the current College Board President’s role.

Two, advocate: positively, proactively, and collectively.  Sit down with your principal, superintendent, curriculum coordinator, and Board of Education representatives.  Find out their long term education plan, ask about curriculum adaptations, adoptions and timing, understand their philosophy about teaching children, and while you’re at it, inquire about how the current reform relates to funding sources and state mandates.

And finally, do the most essential thing we can do to prepare our children for the real world; get wrapped up with them…in the leaves.

Common Core Standards

Education Advocacy and Reform

Local Efforts

Discomfort

Discomfort

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GRAND PRIZE WINNER: BUILD CREATIVE WRITING IDEAS’ 2014 1,000 PROMPTS, 1,000 DOLLARS WRITING CONTEST

Discomfort is good. At least that’s what I told myself before stepping into my first CrossFit onramp.

After a year of prodding by a neighbor, feeling the need to get fit before forty, and a whole lot of self talk, I mustered up my courage and scheduled an appointment with the owner of our local affiliate. The CrossFit sounded like my kind of workout; stripped down, personalized, guided and quick.

Then one chilly Thursday in March, I found myself in a yellow, industrial, concrete shell nestled behind an auto glass manufacturer and a door I wasn’t strong enough to open, with no heat, enjoying the odor from the neighboring sanitation department, surrounded by chalky poles, stacked weights, and clammy rubber desperately trying to hold a push up position.

An insightful, seemingly sensitive but stern coach who was guiding me through the session reached for AbMats to support the wide gap between the floor and my chest.

“She doesn’t need AbMats!” boomed the owner and head trainer.

“He seems to think I’m strong enough,” I thought. “Maybe this guy knows something I don’t.”

One push up. Not bad.

Two, eh.

Three. Not happening.

“Can I do them on my knees?” I asked the sensitive sergeant.

Before she could answer, the owner’s voice flew over my shoulder, reverberated off the concrete, and knocked me in the jaw. “This ain’t no New York Sports Club fairy princess class! No. You cannot do pushups on your knees.”

“Who does this guy glued to that swirly chair think he is; the burning bush?” Scared straight and getting the sense that he knew what he was doing, I kept my mouth shut and went back to work, AbMatless.

When my onramp was over, Sensitive Sergeant said, “You are a strong person. The only one getting in your way is you.”

The Burning Bush stood up, smiled earnestly, gave me a high five and said, “Excellent job for your first time.”

Their disciples, who cheered me on during the timed portion of my workout, came over and did the same. And when I hobbled out, my body feeling like a dented can of preserves, a golden goddess of a woman smiled and said, “No matter what, just keep coming.”

I heeded the advice, knowing discomfort was coming my way, but not realizing I was about to get more than I bargained for.

You see, as a teenager, I was the big boned girl who couldn’t climb the rope in gym, the non risk taking solid citizen who longed for validation, and the secretly shy, moderately social, but most certainly insecure person who soldiered through life alone, never getting too tight with anyone, especially a group of girlfriends. CrossFit resurfaced, challenged and then chipped away at each of those lingering childhood discomforts.

In CrossFit, egos are checked at door. Because the only way to get fit, fast, and strong in a place like this is to take risks, be vulnerable, put yourself out there, make mistakes, and trust your coaches and classmates. And for someone like me, that was slightly unsettling. But I did it anyway, and I started to get better.

Success is magical. Whether it’s running 400 meters without stopping, throwing a weight over your head, doing a pull up, getting a handstand, jumping rope like Rocky, or beating a personal best, it feels like you did as a kid learning to ride without training wheels or whistle for the first time. The emotion is pure, unbridled elation especially if you never imagined you’d be able to do it.

Gaining ground, being pushed to my physical and mental edge, and kindling that inner flame time and time again convinced me that I wasn’t as limited as I thought and encouraged me to draw on my strength consistently in and outside the gym. I got out of my own way; and eventually, climbed that rope.

However, the CrossFit picture isn’t always pretty. Things can and do get raw. But anytime I hit a wall, needed guidance, lost a skill, or had a bad day The Burning Bush, Sensitive Sergeant, and my fellow disciples had my back. For that designated hour, our job was to work together, help each other, cultivate community, and have good fun. In this place, you can’t help but feel validated and confident.

Sometimes, amid the blood and burpees, you also make a good friend. Mine was Sparta. She and I started CrossFit that same Spring. Because we had a similar schedule and were of similar ability level, we quickly became training partners. After a year of laughing, lunging, chatting and cleaning she asked me to join her team of lady friends for an upcoming mud run. She thought nothing of the gesture. It was a natural extension of our new friendship.

As the girl who always wished to be tight with a group of women, but usually found herself on the peripheral, Sparta’s thoughtfulness meant the world to me. A couple of mud runs with these ladies have come and gone since her invitation, and now it’s understood that whenever there’s an event; we’re a team.

And so I declare to you from the Plylo Box on which I jump; discomfort is in fact, good. Discomfort opens doors. It helps you grow. CrossFit just happened to be my cherry Kool-Aid.

Whatever your discomfort is

Tap into it, and find your flavor.

Then chalk up those hands,

Crank up the Katy Perry,

And get on it.

3, 2, 1…

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