Chased to the Top

What Happens When We Limit the Learning Process

Laura Pappano

One problem with being an education journalist and a parent is that my three children attend school. It is difficult not to bring your work home (or home to work).

After I visited a science-based pilot school in Boston's Mission Hill neighborhood where 1st graders worked with sticks and soil, making observations—and then art projects a la Andy Goldsworthy, who works with natural materials—I couldn't help myself. I not only bought a Goldsworthy book, but I also insisted we collect leaves and rocks and do our own.

The project (art-making is not a family strong suit) was a mess. But the conversation we had, about the nature of creation and decay and where along that continuum the art becomes "art" and not just part of nature that had been altered, went on for days. The exercise was a reminder that although content matters, deep learning happens when you see and think in new ways.

And yet, in parenting and in schooling, we are in a "Tiger Mom moment" that can be as narrow and crippling as it is compelling. I understand that we are worried about falling behind China, that we are determined to close our achievement gap, and that the best way we can think of to do that is to drill; cover material; and practice, practice, practice. As a parent and an education journalist, however, I am conflicted. Results matter, but when we come to define success in terms of test outcomes—and believe me, I look at school test results and judge performance this way—I worry that we're missing something more essential: learning to think.

This skill strikes me as so critical that I have made sure, as many parents do, that my children and I spend time learning on our own. I don't for a moment believe that our casual home studies of civil rights, women's suffrage, the Italian Renaissance, Chaucer, Frost, literary analysis of fairy tales, modern art, or Cole Porter have given my brood any leg up in content knowledge. They have all, however, learned to be in charge of their own learning.

They know how to pursue curiosity, to imagine, to wonder, to put ideas together, and to take a position and defend it. And—best of all—I'm no longer in charge. My daughters (10th grade and freshman in college) are driven learners, leaders, and independent thinkers. My son, in 5th grade, has started more "businesses" than I can keep up with. I am regularly e-mailed contracts to sign, have unwittingly given up authority over several rooms to a foreign power (I work in the "Colony of Kenshire"), have watched the basement become a science lab with live bacteria (thank the Internet for the homemade auger recipe), and am the happy subscriber to a free stock-picking service.

This strikes me as what education is (and no, I never stood over them for hours insisting they perfectly recite the opening lines of The Canterbury Tales). There is plenty they don't know, but they are able to learn. And—more critically—they know they can learn. Even if something seems impenetrable or confusing at first, they believe that if they work at it, they will conquer it. This sort of educational resilience comes not from rote repetition (or my insistence) but from strong habits of mind. Having the skills and the confidence to stick with it matters—a lot.

Last year when I was reporting for my book, Inside School Turnarounds, I interviewed a teacher who embodied this persistence. Mark Oakman, a chemistry teacher at High School, Inc. in Hartford, Conn., appreciated the demanding standard set by his principal, Terrell Hill, even though he recognized that success may not be instant—or even quick. Oakman, a Vietnam veteran who flunked out of college only to end up with two master's degrees from Duke, pointed out that when reaching for a goal, "If you don't get there, it doesn't mean you are a failure, it doesn't mean you are below average; it means you have work to do to get to that standard."

In other words, while we are racing to the top and turning around schools as quickly as they'll go, we should recognize that it's more important to do the work—the real work—than to just fill in answer sheet bubbles in hopes of reaching the bar. So when my parent self goes out to report in schools, I wonder: What do we really want the children in our schools to be able to do? Is it enough to score "proficient" on a state test? Is that worthy work? Or will "Tiger School" culture overshadow goals like spurring future innovators and involved citizens?

Competition does matter and students must work hard. I take for granted that my kids will memorize things like times tables and Latin verb tenses. But if a top score is all they or our nation's students ever accomplish, I'll be so disappointed that I may just go burn my own teddy bear.

Laura Pappano is an award-winning journalist and author of several books, including Inside School Turnarounds (2010). Her blog, Fair Game News, discusses gender equity in sports and the political, social, and economic issues at play. Read her recent commentary on school turnarounds: "To Improve Schools, Stop Treating Them Like Businesses" (Christian Science Monitor) and "In School Turnarounds, the Human Element is Crucial" (Education Week).

ASCD Express, Vol. 6, No. 12. Copyright 2011 by ASCD. All rights reserved. Visit www.ascd.org/ascdexpress.