The theme for the ASCD Annual Conference in Orlando, Fla., is “Voices of Education: Unleashing the Power, Passion, and Promise.” It calls upon educators to use their power to challenge, tap their passion to lead, and fulfill a promise to succeed. This column addresses the third strand: the promise to succeed.
The idea of leaving no child behind is a great goal. It's a promise to succeed, to make a difference for each child. Although the U.S. government dictate encompasses some heavy baggage that we probably don't need to take on the journey, the idea itself is excellent. The actual accomplishment, though, is difficult.
In my own school district, Millard Public Schools in Omaha, Neb., board of education members had already set the same goal for us, but their process focused on working toward success rather than identifying failure. All students must succeed on assessments of essential learning outcomes in reading, writing, math, science, and social studies, beginning in 1st grade and continuing through 11th grade. School representatives have the responsibility to plan for the student's success. An individual learning plan is developed for any student who does not meet the required score on assessments. As of 2004, high school graduation depends on demonstrating success in completing credits and meeting performance criteria. In essence, school and district representatives promise that they will help the students succeed.
So what happens when a senior doesn't succeed? Daniel Williams (not his real name) is an example. Daniel came to the Millard schools in his junior year. School officials understood immediately that this student had missed the opportunity to learn the district curriculum. In addition, learning problems and personal issues compounded the difficulties brought on by the recent move, making graduation seem unrealistic. Daniel's administrator wrote an emotional note about the student's struggles: “Daniel failed the math test again. . . . It just breaks my heart. He is really trying.”
Daniel's initial efforts to pass the assessment were unsuccessful, but they were followed by periods of intense teaching and individual attention. He was enrolled in a class that focused on mastering the major concepts required for success on the assessment he hadn't passed. I talked with Daniel in the midst of his struggle and asked him how he felt about the experience. He acknowledged that the process had made him work harder and that the support and focus of teachers had increased his learning. Daniel's persistence and that of educators who cared about him paid off. He graduated with his class.
Washington Irving said,
Nothing in the world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. Great minds have purposes; little minds have wishes.
The promise to succeed can't merely be a well-meaning wish. It must be a promise, with all the solemnity that the word implies.
In the 1999 ASCD anthology A Passion for Teaching, teacher Kristie C. Wolferman argues that each student is worthy of an individual promise to succeed. In her essay, she describes an incident in which her principal asked each teacher to hand in a list of five students with special needs. As Kristie worked on the task, she identified students who had difficulty learning as well as students who learned easily but didn't fit in well with their classmates. In the end, she identified the special needs of each of her 36 students.
Convinced that she had done the task well, Kristie handed her work in to the principal, who fumed that her six-page list of students wasn't at all what he wanted. Irritated in return, Kristie responded, “Read through this list and tell me who you'd like to have me take off.” Then she stormed away. The end of her story deserves to be shared: “The next day there was a memo in my box, in fact, in all the teachers' boxes, from the principal: ‘Forget about that “Special Needs” list I asked you to make. I have just been reminded that all of our students have special needs.’”
When we become educators, we probably should make a promise to succeed. In 1964, Louis Lasagna, academic dean of the School of Medicine at Tufts University, penned a modern version of the Hippocratic Oath. His version included items such as this: “I will apply, for the benefit of the sick, all measures which are required, avoiding those twin traps of overtreatment and therapeutic nihilism.”
Perhaps educators should pen a Hippocratic Oath for Educators. It could include statements like these:
- I will respect the hard-won scientific gains of those educators in whose steps I walk and will gladly share my knowledge with those who are to follow.
- I will apply, for the benefit of my students, all measures that are required, avoiding those traps of overzealous competition or inappropriate testing.
- I will remember that teaching is an art as well as science, and that warmth, differentiation, and determination may outweigh prescripts of standardized assessments.
- I will not be ashamed to say “I know not,” and I will call in my colleagues when the skills of another are needed for a student's best learning.
- I will remember that I do not treat a data point, but a human student, whose learning will affect the person's family and economic stability.
Such an oath might serve as a symbol that our decision to enter education changes almost everything about our lives. We must realize that we do, in fact, touch the future. Oklahoma newspaper editor and national radio and TV commentator Frosty Troy wrote, “Our children are not our future. We are their future.” Understanding that concept, we must grasp the power we have to challenge what needs to be changed. We must exhibit the passion to lead. And, most importantly, we must keep our promise to succeed.
