The Good Old Days of Teaching

In a career spanning more than 25 years and a lifetime (at least since the age of five) spent studying and/or working in colleges and schools, I find much on which to reflect when comparing school today to school in the 1970s, '80s, '90s, and even early 2000's (prior to No Child Left Behind).

Though not sentimental for "how school was" when I was growing up, recent "reforms" seem to have removed much of progress we had made through educational research.

So, to me, "the good old days" were not days of yore, when I was young.  They were the days somewhere between then and now, days prior to corporate America's attempted (and still progressing) takeover of our public schools because they see an opportunity for profit... and line the coffers of politicians' re-election campaigns.

The Good Old Days, to me, were when the welfare and learning of the whole child were valued over any test score.  Days when students could overcome a "bad test" or even a few "bad years" and still expect to go to college, earn scholarships, and become productive citizens. 

The Good Old Days of Teaching

Sometimes I remember

the good old days

of teaching

Days when educators

trusted

as specialists, 

best practices were 

research-based,

promoted teaching excellence,

developmentally appropriate,

geared for students'

powerful learning success

valued

more than test scores.

Days when students

thrived

as learners

student-centered
constructivist workshops

promoted real reading, 

real writing, and real science

geared for children's

experiential learning, efficacy

valued 

more than test scores.

Days when teachers and students

celebrated

as scholars

many forms of expression

promoted deep engagement

minute-by-minute, 

authentic, holistic opportunities

geared for young people's

interest, concerns, questions

valued

more than test scores.

I still can't imagine

anything better than that. 

Based on Ralph Fletcher's poem:

The Good Old Days

Sometimes I remember

the good old days.

Riding bikes on summer vacation with Dad, 

wondering if my legs would ever be as strong as his. 

Pedaling fast to feel the fresh White Mountains breeze on my face

and slow to hear Dad's directions and careful warnings. 

Feeling my legs burn with fatigue, 

but pressing on to make Dad proud. 

Stopping to savor a thick chocolate milkshake, 

from our special father/daughter ice cream stand. 

I still can't imagine

anything better than that.