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A grievous, and yet uplifting, thing has happened this week. I have been carrying it close to my heart all week, and today realized that it illustrates a point about what really matters in public education, so I thought I would share it.
The background: Back in the early 80s, I was an instructional aide at a local elementary school, a part-time college student, and a full time mom to two young children. The district I worked for piloted a new program, in a new school, and I put my oldest son in that school. He started as a 2nd grader.
It was a K-8 school, and he was in the first class of 8th graders to "graduate." By that time, I'd been working as a library tech in that school for several years, still a part-time college student. I knew every student by name, and many of the 8th grade class were friends of my son. Some of their parents were colleagues. We were a very close knit community.
The original program this school began with was by this time defunct. Like most new programs, it blazed through and burned out with little notice. What happened, though, in this little school, was the building of community. A structure that allowed for each staff member to build a longer-term, closer relationship with each student. When that first 8th grade class graduated, we gathered with tears and joy to celebrate and send them out into the future.
As the years went by, and the standards and accountability movement moved in, the school was restructured several times, with staff transferred around the district until the school was gradually "standardized." We all moved on, I gained my teaching credential, and kids grew up.
I stayed close to many of my colleagues; we worked together at other schools, and never lost the commitment to school community that we had learned at that early school.
I kept up with many from that first graduating class; they were my son's friends. When my son moved out on his own for the first time, they were his roommates, sharing rent to make independence affordable.
My son is 30 years old now, and none of us live in that community any longer. I'm a thousand miles away, and he lives about 5 hours away by car. He went back to watch the super bowl this year with his old roommates, and a bunch of that same 8th grade class that still live in the area.
On Monday, one of the roommates died. He was discovered by another roommate, who immediately called my son after calling paramedics and the parents, and my son immediately called me. At work. Shocked and grieving, I blasted off an email to one of the original teachers of that group, who immediately contacted every single one of the teachers who had taught this young man who was still available. 4 days before the district issued official condolences, all those who had worked together at that school back in the 80s had gathered together to mourn and support the family.
Today is his memorial service. I can't be there; there is no budget for a 2000 mile round trip this weekend. I spoke to my son again this morning, who said that he had gathered "almost everyone," with the exception of one old classmate he couldn't find, and that they are all there. They will all be there today, to remember this young man: his K-8 classmates, teachers, school secretaries, librarians...they are all there together.
20 years after the students left the school, and the school staff was redistributed by the district, they did not hesitate to come together for one of their own.
This is what makes a school powerful, and effective. Not programs. Not methodology. Not standards. Not test scores. Not authoritarian regimes.
Relationships. Community building. That's what results in positive outcomes for all who spend their time learning together.
I'm grieving today for a wonderful young man. I'm also celebrating the community gathering to remember him, to support and love his family, to affirm what I've known for all these years about why I'm a teacher, and what my vision of a good school, and a good education, consists of.
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