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Why I’m Starting a School: The Personal Answer

I get asked frequently why I’m helping to start a school. I have three different answers to the question, depending on the audience.  All are true, and I’m not sure they’re contradictory. I gave the first answer, the particular one about why Harvest Collegiate High School now, in a post last month. The second answer is more personal.

I hated high school. Like many adolescents, I thought I knew better than my teachers and the school. To take one example of my frequent critiques, as a senior I wrote an op-ed in the school newspaper, of which I was the editor-in-chief, criticizing the staff of the school for being distant from their students, only focusing on their content and not the human beings in front of them.

I made the radical suggestion that teachers who so choose should be able to go by their first name to signal to students that they were interested in a two-way relationship rather than to simply deliver information to them. My then-English teacher, in whom to this day I find a model of how not to teach, wrote a letter to the editor calling my views “naïve and didactic.” (In hindsight, she might have been right on the latter point.)

Two years later, I took a philosophy of education course during my sophomore year at Brown University. There, we read Ted Sizer’s “Horace’s Compromise,” in which Sizer argued that American high schools and their students had entered into a tacit agreement to let students get away with not thinking as long as they behaved. Reading about the composite Franklin High School and its English teacher Horace felt familiar. For me, Franklin was my high school, and Horace my favorite teacher there (it would turn out that teacher was a huge fan of Sizer’s work, and tried, but failed, to bring it to my high school because it was blocked by my hated senior English teacher). Sizer captured everything that I saw wrong, and more. And he imagined something better, which his Coalition of Essential Schools helped to bring into fruition in many cases.

Here I was, a 20-year-old smartass who finds that not only were my views potentially not naïve and didactic, but that the dean of the Harvard Graduate School of Education agreed with him and had a solution. I was in.

And luckily for me, I happened to be at the university where Sizer did his initial work and could walk into the teaching program he helped create to work with his hand-picked successor, the man who co-founded The Parker School with him. I left Brown ready to be an apostle for the coalition, also envisioning a Coalition of Essential Teachers for those, like me, who would not be in Coalition Schools. I saw myself teaching for 10 years before starting a school of mine.

A lot has changed in the 10 years since I first read Sizer’s work. I no longer want to be a principal; I love teaching too much and am much better at it. From my time at Bronx Lab School, I know just how hard it is to build and maintain a new school, and I know political, economic, and geographical conditions likely matter more to success than the school’s mission and vision. When I left Bronx Lab a year ago, I swore I would not be part of opening or growing a school again.

Then in October I found out that the Academy for Young Writers, my new school, was moving too far from me, and in January a friend introduced me to someone who was opening a new Coalition for Essential Schools school in New York City. There I could be a partner in its planning and development and then support the teaching there. I have to be honest, it was not a hard decision to be a part of it.

At Harvest, so many of my selves get the opportunity for fulfillment. The 18-year-old me gets to prove his English teacher wrong; the 20-year-old me gets to be a Sizer apostle; the 22-year-old me gets to focus on teaching. The teacher gets to create the environment in which he teaches. The school designer gets to apply the lessons he learned from Bronx Lab. The professional developer gets to support teaching and learning. The advocate gets a platform to show, among other things, how a school that focuses on essential skills and understandings better serves all students than test prep factories. The writer will have plenty to share. I, all of us, get the biggest challenge of my life.

  • Juggleandhope

    So your chosen life’s work resulted from the collision of your own experience with a powerful “another world is possible” narrative?  

    This makes me think of the idea that what we do with or lives can be determined by the focuses of “emotional energy” (pro and con particular issues) around us.  And then I think about where the emotional energy of our schools point – or whether there’s even enough to point anyone anywhere.  

    Have you contacted your senior English teacher with a press clipping or two?

    Your final paragraph reminded me of this poem from Billy Collins that I just read;
                                                “The Night House” 
     Every day the body works in the fields of the worldmending a stone wallor swinging a sickle through the tall grass –the grass of civics, the grass of money –and every night the body curls around itselfand listens for the soft bells of sleep. But the heart is restless and risesfrom the body in the middle of the night,and leaves the trapezoidal bedroomwith its thick, pictureless wallsto sit by herself at the kitchen tableand heat some milk in a pan. And the mind gets up too, puts on a robeand goes downstairs, lights a cigarette,and opens a book on engineering.Even the conscience awakensand roams from room to room in the dark,darting away from every mirror like a strange fish. And the soul is up on the roofin her nightdress, straddling the ridge,singing a song about the wildness of the seauntil the first rip of pink appears in the sky.Then, they all will return to the sleeping bodythe way a flock of birds settles back into a tree, resuming their daily colloquy,talking to each other or themselveseven through the heat of the long afternoons.Which is why the body — that house of voices –sometimes puts down its metal tongs, its needle, or its pento stare into the distance, to listen to all its names being calledbefore bending again to its labor.
     
    ~ Billy Collins ~
     
    (Sailing Around the Room)”

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