Bumper crop

When I was a kid, I knew that a bumper crop meant the harvest had been unusually bountiful. I doubt, though, that many of my students are familiar with the term. I don’t know if that’s because the word has passed from common use, or because “bumper crop” is just one casualty in “transformed” education’s campaign against content.

Every year the bumper crop of breathtaking achievements in the education world exceeds the number of Emperor Awards we can present. Here’s a sampler of the surplus nonsense that students and teachers have been wading through in recent years.

Reformers have been railing against teaching “facts” since the 1970s, which is about the same time people began complaining about declining student achievement. That hasn’t discouraged content critics like New York City’s public schools chancellor. She announced her disdain for “facts” as something you learn “maybe to take tests.” In place of content, she contends that students should “learn thinking to get on in life.” Her position ignores the commonsense reality that students need to learn both. You can’t think without something to think about.

The best part about some new bad ideas is their proponents don’t know they’re really old bad ideas. In a resuscitation of the 1970s-era campaign against red ink, reformers are endorsing “less punitive” green ink. Students are then expected to respond to their teacher’s comments in purple. First, I use red ink because it’s easy to see. Second, students can reply to red comments as easily as green comments. Third, no color has magic powers to improve students’ writing or “force them to read the teacher’s comments.”

When schools aren’t choosing color schemes, they’re busy ducking potshots and backpedaling in the face of complaints. When “postgame confrontations” turned traditional team handshakes into melees, Kentucky school athletic officials cautioned against “organized postgame handshake lines.” When critics expressed outrage at what they perceived as a handshake ban, officials issued a “clarification” that handshakes could continue if they were “properly supervised.” When that “directive” raised further hackles, officials reclarified that their first statement wasn’t a “rule” or a “policy, but was more than a recommendation or suggestion,” which is why they’d called it a “directive.” Meanwhile, a state legislator sponsored a bill limiting officials’ authority over “postgame rituals.” Of course, nobody’s talking about limiting school officials’ liability when things go wrong.

Some complaints wind up in court. The parents of a diabetic student sued when school officials declined to heat his lunch. Don’t misunderstand. The school was already monitoring his blood glucose and providing diabetic-friendly hot lunch “menu options.” He just didn’t like the school’s cooking, so like many students, he brought lunch from home. That’s what he wanted the kitchen to individually heat. Bearing in mind what would happen to the cafeteria line if every student who didn’t like hot lunch demanded their individual, home-prepared lunches heated, school officials responded that he could eat the school’s hot lunch or bring his own cold lunch like everybody else. The court agreed with the school that since “diabetics do not need to eat hot food in order to manage their diabetes,” simply “dislik[ing] the food on the school menu” didn’t entitle him to a “further accommodation” beyond what the school was already doing for him.

Schools commonly don’t fare as well in court. One student’s parents “unilaterally” enrolled her in an outof-state private residential facility, which they felt suited her “learning disabilities” and “emotional and behavioral difficulties.” Her school district argued that the district wasn’t responsible for the $9800 monthly cost since much of it covered medical services. The court, however, ruled that since she needed the medical services in order to benefit from the educational services, the school had to pay the whole bill. By the same reasoning, schools should have to pay for students’ antibiotics since if they stay sick, they can’t attend school.

In short, the school district picked up the $100,000 annual tab. Society may bear some responsibility to pay for a child’s medical care, but that doesn’t make medical care an educational expense. Remember this case the next time you’re inclined to complain about your school’s budget.

Finally, while some districts are banning everything from tag to balls at recess on the grounds that they’re too “dangerous,” other experts are touting the “importance of aggressive play.” Proponents of “roughhousing” claim it meets “vital emotional and physical needs” and helps “children grow up calmer, healthier, and better coordinated.” As usual common sense lies somewhere in the middle. Also as usual if anybody gets hurt at recess, somebody will complain and the school will be held responsible. If school officials act to ensure students’ safety, somebody will complain that officials are being too strict and repressive.

Naturally, there’s more to roughhousing than you might think. One study found that “how well and how much children engaged in roughhousing predicted their first-grade achievement better than kindergarten test scores.” That’s somewhat distressing, given that assessment costs are exorbitant and roughhousing is free.

Somehow no one has yet suggested cancelling this year’s tests.

Still, think how much money schools could save if instead of weeks of online standardized testing, each class simply locked arms periodically in a rugby scrum. Of course, that kind of assessment would only work at schools that allow balls on the playground.

Welcome to the world of public education.

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When schools aren’t choosing color schemes, they’re busy ducking potshots and backpedaling in the face of complaints.