You have to care …

Today was my students’ final exam in physics. With the exception of two absentees, all my kids were in the same room, working diligently away at their responses, while I walked the aisles doing the invigilating-teacher thing.

Maybe it’s the season, but it hit me that I really care about these kids. I want them to do well on the test. Like a parent looking in on his sleeping children, I had the chance to watch my students in a rare quiet moment, without the added responsibility to lead the class and keep them alert.

Some of my students are brilliant, and given a few additional years of coursework, could probably teach me something about physics. Others have a really tough time with the subject. And there are a few who are just plain incorrigible, who with the right attitude, could probably run rings around the rest of us.

I care for all of them, and this feeling is what sets really good teachers apart from those teachers who just show up to collect a paycheck. If I ever start to not care about my kids on an academic (or a personal) level, it will be time to find another line of work. Without some emotional connection between teacher and students, I doubt any real learning can take place.

Schools should be like close-knit neighborhoods. They should be small enough for teachers and students to develop some sense of what makes the other “tick.” Fortunately, I have spent the last 20-odd years teaching in such an environment. My total class load is only a little larger than that of a typical elementary school teacher’s, so I have had the luxury of seeing my students as more than a name or number in a roll book. I get to see the person behind the academic performance.

I have participated in several online discussions about teachers’ pay levels and about educational policy in general. Too often, it seems that those who deny raising teacher pay would be beneficial or who attempt to quantify student (and teaching) performance with fill-in-the-bubble tests entirely ignore the emotional aspects of teachers and learners spend so much time together. To these critics, teaching kids is like assembling cars or working a desk job; from that perspective, teachers’ pay is adequate once you adjust for actual days on the job. To them, teaching is just a numbers game; the end product (test scores) is more important than fostering any love of learning or respect for the subject.

Caring for one’s students as individuals is not, unfortunately, quantifiable. Students (and some observant parents) can sense when a teacher cares for his or her students, but that sense is hard to communicate to administrators and policy makers. There is no reliable test that can measure whether a teacher can establish or maintain such a caring attitude. It’s an emotional response that can only be acquired through experience. In other words, a teacher can have all the creds in the world, but if he or she is a cold fish in class, that person cannot be really effective as a teacher. Emotional bonds (as long as they don’t get too intimate!) are a necessary aspect of effective teaching.

I met The Champ today …

but I wish I had done it earlier, when Muhammad was able to talk better.

So here is how the fateful meeting came about. One of our school’s alums is a veep at the Muhammad Ali Center, right here in Louisville, Kentucky, and he gave our head the news that The Champ was going to be at the Center for photo shoots around noon. Olivia, our fitness teacher and field hockey coach, told her 9th graders she would escort them there, telling them they had to ask permission of their teachers to miss class.

One of my 9th grade physics classes meets just before lunch on Fridays, so a couple of the kids asked me ahead of time if they could go. Several more asked just as class started, and, shoot, I wanted to go, too. So we all signed out to take the downtown trolley (actually, it’s a bus dressed up like a trolley) to the Ali Center.

Except I didn’t quite get out the door with the rest of the group. Besides being the physics teacher, I’m also the technology coordinator, and one of our teachers was having a serious problem with a computer that I had to coordinate — right now. So I told Olivia I would catch up with them after I fixed the computer issue.

Of course, being a Windows machine, the fix took longer than just five minutes. If I missed the chance to meet The Champ, because of some stupid login problem, I intended to quit my job as tech coordinator that very day. Rather than take the trolley, I drove so I would not compound the delay by riding the trolley.

Back when I was a youngster, I was not an admirer of Muhammad Ali. He was younger then, too, and at the height of his cocky, mouthy, self-promoting self. I just plain did not like him. To me, he was a loudmouth and a braggart.

But as I got older, I warmed up to the man. His conversion to the Nation of Islam puzzled me, since I could not relate to religious conviction at the time, but his refusal to serve in the military in 1967, during the Vietnam War, opened a doorway to the inner Ali for me. I understood that his cocky, mouthy behavior was his public persona, not the real Muhammad Ali. Obviously, there was a lot more to this boxer than boxing.

Over the succeeding 40 years, Ali showed he had a deep commitment to peace, brotherhood, Islam and youth. As he aged, Ali mellowed, letting that his natural warmth shine. My admiration for him grew. So, suffice it to say, he became one of those individuals I would most like to meet. He’s a living legend. Call off class to meet The Champ? No problem!

(By the way, while Ali is one of Louisville’s native sons, he no longer lives here. His advancing Parkinson’s syndrome makes it hard for him to travel, so any local appearances are pretty rare. It’s not like you can run into him at the local grocery.)

The St. Francis High group was fortunately still in line when I finally made it to the Center. The Center staff was running the photo shoots like an assembly line. Muhammad was sitting in an arm chair in a corner of the lobby. Individuals or groups took their places in turn beside him, had their pictures taken, then were shooed away to clear the “stage” for the next shot. When our time came, we quickly took our places surrounding his chair, spent the shortest amount of time on record arranging 16 people for a group shot, then cleared out for the next group. All told, we may have spent five minutes in his presence.

Now Ali just did not look well. He had the distant look of a patient on too much medication, or a very tired, elderly person (Ali is only 64). His face did not have the alert, slightly impish gleam I have seen in photos, even ones taken after his Parkinson’s took hold. His expression was impassive, or perhaps just very sad, that of a nearly inert man with a still-intelligent mind surrounded by bustling adults and bubbly teenagers thrilled to be anywhere near him.

Pugilistic Parkinson’s is a cruel disease. It takes away your body as well as your mind. My dad’s best friend, whom I called Uncle Barney when I was a child, contracted a similar disease, “regular” Parkinson’s, a few years before my dad died. It’s a progressive disease, and in its later stages, Barney was unable to control his arms’ movements. They would flail around uncontrollably and unpredictably, making it hazardous for his wife to help him walk around. He had trouble talking, too, and was now forever separated from his favorite hobby/profession, testing high end audio components with scientific precision.

So I imagined that perhaps Muhammad has the same problem with his arms, an ex-boxer’s arms, and was so doped up that he maybe was only there with us in spirit. Nevertheless, as we left the photo stage, I told him, “Thanks, Champ!”

And he moved his right arm a bit, as if to wave, and he moved his head just a tad in my direction, as if to say, “You’re welcome.” He did neither, but brother, it was close enough for me. I can tell my grandchildren that I talked to The Greatest, and he — as much he was able — talked back. It was the chance of a lifetime, and I managed not to blow it.

T minus 2 days and counting …

School here starts Wednesday, so I am in the midst of preparing for that very important first day of class. This year, for the first time, we will be teaching physics in the 9th grade as part of our new sequence of science courses (phys-chem-bio), so not only do I have to worry about the first day of school, but also the first day of high school science for a bunch of impressionable freshmen. I don’t want to blow it, in other words.

So, my presence here will be limited this week. I will pop in (as I hope you will) to the now-lengthy discussion about “gravity deniers” here. We are getting into the real nitty-gritty of physics — and science in general — so take a look and comment if you have something to say.

Wish me luck!

Nevada teen says she agreed to edited speech, but regretted it later

Brittany McComb, the Henderson, Nevada, valedictorian whose graduation address was censored by school officials, told the Los Angeles Times that she agreed to school officials’ editing of her speech only because she felt intimidated by them.

She and her parents attempted to forestall the editing out of McComb’s religious references, but could not contact lawyers to seek a solution, she said. Her parents were out of town, so she gave in when a school official insisted that she not deviate from the edited speech.

Instead, McComb gave her original address, resulting in school officials pulling the plug on her microphone in the middle of the valedictory. She has since filed a discrimination suit in federal districty court, alleging her rights of free speech and equal protection under the law were infringed, and asking for $1 in damages.

The conservative legal organization, the Rutherford Institute, is representing McComb in her suit.

In her interview with LA Times reporter Richard Abowitz, McComb comes off as an idealistic young woman who wanted to resist what she saw as censorship of her valedictory, but who lacked the resolve to stand up to school officials on her own.

Yes. The actual situation was that the my assistant principal confronted me in the hallway and demanded to know what I was going to do. My parents were out of town. We still had not contacted the lawyer. Everything was chaotic, and I was like “What am I going to do?” I had no idea. So I had to say something and I was at my wits end. I was very intimidated. So I kind-of said, “yes” and I regret it. I wish I had stood up right then for myself.

She told Abowitz that she and her parents’ attempts to contact the school district’s attorney were repeatedly rebuffed. In the end, she chose to give her address as she had planned, since she felt God’s and Jesus’ roles in her life were very important to her.

School officials, who were advised by an ACLU lawyer that the speech was too religious in tone, edited out most of McComb’s references to God and Jesus’ suffering.

Abowitz solicited questions from readers of his blog, and asked some of their questions along with his own during the 15-minute phone interview with McComb and her Rutherford Institute attorney. His blog has the transcript.

Nevada teen sues school officials

With the conservative Rutherford Institute representing her, high school valedictorian Brittany McComb (at right) has filed suit in federal court alleging that school officials infringed on her First Amendment and Fourteenth Amendment rights.

Foothill High School (Henderson, Nev.) officials edited McComb’s valedictory before the June 15 graduation ceremony to eliminate what they judged to be overly religious references. McComb delivered her original speech instead, and school officials disconnected her mike just as she launched into a discussion how God and the suffering of Jesus on the cross had given meaning and focus to her life.

School officials said they were acting on the advice of the Nevada American Civil Liberties Union, and were trying to avoid running afoul of the Constitution’s Establishment Clause.

In her suit, filed in US District Court in Nevada, McComb names the principal, assistant principal and the school employee who allegedly pulled the plug. The suit claims her rights of free expression and equal protection under the law were violated when the mike was cut off.

The suit asks that the court declare that the officials infringed on those rights. (Details here.)

Don’t say I didn’t tell you a lawsuit would happen.