Norwood T.A.’s Leila Kubesch Named 2020 Ohio Teacher of the Year
State Superintendent of Public Instruction Paolo DeMaria surprised students and staff at Norwood Middle School this week by announcing that Leila Kubesch was selected as Ohio’s 2020 teacher of the year.
Kubesch teaches Spanish and English as a second language at Norwood Middle School.
School officials also said Kubesch encourages students to participate in service learning projects to build confidence and grow their desire to learn. For example, students have worked for a local cable television station to create a talk show involving community members who discuss various topics with the students.
Kubesch and her students were awarded the Ohio Education Association Media Award for Public Service for that project. They also received a grant to expand their studio.
During the 2017-18 school year, Kubesch secured a grant for a performing arts project. They created a display, laminating their dreams and hanging them on burlap sacks, with cutouts of hands forming a border. The display stretched more than 100 feet, and a special exhibit featuring the project opened at the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center in Downtown Cincinnati. A poster by the exhibit explained how burlap was used in North Africa – as clothing, rugs and sacks.
Click here to learn more about Kubesch and the Ohio Teacher of the Year Program.
The Hook of Standardization
Guest Blog | By Matt Jablonski, Elyria EA/OEA
I have spent all but a few of my 20 years in education teaching a tested subject on which a student’s graduation is dependent. To say that this has had a negative impact on my career and the lives of my students is as obvious to me as the correlation between median income and standardized test scores.
I am an American History teacher at Elyria High School, in one of Ohio’s urban districts. When the state planned its switch to the OGT, we were proactive. What we understood, what most educators understand, is that scores on standardized tests best correlate to economic status.
In a district with high rates of economically disadvantaged students, there would likely be high rates of students unable to graduate due to the tests. In an otherwise meaningless system, seemingly designed to see us fail, it was our job to get students to pass the assessment. Under the end–of-year assessments the same is true.
While some districts may not even need to think twice about their student’s success on state assessments, many of us need to place every ounce of our effort into strategies that point directly to an end game that has little to do with student college and career readiness, nothing to do with the joy of learning, and everything to do with an arbitrary score on a standardized test.
“An educational system driven by standardized assessments has run its course.”
In the interest of success in an urban district, educators like myself have tried to stay ahead of the curve. We have adopted new standards and adapted curriculum, written common assessments and analyzed the data. We used the language of assessments even though it’s not the vernacular of our students, found source material and written questions that look and sound like a standardized test. We taught the methods of responding to short answer and extended response questions even though their usefulness was restricted to state tests, and is utterly removed from any relevant academic writing outside of this environment. Despite the natural course of student interest, we paced ourselves to cram the content into the space and time prior to the spring assessment window.
Predictably, we saw few victories, all relative to the level of poverty in a given district. And while the state of Ohio continues to insist that standardized tests are an accurate measure and the recipe for increased achievement, generations worth of data prove otherwise.
The Ohio Department of Education, in fits of madness only it understands, riddles its social media accounts with adept performances from the state superintendent celebrating students and teachers, as if we are too dimwitted to notice that they back assessment and evaluation systems designed to label us as failures.
Believe me, I remember the kids I’ve taught who didn’t pass their American History assessment. I remember their faces, the level of concern and anxiety. As teachers, we internalize these things. It is a part of sound compassionate practice. I’ve spent hundreds of hours developing and teaching remediation courses, so these students might have a shot to get the appropriate score on the second, or third, or fourth try.
The fundamental problem is, even when a student ultimately earns the required score, there is relief, but it’s not as if there is a great sense of accomplishment.
“Where is the meaning in being deemed successful in a meaningless system?”
No college or trade school is looking at the performance as a component for acceptance. No employer is interested either. The greatest predictor of college success is still Grade-Point Average, not standardized test scores.
What did we accomplish exactly?
Grinding out success in a system that expects you to fail can only carry you so far, and for teachers, there is always the next group of kids to deliver through the same awful system.
In a profession that is at its best when relationships and curiosity are nurtured, individuality and interest are paramount, and collaboration and creativity should be celebrated; all of us have been squeezed into an educational experience that celebrates standardization.
My career has been devoted to the necessary, but misguided task of trying to bring humor and joy to an education system that seems hell-bent on eliminating it, to introduce content steeped in relevance within a system that asks questions outside of any relevant context, to help students find meaning in a world where a major component of their education is utterly meaningless.
An educational system driven by standardized assessments has run its course. It is time for a change. #OverTestedOH
Matt Jablonski teaches American history teacher at Elyria High School in Lorain county.
You can follow Elyria EA on Facebook or visit their website: www.EyriaEA.ohea.us.
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An Open Letter to the Survivors of the Stoneman Douglas Shooting
One of the most painful and gut-wrenching things I have ever done is watch the video that one of you took as the police came to lead you out of your building. School shootings have always had a deep impact on me, but your video showed a classroom that looks a lot like mine. Papers on the teacher’s desk, a red pen lying on top. A projector hanging from the ceiling. A podium at the front of the room. Desks with chairs attached, the blue recycling container, a colorful poster hanging to the right of the white board. A two-drawer filing cabinet by your teacher’s desk and a 4-drawer in the corner. I always knew, of course, but your video made it abundantly clear: it could have been my classroom. It could have been my kids.
I can so clearly picture my students and me, huddled in the corner of my classroom, hiding and trying to be quiet. So, when people say this problem isn’t a “gun issue”, it makes me angry. A kid running up and down the school’s halls yelling “I’m going to kill you” is frightening, but give that same kid a gun and it is terrifying. This is most certainly a gun issue.
It makes me livid that you have grown up in a society in which planning for an active shooter in your school is as routine as a fire or tornado drill. After the tragic events in your school, I reviewed with my 8th-grade daughter our district’s plans for that situation. She knew everything and seemed annoyed that she had to review it all with me. Then she shocked me with this chilling statement: “And Mom, before you ask, yes, I know that when we are in lockdown, even if the principal announces the all-clear, we should ignore him because someone might have a gun to his head.”
We have failed your generation when that is the sort of statement an 8th-grader would not only make, but make in a matter-of-fact manner.
We have failed your generation when you feel unsafe in a school, which should be one of the most welcoming places a child knows.
We have failed your generation when you have to worry about where a classroom is in relation to the nearest exit as a decision-making factor in whether to run or to hide when shots ring out.
We have failed your generation when you have to wonder if there’s a fire when you hear the alarm or if someone with a gun is trying to lure you away from the safety of your classrooms.
We have failed your generation when you have to see a friend bleeding out on the floor of the classroom as you huddle together and try to hide from danger until the police arrive.
We have failed your generation when you have to be told to avert your eyes from a classroom as police lead you out of the school, because “there’s nothing good to see in there”.[1]
We have failed your generation when any child in any school has to wonder if the principal’s “all-clear” announcement is legitimate or being made under the duress of a gun held to his head.
We have failed your generation when instead of worrying about your ACT score and your plans for after graduation, you have to organize a march and make time to talk with news reporters and legislators.
Mostly, we have failed your generation when elected people don’t consider you a priority. You took your grief and anger and boarded a bus to your state capitol to be in the same room with legislators, and again, they decided to do nothing about the issue. They voted against banning the very weapons that took the lives of your friends and teachers.
Will they continue to do nothing?
God help them if they do, because now they have to deal with the fact that your generation is tired of waiting for my generation to do something. You are calling out our elected officials, you are making them look you squarely in the eyes as they decide whether or not to do anything, and you are holding them accountable for their actions (or their inaction).
It was not your choice to become the next Columbine or Sandy Hook. It was your choice, however, to decide to turn your grief and outrage into action. You have recognized that my generation has let you down, and you are not going to let the cycle of “shooting-debates-thoughts-prayers-inaction-repeat” continue unchallenged.
We need change and if the people in power don’t have the courage to make some changes, then they need voted out. That’s the most powerful weapon we have in this case. My teacher’s salary can’t compete with the millions of dollars the NRA donates to legislators, but my vote is just as powerful as an NRA member’s. And so is yours. I urge you to use it. It’s a quiet action and it doesn’t engender quite the same buzz flowing through your veins as a good protest does, but it is even more powerful, because a vote can actually put change in motion.
For the first time in a long time, I feel energized. I feel hope. Watching how you have conducted yourselves makes me believe that you and your passion and your demands for change will become part of our nation’s story. With eloquence and grace and a level of class we rarely see demonstrated by our elected officials, you are not backing down. You looked Marco Rubio in the eyes and asked him if he would reject money from the NRA.[2] You addressed the conspiracy theories claiming that you are actors, paid to speak out against gun violence.[3] You are continuing to speak out, even though you are being threatened and harassed online by NRA supporters.[4] But you are standing up to very powerful people. Your resolve is going to be tested and your energy is going to be depleted. There will be days when you might even feel as if what you are doing isn’t making a difference. But you must persist. Change won’t happen overnight, but there are so many people in this country who are with you. I pray that you will feel that support in the dark and trying days ahead.
I full-heartedly believe that you are going to be the ones to make change happen, you and students like mine who are being inspired by you. Fear is a powerful motivator, and students living in fear of being shot while at school are going to beat out politicians living in fear of losing campaign contributions or an election. When history looks back on this moment, it will be your story, your fight, and ultimately your victory that my grandkids will read about. For now, know that you have my admiration, my support, and my promise to keep advocating for you. And in the future, I hope to see your names on a ballot, so that you can have my vote.
[1] “Florida school shooting: At least 17 dead – CNN – CNN.com.” 14 Feb. 2018, https://www.cnn.com/2018/02/14/us/florida-high-school-shooting/index.html. Accessed 16 Feb. 2018.
[2] “CNN’s Town Hall on Guns and the Unmaking of Marco Rubio | The ….” 22 Feb. 2018, https://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/cnns-town-hall-on-guns-and-the-unmaking-of-marco-rubio. Accessed 25 Feb. 2018.
[3] “How the Florida school shooting conspiracies sprouted … – CNN.com.” 22 Feb. 2018, https://www.cnn.com/2018/02/22/us/parkland-shooting-conspiracy-theories-trnd/index.html. Accessed 25 Feb. 2018.
[4] “Florida school shooting: Teenage survivor says … – The Independent.” 23 Feb. 2018, http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/americas/florida-school-shooting-survivor-death-threats-nra-facebook-quit-a8223146.html. Accessed 25 Feb. 2018.
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Gradual Gratitude – Emerging from Post-Election Trauma
By Julie Rine, Minerva Local Education Association
My doctor called last week, and never before have I been so happy to receive official notification that I have strep throat. After the shocking and brutal election results, I frankly thought I might just feel that sick for the next four years.
The idea of a man with Trump’s lack of government experience and brash and offensive manner of speaking becoming our next President seemed inconceivable to me, and when it became clear that it was going to happen, it impacted me physically. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t think. I hurt, all over. I couldn’t put two words together and the idea of ever being able to write about it seemed impossible.
I did, however, teach. It was certainly not my best teaching performance, but I went to school the next day, and even though I was exhausted and numb, I taught. It would have been easier to stay in bed that day, and for many more after, but I did not want to send the message to my students that when life doesn’t go your way, you bail. I couldn’t address the election with them that first day; it was too soon, too raw. And I was still trying to figure out why my reaction was so strong. I’ve been on the losing end of many elections, but never before had I been this emotional about the loss. It felt a lot like the days immediately after my husband’s death, and that didn’t make sense to me.
I eventually realized that what I am feeling is indeed grief. I am mourning the loss of the idealistic image I had of our country, of what it could have been, what it should have been, and I am reeling from the injustice of it all. In the days following my husband’s death, I was surrounded by people who loved me and supported me wholeheartedly, making the loss not necessarily less painful, but somehow more bearable. Now, I feel as if half the people I know are happy about the very event that has devastated me, and it is a very isolating feeling.
There are stages of grief and I am still fluctuating through most of them, spending a lot of time in anger. The future may be uncertain, but one thing has not changed: If anyone tries to hurt any of my students, the wrath of Rine will rain down, because do you know which students I care about? All of them. The black ones. The Mexican ones. The gay ones. The disabled ones. The Christian ones and the not Christian ones. The young women and the young men. The Hillary supporters and the Trump supporters. Each and every one of them has the same right to a quality education in a safe and welcoming environment in one of America’s great public schools. My friend and former student blogged so eloquently about anger the day after the election, reminding us that Elizabeth Gilbert said anger is okay, that “Anger, we can work with. At least anger (unlike boredom and fear) has fire in it. At least anger is alive with a kind of passion.” I may have been down for a few days, but I am not out, and this teacher and many others like me will stand up for our students in the face of any threat, perceived, promised, or Presidential.
As I am slowing emerging from my post-election funk, I am finding that there is still a richness and beauty to this world. Taking a break from incessantly watching the news since the election has left me more time to read, and I’ve discovered that there are still wonderful books out there, some that allow me a pure and simple escape from reality, and some that force me to confront issues that need confronting. There are still organizations that fight for the rights of the weak or disenfranchised, and I can give my time and money to those groups who need it now more than ever. There is fresh snow on the ground, which not only brings beauty but the hope of a few snow days this winter, the universe’s way of saying to teachers, you deserve a break today. There are peppermint brownie cake pops in the Starbucks pastry case, and what better indulgence is there now that I’m getting my appetite back? There is still laughter in this life; on a museum trip last weekend, I asked my four-year old nephew what he thought a computer from 1980 was, and he responded, “I don’t know, but I bet it’s from the ancient ruins.”
I find the greatest comfort, however, in knowing that there are still more people in this country who backed the candidate who believed in inclusion and diversity and equality than those who backed the candidate who spewed hate and won the election. We may be struggling now, but I believe we will find each other, support each other, and stand next to each other as we keep fighting for the democratic principles we so strongly believe in. We will not give up. We will not leave the work to anyone else. We will not stop protecting and loving America’s children. We will not stop fighting for a strong public school system. Hillary Clinton may now have an unwanted but well-deserved rest, but our work is just beginning.
I am grateful that I feel, gradually, my fight coming back to me. The world felt cloaked in darkness in the days immediately following the election, but the light is beginning to peek through. Grief fades. Light returns. Love persists. The fight continues.
The elephant and donkey in the room
By Julie Rine, Minerva Local Education Association
One of them is a football player for a small college, a former student of mine who sends me a Facebook message when he’s going to be home for a weekend to see if I need anything done around the house. He has cleaned my gutters, chopped down small trees, and carried 40 lb. salt bags downstairs to my water softener for me.
One of them was the cool older teenager who babysat me one summer in the early eighties. She is my oldest friend’s aunt, and she and her sisters have been part of my life since I was two years old. When my husband died, they brought lasagna, cookies, and love to my house.
One of them is a current student, a funny, intelligent, witty young man who demonstrates a balance of teenage boy ebullience and kind-hearted compassion in my classroom.
One of them is a colleague who holds three college degrees and is one of the best senior teachers our school has ever had. Students who have successfully navigated rigorous college classes routinely come back to express their gratitude.
One of them is the person my daughter took her first steps toward. He caught her then and he would still do anything to save her from a moment’s danger or harm. I have imagined him walking her down the aisle on her wedding day.
One of them toiled in the hot sun to dig steps in the side of a steep hill between our driveway and our back yard so I could climb the hill more easily when I was a toddler.
Who are these people?
They are Trump supporters. They are people who have enriched both my career and my personal life, people whom I have respected and admired and loved, in some cases, for decades. Yet now, they support a man who has espoused values that seem to contradict what I have known of these people, a man who promotes violence, denigrates women, and stereotypes other cultures and religions, a man who behaves in an incredibly offensive and decidedly unpresidential manner.
The first year I could vote in a presidential election, I voted for Bush. Why? Because I knew my parents were voting for him. It took me awhile to form my own political opinions, opinions formed largely after I realized the profound effect politics have on my job as a public school teacher and as a woman and mother of a daughter. So I voted for Al Gore in 2000, and while I was disappointed in the outcome of that election, I was not devastated. My political passion grew, and in 2008, I enthusiastically supported and proudly voted for Obama when he ran against John McCain, and again when he opposed Mitt Romney four years later. But never, even in my most heated debates about Republican candidates, did I truly fear for my country’s future if they won.
What I wouldn’t give for Hillary Clinton to be running against any one of them now. I could sleep at night not worrying about a possible President Trump getting our country into a war because he insulted a foreign leader, acted on an impulse, or failed to understand a complex issue. I wouldn’t have to worry about my teenage students repeating what he says about women or people of various ethnicities, or worse, emulating him. I wouldn’t have to fight rampant misogyny, homophobia, and racism in my classroom because my students are taking to heart what their President believes. Indeed, if Hillary was running against anyone other than Donald Trump, I could simply enjoy the passionate debates and political discourse of the campaign season instead of trying to tamp down the abject terror that seizes my heart when I think about my daughter coming of age under a Trump presidency.
And I wouldn’t have to try to understand how people I love can vote for a man like Trump.
When I read articles such as “If You Tell Me You Are Supporting Trump, I Already Know Seven Things About You”, I tend to agree with everything the author says. Yes, yes, yes! I shout to myself.
Until I think about my dad. Or my best friend’s aunt. Or my former students.
I just can’t believe that I have misread the hearts of these people for all these years. I have not seen them behave in hateful ways, not toward me, and not toward others. I can’t have been wrong about all of these people and the kind of values they hold. Can I?
It’s very disconcerting to question what you have believed to be true about the people you love. Are respect and love tied together? Is it possible to love people but disagree with their political beliefs? In the past, I would have answered an unequivocal YES. But if people agree with Trump’s bigoted and sexist views, does it go beyond political viewpoints and cross over into core values?
I realize that they might be feeling the same way about me. They might be wondering how I could support Hillary Clinton, someone they abhor as much as I detest Donald Trump. Frankly, maybe some of you are, too.
For the most part, the Trump supporters in my life and I do not talk politics. There is no chance they could convince me to vote for him, nor could I persuade them to vote for Hillary. It’s the elephant (and donkey) in the room. It’s there, but we don’t speak of it.
What do I do with the people in my life who are passionately advocating for Trump? It seems extreme, but the only options I have are to cut those people from my life or look past their political viewpoints during this election. I need to try to let the good that I know exists within them overshadow the doubts I feel when I think about who they are supporting. I have to try to allow the years that I have known these people to speak more loudly than a season of antagonistic politics. It won’t be easy. I am determined to try.
On a much bigger scale, the country faces a similar situation, for we are not a very United States at the moment. How will our nation deal with the aftermath of the Donald Trump vs. Hillary Clinton campaign?
It is our democracy that has allowed such different candidates to reach this point, and while it may not be pretty now, this conflict, this push/pull, this dichotomy is what our democracy depends upon.
Let us all hope that no matter who wins this election, our country will emerge intact, that the good in the hearts of Americans will speak louder than the hate, and that the desire to move forward together will be stronger than the divisiveness these past months have illuminated.
And regardless of our personal political leanings, let us, America’s teachers, lead the way. It is imperative that we continue to teach the beauty and importance of democracy, despite the ugliness of this campaign. In one of our schools today sits a future President, and how he or she views this great country might very well depend upon how we deal with the fallout of this election in our classrooms.
We can use this election to inspire our students
Gina Daniels
H.S. Social Studies Teacher
Blacklick, Ohio
Donald Trump proclaims that he is qualified to serve in the highest executive position in the land. But in this election season we have heard Trump refer to women as “fat pigs” and seen him mock a reporter with a disability. We cringed when he insulted a Gold Star family. We have witnessed in our communities and even in our schools how his words perpetuate hate and advocate violence. It’s no wonder our children think politics is a dirty game that they want no part of.
A big part of my job as a social studies teacher for the past 16 years has been to teach students about our beautiful democracy and all the blessings of liberty it grants us. I educate future citizens. I teach them as much as I can about the past, our political system, and the world around us, and then I send them off into the world hoping they will contribute as productive citizens.
What I want my students to learn right now though, is not how to emulate the corrosive behaviors of people like Donald Trump, but rather how to work together to achieve real, lasting change in this world.
Some of my students will be voting for the first time this year. The rest will be voting in the next election. My students sometimes ask me why they should bother voting, why any of it matters since nothing ever seems to get done. When they turn cynical toward democracy itself because of the mudslinging and caustic language they hear, I tell them to accept the challenge. Accept the challenge that this isn’t how it has to be, and that we can make America stronger together instead of complaining separately. We can make democracy whatever we want it to be. It just takes vision and a desire to make change happen.
Donald Trump’s example is not one I want for my students. It will continue to discourage them from engaging in our political system. Trump’s behaviors – the bullying, harassment, and name calling – are downright dangerous to our children and their futures. Hillary Clinton encourages the American people to stand together instead of divided. This is what we need our students to see and aspire to.
I want so much for my students. I want them to value knowledge. I want them to achieve their own personal success. I want them to find beauty in the world around them. I want them to help make the world a better place. Disengaging from our political process is not the answer. Let’s remind our students that they can make democracy whatever they want it to be. It just takes vision and a desire to set a better tone for our future.
State Superintendent DeMaria responds to a teacher’s letter
Dear Julie:
Thanks so much for your message. First, let me say, I hear you! I sympathize with your frustration and am deeply saddened that we find ourselves in a state where teachers are demoralized and feeling demeaned. Your third paragraph pretty much says it all. And I hear the same thing from many others like you.
I’m committed to changing these perceptions. It starts with my own personal beliefs – that teachers are our most valuable educational asset; that they love and care deeply for the students we place in their classrooms each day; that they are professionals who come to class ready to do their best; that they continually are on the lookout for ways to improve their instruction and student outcomes; and that they have what it takes to make Ohio’s education system the best in the nation. Those of us at the state level should make it our goal to create the conditions needed for teachers to be as effective as they can be. Teaching should be an inspiring and joyful job.
Of course, it’s easy to say words that sound good, but I know you and others want action. I’m working with my staff to identify specific things we can do. One thing I clearly understand is the desire for stability in state policy. Many people are asking us to simply stop changing things. No one is opposed to high expectations, but we need to stick with something for an extended time so we can allow progress to be made. I will do all I can to support this.
I also hear your points about testing. While I believe that state testing is important, I also believe that we need to keep the results of testing in perspective.
Knowing that people like you are out there fuels my continued excitement. I hope I can live up to your expectation to “defend us, encourage us, lead us, advocate for us.” I certainly will try. I hope you continue to do the great things you do for your students – ultimately that’s what matters most.
I wish you a very successful 2016-2017 school year.
Best regards,
Paolo
Paolo DeMaria
Superintendent of Public Instruction
They Weren’t Here When the World Stopped Turning
By Julie Rine, Minerva Local Education Association
The day is etched in the memory of anyone who is old enough to remember it. We remember the room we were in when we heard about the attacks, the facial expression of the person who told us, the tenor of the voice who broke the news. We remember the point at which we stopped doing regular activities and started incessantly watching news coverage. We remember a feeling of exhaustion at the end of that day, a sense of having survived a horrible day, a piercing ache for those who did not.
When it happened, I was making copies. It was 2nd period. Our principal came over the scratchy intercom system and told us a plane had flown into one of the World Trade Center Towers. I’m not sure what compelled my principal to interrupt classes to make that announcement. We live in Ohio, far from NYC, and of course at that time, we thought it was simply a tragic accident. But then the second plane flew into the South Tower, and our blissful ignorance was shattered.
In spite of that, I tried to keep my lesson plans “on track”, something very important to me as a young teacher, so my 3rd period kids took notes just as 1st period had. Our classroom television, an old black and white Channel One set, was turned on, but the volume was down. Once the Pentagon was hit, the note-taking stopped. I turned up the volume, and we watched together as papers and people fell to the ground in New York City, as the Pentagon burned, and as reporters covered the crash of Flight 93 (we later learned it had flown right over our little town). I remember looking away from my students to hide my tears. Outside my window was the most cerulean blue sky I had ever seen. To this day, I have never again seen that particular shade of blue that haunts my memory.
After the initial shock and horror, Americans came together in a spirit of unity. We weren’t Democrats or Republicans, liberals or conservatives. We didn’t debate public schools vs. charter schools, gun control vs. the 2nd Amendment, or pro-choice vs. pro-life. We didn’t argue about e-mails or walls. We were passionate and patriotic Americans, and we wanted the same things: to feel safe, to honor the victims, to support the first responders, to hold our children close to us, and to provide for them a future free of terror.
It’s not difficult to teach about September 11th in English. I’ve taught purpose, tone, and occasion by comparing Toby Keith’s vengeful Brought to You Courtesy of Red, White and Blue to Alan Jackson’s somber Where Were You When the World Stopped Turning. It’s always a powerful discussion: two songs written about the same event, both in the immediate days following the attacks; yet each illustrates a very different approach to the tragedy. My classes have analyzed newspapers’ decisions to print Richard Drew’s iconic “Falling Man” photo, and we’ve pondered the media and its role and responsibility in impacting how we view an event. After watching a few short TED talks and news clips, we have considered the decision-making process the National September 11 Memorial & Museum undertook as its curators determined whether or not to include the voicemail messages left by victims to their families, the story of the jumpers, and photos of the terrorists who carried out the attacks. We’ve read poems, personal narratives, and political speeches.
So the events of September 11th can easily be used to teach many common core standards, at least at the high school level.
But that’s not why I teach it. For the freshmen who were in my class that day, I am a part of their memories of September 11th, as they are of mine. But the freshmen who are in my classes today have no memory of 9/11; they were not even born yet.
Today’s students can’t conjure up an image of that crystal clear cobalt sky. They don’t instinctively get quiet and mournful when they see photographs of the flames bursting from the buildings’ windows or the billowing cloud of dust chasing runners down the streets of New York City. They don’t feel their hearts wrench at the sight of the artifacts in the Memorial Museum: a slipper from an American Airlines plane, a shelf of dust-covered t-shirts from a store, half of a fire truck, a bicycle stand with twisted half-melted metal and tires.
We can’t teach our students to feel what we feel when we remember that day, but we can teach them about the beauty of the flags flying on nearly every house for weeks afterward.
We can tell them about the lines people stood in to donate blood. We can speak to them about the pies New Yorkers baked for the rescue and recovery workers. For a brief moment on a September Tuesday in 2001, evil got the upper hand over good, but it didn’t last long. Heroism, kindness, compassion, sacrifice, and love rushed in to push the evil out.
Our students may not remember that, but we can teach them to continue that. We can encourage them to honor the lives lost to evil by putting a little good back into the world on every September 11th. My students get homework on that day. They have to change the world by engaging in an act of kindness: washing a neighbor’s car, baking cookies for nurses at the local nursing home, weeding the flower beds at the senior center, cooking dinner for their family, complimenting a stranger, etc.
To us, it really did seem like the world stopped turning on September 11th, 2001. But eventually it started turning again, largely due to the altruism and graciousness that united Americans in the days following the tragedy. Steve Rosenbaum, who documented the process of building the National September 11 Museum, noted in a TED talk that “9/11 happened. We can’t take that back. But what we collectively do with that, is up to us.”[1] In 2016, we might find ourselves at odds with each other in many ways, but on this one day, we need to teach our children not only about the event that shocked the world, but about the aftermath that united a nation. Maybe they can teach us how to unite it again.
[1] “Building a museum at Ground Zero: Steve Rosenbaum on … – YouTube.” 2012. 7 Sep. 2016 <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bomAlFwKqt8>