I intended my Saturday to be grading, grading, grading. But I mowed the lawn. I picked up books in New Haven, as well as dropped off some to teachers. I got groceries I needed and responded to email. And I stopped to get other items that have been on my radar. The eating was horrible, the allergies are obnoxious, and a neighbor's house burned down. It was not the day I expected. I didn't know the people - a street over, but the black smoke billowed into all our windows. Not fun at all and it simply triggers worry and sadness.
The poem was written from a series of emails I was cc'd on where teachers in Bridgeport had to give practice tests in English to prepare students for the State tests in English, even as their students are just learning English. Many districts are policed to test kids in order to prepare kids for later tests of kids, so the only instruction they receive all year is how to take tests, when there are no math or English lessons to actually help kids to learn skills they need. To observe schools is to bear witness to absolute insanity. Teachers lose. Kids lose. And the results always show us what we already knew in the first place. It's simply bonkers. The poorer the district, the more inane the practices pushed down by administrations.
So, a poem. And a Sunday for more grading.
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