ACT I, Scene 2
CHAPTER TWO: SHAPING A PHILOSOPHY
In this chapter, I will describe situations from my life in school and from my career as a music teacher. They have been recorded in my journal because I believe they were significant in helping to shape my philosophy of education. As I mentioned in the first chapter, I am uncertain whether memories shape my current life because I remember them or whether I remember them because I experience similar situations everyday and recognize the connections. Either way, my past memories are a large part of who I am today and that part is made larger by the time I have spent reflecting on situations like I have included in this chapter.
In August 2000, I made a career change--from 19 years in the same secondary school to the position of elementary vice principal. For various reasons, I felt it was time for me to face a different challenge. I applied for and earned a position in the vice principal pool in September 1999: however, qualified music teachers are not readily available. As a result, I stayed in my position as vocal and instrumental music teacher for almost a year after my appointment. As a consequence, I had a large amount of time to accustom myself to the impending shift and to mentally prepare myself for the change. Bridges (1991) states that "transition starts with an ending" (p. 4). As part of my mental preparation, I spent a great deal of time remembering critical incidents, "moments which have allowed me to stand back and examine my beliefs" (Newman, 1998, p. 5) and reflecting on how each has had an impact on my philosophy of education.
"What we do as teachers is based on our past experiences as well as on the conscious and unrecognized facets of our current lives" (Cohen, 1999, p. 19). My reflection on situations from my childhood, school days, practice teaching, and recent professional practice has shown me how past experiences have shaped my current philosophy and brought me to this point. By breaking down my philosophy into sections, I am able to pinpoint stories that help shape each aspect of my beliefs. Many of the stories are negative, which may indicate my need to become a teacher and thus try to change the stories or create new ones. As I look back "for overarching themes and explanatory links" I am attempting to construct some "continuity across [my] transitions" (MacLure, 1996, p. 275) from teacher to vice principal. Why have I valued the student voice? This question has many parts that are difficult to sequence in a logical order. Why did I become a teacher? Why did I teach the way that I did? Why do I choose to work with a professional attitude? Why do I value different ways of knowing? Why do I value a safe learning environment? How has my philosophy affected my current position?
As I pause to reflect on my stories, the significance of each becomes more apparent. McNiff (2000) states that "new insights which manifest as 'Aha!' experiences are often actually insights that we gradually become aware of and then wonder why it took so long to see the obvious" (p. 8). Denzin (1989, as cited in Fontana & Frey, 2000) describes epiphanies as "those interactional moments that leave marks on people's lives [and] have the potential for creating transformational experiences for the person" (p. 657).
Why Did I Become a Teacher?
As a child in school, I often felt out of place. In a grade 11 world religion class, I was asked whether adolescents were respected for being individuals or for being like everyone else. "Being like everyone else," I guessed. Immediately, the "cool" people in the class jumped in with comments like, "You're wrong," "How can you say that?" "That's not true." That was their public stance; however, I knew that I would not be welcome if I sat down at "their" table in the cafeteria and expected to play euchre with "them'" I did not fit in with them and so would not be accepted. My honesty was not highly regarded that day, and so I believed that my comment was incorrect. In retrospect, however, I realize that my comment was more accurate than anyone was willing to acknowledge at the time. Because I had no confidence in my opinion, I backed down and believed the students when they told me I was wrong. Their message was so strong that day that I do not remember how the teacher responded.
While most of my classes were based on experiences like that, the one place where I felt accepted for myself was the music room. I had a small group of friends who played in the band and respected my musical ability. When the time came to consider my options for postsecondary education, I decided to go where my strengths would take me--a degree in music education.
As mentioned in the previous chapter, my high school music teacher, Al Herdman, had a tremendous impact on my career decision, but there were other elements also. I can still remember the process of my decision. The time spent on a farm as a child was important to me, and until grade 11, I intended to be a veterinarian. Many relatives tried to dissuade me by telling me stories of birthing calves, but to no avail. I liked grade 11 biology, yet had to work very hard to receive good marks.
One class, I remember standing in the science laboratory, watching people work on labs and very capably use all of the equipment. I did not feel as capable as everyone else appeared. I can remember exactly how I felt. I suddenly realized that for all of these people science was a special ability. They could get very high marks in science with seemingly little effort. Could I compete at that level? Did I want to?
Then, it hit me! Maybe I should be more realistic and pick my area of expertise for a potential career! Maybe I should listen to my relatives and change my mind about becoming a veterinarian. Music was my area of expertise and a much more realistic goal!
Whew! I felt like a huge load had been lifted off of my shoulders and I relaxed. That decision felt much better than my previous career goal. After making that decision, I investigated the possibility of taking more piano lessons, for which I would pay, thus ensuring that I would have increased motivation to practice.
That was the moment that I decided that I was a musician. I was not a science student or a math student, but a musician! I remember really liking the sound of that phrase because I suddenly had an identity. Immediately, I went to Student Services and researched the possibilities. I remember having a chat with Mr. Herdman. I had not started taking instrumental music until grade 10, so I was a year behind. In order for me to get my grade 13 credit in music, I had to find a way to earn the equivalency.
At the beginning of grade 12, I went to Mr. Herdman sitting at his desk one morning before school.
"Sir?" I said hesitantly. I really did not want to interrupt him.
"Yes, Cheryl," he said, looking up.
"Is there a way that I could do extra work in music to be worth an extra credit so I could graduate with a grade 13 music credit?"
"Don't worry about it, I'll look after it," he said. The conversation was over, just like that. He was not abrupt, just direct and, as the only music teacher, he had a lot of responsibility looking after music, instruments, and rehearsing with the various bands by himself.
I remember being very excited as I left the room.
As each piece in my decision fell into place, I became happier. In retrospect, I was also becoming ready for the transition from high school into university. Bridges (1991) indicates that there is a psychological process that must take place in order for healthy change to occur. "Inwardly the psychological transition happened much more slowly" than the physical change from high school student to university student. "Instead of becoming a new person as fast as [I] changed outwardly, [I] actually struggled for a time in a state that was neither the old nor the new" (p. 5).
A place to be comfortable and to know my best was good enough, that is what the music room and the band members represented to me. In April 2000, I returned to my old high school for a memorial concert. A few of us returned to play in an alumni band and to acknowledge the impact that Mr. Herdman had on our lives. I discovered that the people I met were glad to see me, and I was remembered for my sense of humour and musical ability. I also realized that Mr. Herdman's method of treating us as individuals and of challenging each of us the way we needed to be challenged helped me believe that I was worthwhile and valued. His recent death was a tragedy, but I valued the opportunity to show his family the impact he had on my life. The resulting reflection helped me realize where my need to teach music originated.
I realize that another reason I chose music to teach was the necessity for students to be marked holistically--for their particular strengths--and to be measured against themselves each test. It was up to them to improve their own weak aspects of performance and not be compared to someone who had much more or less musical experience than they did. This subject area (more readily) allowed me to value the experience of each child and help them build on their particular ability level rather than trying to mark each student against some defined standard. As students continued to choose music in successive grades, some particular weaknesses were strengthened, and many developed to the standard set for university entrance. (Personal Journal entry March 2000)
The difficulty of determining the origin of a philosophy is like the "chicken and egg" theory. Did I initially choose music to teach because of my philosophy or did my philosophy strengthen due to my chosen area of education? According to Gardner(1991), music is an intelligence, not merely a talent. Choosing to work from that premise means that whenever possible I measured a student's progress against their own past performances rather than against a defined standard. I agree with Nel Noddings's position on evaluation. She states that "others establish standards...and...charge [the teacher] to report faithfully in observance of these standards" (Noddings 1984, p. 194). As mentioned previously, I find it detrimental to the relationship to "wrench [myself] from the relationship and make [my] student into an object of scrutiny"(Noddings, p. 195). I found it very difficult to balance my belief that students should be marked against themselves when developing a new skill and the basis for the new curriculum that imposes exemplars against which students must be measured. My philosophy of evaluation is more concerned with improving student learning without detracting from the relationships that I have developed with my students. Other disciplines also offer opportunity for the same type of evaluation, but music, as a performing art, more readily lends itself to that method of assessment.
Why Do I Teach The Way That I Do?
The next aspect of "valuing the student voice" emerges from the way in which I taught music. Initially, I valued students and tried to encourage each of them to realize their potential. However, rather than asking them how I could help them learn, I tried to discern the learning style of each student and supply them with the necessary tools to be successful. That was the basis of my first action research project (Black, 1998). I felt that if I could help students believe that they were worthy of respect they would begin to treat each other more kindly in class. I wanted to find some activities that would help the students develop into a group that supported the learning of each other rather than the whispering, pointing, and gossiping that were the norm at the beginning of the year. Based on my instinct, I began with self-esteem cards. I gave each student a package of index cards and asked them to write one special talent, ability, or gift on each card. The cards were private, but they were to read them over every day and add more words as they thought of more good things about themselves. I hoped that would improve the opinion they had about themselves. Next, I wanted them to see themselves as other students perceived them. So, we passed around a compliment sheet for each student. They sat in a large circle, wrote their name at the top of the page, then passed the sheet two people to the right. When each student received a sheet, they were to write a compliment about the person whose name appeared at the top of the page. When all students had written compliments to each other, I collected the sheets and took them home to read. I was curious as to what they would write to each other and wanted to ensure that there were only compliments on the sheets. The next day, I handed out the sheets and asked them questions regarding their feelings. They glued the compliment sheets in their journals, then wrote to me about how they felt.
From that day on, the class began to change. The students journalled about once every 2 weeks based on questions that I asked. I photocopied the pages then filed them with the list of guiding questions I had asked to elicit the responses. At the end of the year, my observations and the comments of the students showed that each student had matured substantially. They were taking responsibility for their own discipline and would frequently negotiate the curriculum with me. They had gained the courage and confidence to take responsibility for their own learning, and they respectfully voiced their opinions during class discussions.
The project outlined above was very important to me. I learned that my philosophy of music education made a difference in student learning. I did not read about this philosophy in a book; I worked from my experience, instinct, and my observations to determine each step in my process. The difference was consciously choosing to teach the child first and the curriculum second. The amount of curriculum covered, however, did not change. In fact, we covered as much, if not more, than I had done in my grade 9 music class the year before.
Where did that philosophy come from? And how did I find the courage to go out on a limb and try this research process? This process was introduced to me as a means of showing evidence of professional growth at about the time I was due for my performance review. As far as listening to students, the more I listened, the more they said. The more they said, the more I learned about their intelligence and wisdom. The more I respected the things they had to say, the more they fully participated in the classroom activities. Kohn (1996) describes this method of classroom management in his book, Beyond Discipline. He believes that allowing students to help choose the rules and processes of the classroom helps "each of them become self-disciplined" (p. 83). While the discussions to decide on procedures may take more time at the outset, less teacher energy and class time will be wasted dealing with class discipline and misbehaviour.
Why Do I Encourage The Student Voice?
This brings me to my next point. As mentioned above, the more I listened to students, the more I learned about their ability to discern the way they learn most effectively. As a result, I encouraged them to say more and to make themselves heard outside of my classroom. Jean Ruddick (2000) states that "the structures of secondary schools offer, on the whole, less responsibility and autonomy than many young people are accustomed to in their lives outside school, and less opportunity for learning-related tensions to be opened up and explored."
One year, after a particularly bad June of timetable adjustments and students' frustrations at the inability to fit music into their timetable, I finally chose to take action. I decided that I couldn't fight my students' battles for ever, that I should help them develop the tools to explain, discuss and/or argue why the ability to take music was important to them. The cause of their angst was one particular guidance teacher who wanted students to become "more career oriented." Since they already had their one grade 9 arts credit, they should concentrate on choosing subjects that would get them a job.
I was angry that one teacher was upsetting so many people and having a detrimental effect on the music program. So, that fall I asked my grade 9 students what kinds of things they learned in music class that were not usually associated with music. Their answers were surprising. Tolerance, patience, teamwork, helping each other, discipline, and the ability to work on their own were products of the brainstorming session. Then I asked them to organize and rehearse an answer for their upcoming term test to explain their philosophy of music.
One young girl in my vocal class wrote that "everyone needs a class in their day when their best is good enough." I was floored! Here was my own philosophy evident in the thoughts of a student. It is sad to think that a student heard enough negative thoughts or words in a day that music class was a welcome respite. (Personal Journal entry March 2000)
The more I listened to the students, the more I realized the value in what they had to say. As I began to incorporate some of their suggestions into my practice, the students told me more. "Valuing students' points of view means not only recognizing them but also addressing them" (Brooks & Brooks, 1999, p. 61), both in what they need to learn and in how they need to be taught. As a result of this "constructivist aspect" of my philosophy, I believe they began to trust that my interest in their ideas and opinions was genuine. The resulting improvement in our relationship caused me to feel more accountable to them and less accountable to the Standards of Practice (Ontario College of Teachers, 1999b). Not that I would do anything inappropriate, however, I chose to start giving them what they needed and felt less bound by the curriculum I was "supposed" to cover. As I reflect on my practice and how my attitude has shifted, I realize that covering a topic does not mean that it is learned, and without helping the students fill in the gaps in their learning, new material is often meaningless. I was offering my students the same, safe environment that I found in my high school music room. Taking responsibility for my work ethic is a professional attitude and makes me much happier doing my job.
Why Do I Choose A Professional Attitude?
This is my next point. Choosing to work with a professional attitude means I work from my values. Rather than doing what I felt I "should" do, I did what I needed to do--teach to the best of my ability. Accountability to students' needs will ensure the Standards of Practice (College of Teachers, 1999b) are part of my practice. Rather than allowing someone else to dictate where I needed to improve, I allowed myself the same responsibility for my own learning and areas for improvement that I gave to my students. I modeled the image of a lifelong learner for my students. My students were interested in my graduate work and were honoured to be asked for their opinion of a recent paper. Some were moved to respond in writing on December 7, 1999. One student wrote, "How many teachers would value the opinion of students?" Another stated in a discussion, "because Ms. Black ask our opinions, on things that she is researching...that makes us feel really good because we feel valued that she asks what we think about things that she is doing"(Transcript of discussion on December 15, 1999). This type of feedback was encouraging. My philosophy made a difference in the lives of students.
Why Do I Value Different Ways of Knowing?
"Awareness of students' points of view [helped me] challenge students, making school experiences both contextual and meaningful. Each student's point of view is an instructional entry point that sits at the gateway of personalized education" (Brooks & Brooks, 1999, p. 60). Understanding the perceptions that students had based on their past experiences and knowledge, and analyzing how they processed information as a result of those perceptions, allowed me to help them. I was then able to help them learn how they learn, which helped me to decide on the best approach for each lesson or concept. One student commented, "things we learn in this class we can apply to other classes and things that we do, like self-discipline and how to get along with other people and...we're doing more than just the subject"(Transcript of discussion, December 15, 1999).
I can cite two incidents that account for this aspect of my belief. When I was in grade 6, we were separated into groups to work on some questions. I was put in the top group for the first and only time. I do not remember the work, but I do remember being very aware of the people in the group, their feelings, thoughts, and interactions. I do not remember focusing on the subject. In retrospect, I realize that since I did not fit socially, I rarely achieved my academic potential.
Another incident happened when I was practice teaching. One class in particular, sticks in my mind.
Of the whole class, there were only two or three who were actually coping with the level of music. Note I didn't say playing well, they were "coping." Every day, I would take them farther through the piece of music and try to find something positive to say. That was nearly impossible. If I had said, "Good job," the students would know they were being patronized. It was a no-win situation that got worse daily during my 3 weeks there.
One young man played the trombone. I don't remember his name, but I can still see him struggling. One day he'd had enough and he defied me! He told me he couldn't do it and walked out of the room! I was furious. At the time I thought I was angry at him for daring to walk away from me. Soon after the incident, I realized that I was angry at myself because I didn't have enough knowledge or experience to help him and because I didn't have the confidence to question my associate on the appropriateness of his musical choices.
I have been teaching for 19 years and I can remember that incident as if it were yesterday! I still feel that I failed that boy due to my foolish pride (in my "how dare he" attitude) and cowardice (being intimidated by my associate). (Personal story recorded in February 2000)
Why Do I Value a Safe Environment?
For ways of knowing to be developed, students must trust the learning environment. "Virtually all forms of learning take place within the context of a relationship and that learning won't happen unless a child feels safe--safe enough to listen to the self and others" (Cohen, 1999, p. 19). In order to take a supported risk to develop and learn, students have to believe that their best is good enough both in the eyes of the teacher and in the opinion of their peers. Peer pressure is important to students (as evident in an earlier story) and often sounds much louder than the words of a caring teacher.
When I was in grade 1, there was an afternoon when parents were invited to visit the classrooms of their children. After being taught a new word pattern, I was asked to come to the board to read the words on a ladder. I remember being very aware of the different people in the room, and I stumbled on the new word. The teacher smiled at the parents and made a comment. I do not remember what she said but I felt patronized and a little embarrassed.
The incident sticks in my mind because I realize that I no longer felt safe to make a mistake. I felt that the teacher and parents were laughing at me, not my nerves. I know that they were not intending to be cruel, but my feelings have stuck with me. I believe that the teacher can and should set the example of creating a safe environment where all students feel they fit. I did not always fit with my peers, either.
When I was 11 or 12, I had a small group of four or five "friends." At that age, kids can be cruel and we were! I say "we" because they were all cruel to me many times and while I don't ever remember being one of the "in" group making fun of someone else, I'm sure I was at some point. I only remember the times that I was the one on the outside.
One evening in particular, I had my overnight bag and arrived at Karen's house. She had invited me to spend the night and our plan was for me to arrive after dinner so we could play all evening, first. When I arrived, Angela Leblanc was at Karen's house and they were playing with Barbie dolls on the front step. As I walked up the driveway, Karen said, "Oh hi Cheryl, I've decided that I want Angela to spend the night instead of you. Okay?"
I just started to cry! I was really hurt! Karen's mother heard her through the open window and came to the front door to tell Karen that her behaviour was horrible. I remember swallowing my tears and playing with Karen and Angela on the front step. I don't remember whether or not I spent the night--that was 32 years ago--but it hurt me so deeply that I remember the pain like it happened yesterday.
Although not directly related to school, I believe this was an indication of my social development. Peer approval was important to me and very difficult to attain. Now, when I perceive that a student is having difficulty being accepted, I feel compelled to help. However, rather than working after the fact, I try to establish a safe environment from the outset, thus being proactive rather than reactive. I'm still looking out for that student that doesn't seem to fit. I think that spending a childhood where I didn't fit with my peers has taught me to be very sensitive and empathetic to that student that is alone a great deal, and doesn't appear to fit with his or her peers in any of my classes.
By choosing music as a teaching area, I instinctively knew that I would be providing a haven for many of the misfits in the school. Students who choose music range on a continuum from those who fit nowhere and are desperately seeking a place, to those who have a special ability and are tough enough to withstand the negative peer pressure for their subject choice. What does this show about me? When I asked a very intuitive friend of mine about the archetype he believed that I fit, he immediately chose "the healer" (McAdams, 1993). He told me that he has seen me walk into a room and approach anyone sitting or standing by themselves and start a conversation. He believes that I can sense when someone has something bothering them. These stories stick in my head, and I believe they are part of the reason that I work the way that I do. I desperately want my students to believe that they are valued for what they know, do, feel, and believe. I want to help them trust their judgement and learn that bad choices have consequences that they have to be prepared to accept. I also want them to know that as they go through life, there will always be someone who will disagree with them. At the end of the day, however, they are the ones who will have to accept the consequences of their choices. (Personal Journal entry March 2000)
My philosophy of valuing the student voice is not common unfortunately, and therefore somewhat risky. Negative feedback from my colleagues involved covering all of the curriculum instead of taking time for listening to students, and they believed that it was dangerous to give students too much power. In my first action research project, I proved that my philosophy of education does make a difference for students. As a result, I am much more confident in trusting my intuition and working in a way that is comfortable for me. Trusting my judgment means that I have become "proactive rather than reactive"(Covey, 1989, p. 70). I make choices and set my own priorities rather than working to the values of someone else. Over the years I have learned that taking a calculated risk frequently results in a greater reward. Without that feeling of a little fear, the feeling of accomplishment is a little less sweet. I remember, in particular, a unit I taught with an art teacher.
One day, about 10 years ago, I was having lunch with Sandy, an art teacher from across the hall. I was thinking about my newly designed class--Music Appreciation, so I pulled out the binder for my class to check on the impending unit that I was planning to start that afternoon.
"What level is that class?" Sandy asked.
"Grade 10 general," I answered. "Quite a motley crew, that's for sure."
"I'm about to start a new unit with my grade 10 general in the same time block. Let's do something really different!"
"Like what?" I responded, unconvinced.
"Let's integrate art and music. I've always wanted to do something around Holst's, The Planets." Sandy was starting to bounce in the chair.
"That sounds pretty risky," I replied with great fear and trepidation.
"Come on, it'll be fun."
"Oh, all right," I muttered.
Whatever tempted me to take that chance, I'll never know. Anyway, that unit was one of the best things we ever did! The two classes met everyday in the much larger art room and we planned things daily, based on the reactions of the students and on the brainwaves we often had in the middle of the night! (Personal Journal, February 2000).
Besides learning that a little fear is healthy, I also saw students totally engrossed in projects that they chose to do. Elizabeth Crass described a similar situation. The students "were so involved with the activity that there was not a single discipline problem" (Newman, 1998, p. 84). Their level of engagement and the buzz of learning showed that students were committed to the final outcome--their culminating presentations.
Now, how did all of these experiences affect my teaching practice? Ironically, as I prepared for a change in my work environment, I noticed that my teaching was better than it had ever been. My relatively new habit of reflecting on my practice made me more aware of even the smallest improvements, which increased my confidence in my abilities. That increased confidence encouraged greater risks, which usually fostered more growth and more improvement in ability. Judith Newman (1998) believes that "observing ourselves learning can offer important insight into our students' behaviour and help us think about teaching that supports learning as opposed to teaching that interferes or undermines" (p. 200). As an example, I continued to treat my OAC students as young adults, but I gave them more help. However, rather than giving them all the same thing, I asked them what they needed from me. I tried to provide the opportunity for choice so they could make their learning personally relevant. This involved a shift in attitude for the students and again, risked taking some classroom time away from the curriculum. I know the extra time was worth the struggle. If "we teach who we are"(Drake, 1997), the resulting consistency of working with our values will provide a positive role model.
How Did My Philosophy of Education Affect My Decision to Change Positions?
A massive educational change by the new Conservative government meant that teachers were facing a great deal of work to phase in new curriculum. Each time a new curriculum is written and handed to teachers to implement, there is an implied criticism of past practices. This time, the new government did not imply criticism; they were very direct. The new College of Teachers was created and the phrase "teacher-testing" was frequently in the media.
That is another issue. Based on the actions and comments of the government, the media began teacher-bashing. Teachers protested for 2 weeks to ensure that the public was made aware of the contents of the new education bill that was being proposed. That "strike" did not endear them to the public and actually played right into the hands of the government.
From every direction, teachers were hearing that they were not doing their job. Morale was drastically affected. So in a year when I had done the research to prove that my philosophy of education was valid, other teachers were very disheartened. I was able to ignore a great deal of negativity in the media because I knew that I was doing fine! In my opinion, members of the media were completely wrong. And, rather than spend energy complaining about the things they wrote, I continued doing a good job with a professional attitude and gave their concerns very little attention.
However, no matter how emotionally resilient one is, a great deal of energy can be needed to ignore negativity over the long term. I began to tire of trying to make a joke each time someone began to complain. There were days when I avoided certain people because I knew I did not have the energy to spare to deal with the poor morale. I did not blame people for feeling the way they did; however, I began to wonder when they would realize the amount of energy they were wasting by being negative.
By this point, I was able to articulate that I valued the individual and cared about doing my job to the best of my ability regardless of the negative media messages. I cared about doing well, working hard, and giving students my best. Just as I helped my students take responsibility for their own learning in my first project, I decided that I could take responsibility for my own attitude! Knowing that my philosophy made a difference for children helped me develop trust in my professional judgement. I knew that regardless of the perceptions of others, I was a professional and could choose to work with that attitude.
At this point, I was sure about my philosophy of education. I had shown that my philosophy of teaching the child first was valid and made a difference for children. If I was so sure of that, why did I decide to switch panels and positions? Why was I going through the effort to do something totally different when I was very good at what I was doing? The answer to those questions is not an easy one. There are many overlapping pieces that affected each other and me at opportune times.
Special Influences
Two people influenced me at this point. The first was Jackie Delong. Jackie is a superintendent with the Grand Erie District School Board and someone I met in my first year of teaching in 1981. Years later, in my attempt to prepare for the possibility of my becoming a department head in the arts, I took a leadership course sponsored by the school board and reconnected with Jackie. Through that course, I was introduced to the process of investigating my own practice through action research. As a result of her influence, I undertook my first action research project, and subsequently I was invited to be chair of the action research network. Jackie was also investigating her own practice and asked me to work with her. Then began 2 years of Saturday mornings around the kitchen table "doing homework" like schoolgirls. We read and discussed many books as part of our collaborative writing process. When Jackie came up with the idea that we should collaborate on a paper for ICTR (the International Conference on Teacher Research) she called and invited me to her office for a meeting.
During the discussion, Jackie asked, "Have you ever considered pursuing administration?"
"No. No, not me. A department head maybe, of music or the arts, but never an administrator"(Transcript of conversation, August 18, 1998).
Jackie reminds me of that conversation frequently. That fall, I began working with the Brant Action Research Network (BARN). The teachers involved were all elementary teachers who genuinely cared about their students. Their energy was stimulating! This was the next piece. I did not feel comfortable in the secondary panel with my philosophy of education and the fact that I could articulate a philosophy at all. Not to condemn the colleagues with whom I had worked for many years, but I could see that they were tired and discouraged and appeared to have forgotten the reasons that caused them to become teachers in the first place.
