I have a friend who teaches at a public school in the city. Most, if not all, of her students are poor, black and Hispanic.
She adores them, fiercely and unconditionally, like her own flesh and blood. When she talks about her classes, she'll tell stories which sound like baby birds in the air, these precious and vulnerable stories about precious and vulnerable children who face impossible odds.
How so many of them have never even seen the Tennessee River, and the look on their faces when they finally do.
David CookHow so many of them babysit their siblings every night while their parents work the late shift.
How just before Christmas break, they bring her gifts. A half-used bottle of lotion. A candle, with the wick already burned. It's all they could find, all they could afford, their widow's mite, the gifts of an impoverished magi.
With every story she tells, my stereotypes and perceptions about what it's like to teach in the urban core are proved terribly wrong.
"The kids are never my problem," she'll say. "The problem is always with what is outside the classroom."
With every story she tells, I'm reminded of how the most important thing in a classroom is never a test or textbook.
It is love.
And love always wants to know: What is best for our schookids?
There is a huge and gaping disconnect between what our kids need and what we give them. Policies written in suit-and-tie Nashville and faraway Washington lose all relevance and goodness by the time they hit the inner-city schoolhouse door.
"The train never stops," my friend says. "They never stop the train."
That train is mandated testing.
That train is the Tennessee Comprehensive Assessment Program, which began Tuesday morning in Hamilton County. In the face of so many other needs, the TCAP is an act of cruelty, even in the subtlest of ways: When a child falls asleep during the test, the teacher is forbidden from waking them up.
Hours before her kids started taking the TCAP, my friend sent out a prayer request over email.
You need to read it.
Friends,
As you go about your day today, please hold up all those students across the county who will take the language arts state assessment today. It will last three hours.
In particular, please hold up these students:
The ones who will not be able to read much past the title but will be faced with multiple two-and-three-page passages.
The ones who will fight and struggle to use all the test-taking techniques they have learned as a way to compensate for not being able to understand the passage.
The ones who will be able to read the words but due to the unfamiliarity of the topic or the cultural vocabulary will not be able to "get it."
The ones who will work so hard or will want to look like they are working so hard just because they love me and they know it matters to me.
The ones who will work so hard because they want to be something different from what the world thinks they are as "project kids."
The ones who have been studying every night because they know their parents came to this country so they could "make something of their lives."
The ones who are sleepy or hungry or distracted by friend drama or family trauma.
The ones who will just put their heads down after the first page or two.
Of course, we, as teachers, will take your thoughts and prayers today, too.
Unfortunately, our "success" as teachers comes down to these three hours. Even though we count on the hugs and the love and the overtime and extra care to matter more, it is hard to believe that on a day like today.
Thanks for all your love and support - always - but especially today.
If we really loved our kids and teachers the TCAP would become an afterthought, not an educational noose. After Tuesday's testing was done, my friend told her students how much she loved them.
"You are so much more than your test scores," she said to them.
Amen.
Contact David Cook at dcook@timesfreepress.com or 423-757-6329. Follow him on Facebook at DavidCook TFP.