THIS is the post that I'm talking about. This is so sad-- and so completely true.

Originally Posted by staceychev
As the parent of a gifted 3rd grader, I'm disheartened. I'm tired of fighting the same battle every year, and losing.

As a high school teacher, I'm also disheartened. I'm actually a fan of the new Common Core. As they're written (at least ELA, which is what I teach), they're really focused, good standards that get to the heart of what kids should know. It's the scripted curricula and publishing packages, I think, that are giving it a bad name.

However, the focus in my state is more and more on rigid, data-driven processes that lead to standardized testing. I spend a lot of time crunching numbers and devising BS assessments, instead of going back to those Common Core standards and refining my curriculum and assessments in a meaningful way. I'm one of those teachers that tries very hard to relate to and address my students as individual human beings, so being forced to be so data-driven is difficult for me, especially when there are only so many hours in the day. Other than her critique of Common Core, which I don't agree with, I am really on board with what Diane Ravitch said in her interview on the Daily Show this past week.

I'm also disheartened as an educator and a former gifted student and the parent of a gifted kid because I know that when teachers are stretched too thin, it's the gifted kids who lose out. It takes time and effort (and, let's be honest here, intellect) to design good and meaningful extension work for gifted kids, but when I'm scrambling to meet the IEPs of my special ed kids (none of whom are 2E, by the way), and trying to crunch data, and working to refine my curriculum and lesson plans to meet both the Common Core and the initiative du jour as dictated by my state or my local administration, and grading all of those essays (I teach English), and oh yeah, taking care of my own small children, it seems that the gifted kids fall by the wayside. It's a constant source of guilt for me.


Schrödinger's cat walks into a bar. And doesn't.