Students can't always display their knowledge in the same manner

June 7, 2006

By BOB RAINES

At about 3:30 p.m. I was wondering, "What was I thinking?"

What had seemed like a wonderful idea just an hour ago was looking like an impending calamity. Instant model glue, sand paper, dense directions and a group of kids, ages 6 to 12, was seeming increasingly like a disastrous mix.

The great idea that was rapidly heading south was our "rocket building workshop." We have a Rocket Day at Wilson School when children can bring model rockets and launch them all in a morning.

It's a chance to get concrete about a number of science concepts such as Newton's Laws (action and reaction), or the effects of wind and other elements on observable phenomena. We can even get in some geometry as we track the flight of the rockets and triangulate their altitude. It's very cool.

So this year, thinking that we might expand the group of kids who get to participate, I decided that we could offer an after-school workshop for the students who needed some help building their rockets.

We bulk order two kinds of rockets for the children, one very easy to build and another a bit more challenging. In the past, we have expected the kids to get help at home to assemble them. That has led to spotty results, honestly. Well, I had it all worked out. Some high school kids were willing to come by in the afternoon, and help those students who wanted to stay after school. Except that some last-minute events at the high school trashed that idea.

And there I was, with at least 15 kids who had their rockets in hand, ready to build. I drafted some of our sixth-graders and a couple of parents, and figured we were ready to roll.

That was at 3 p.m. I had delivered the required cautionary lecture about the instant model glue: "I don't want to call anyone and tell them that you have glued your eyes shut." I had arranged the groups of kids so that it seemed manageable.

I stressed the notion that reading and rereading the directions was advisable, and even shared the old adage, "measure twice, cut once." I loosened my tie and rolled up my sleeves. Like I said, at 3 p.m., it was looking sweet. But by 3:30 p.m., we had used up all the instant glue "debonder." I realized that a couple of my sixth-graders were not as clear on the concept as I had thought. One of them was saddled with a trio of boys, sweethearts each of them, but they behaved like helium balloons. Turn your back on them, and they floated off.

I found that I was trying to keep his three, my three and another group of three afloat all at the same time. Thank goodness that one dad was working well with his bunch, and another sixth-grader and a mom were doing well with their group of kindergartners and first-graders.

So, we were working along. One of my kids was nearly in tears after he broke the balsa-wood tail fin and a sixth-grader announced, "There is no way I can get this fin to glue on," while I was trying to help a bright boy who speaks Spanish at home but understands the "English" of the model rocket directions.Ê Pieces were "missing" or "stolen" (or actually on the floor or under something else). Fingers were glued to "launch lugs" or tail fins. And my tie finally came off, or I might have glued it to a rocket. Suddenly, it struck me. This was just like any other classroom in any school in California Ñ second-language learners, special-education kids, gifted students, all with one outcome in mind.

Some kids were systematic and thoughtful, and others were "ready, fire, aim," in their approach. Some children were emotionally fragile and others were very resilient. And at the front was one guy with good intentions, trying to make it all happen by 5 p.m.

And you know how unrelated thoughts push themselves into your brain at the strangest times? Well, at about 4:15 p.m., when all these parts were starting to look like rockets, actually, I thought about the California High School Exit Exam (yeah, I'm twisted like that).

The exit exam is the standard that all kids are expected to meet in order to get their high school diploma. Not a bad idea. You may have heard that a group of families sued, and the California State Supreme Court recently decided that seniors this year will be prevented from graduating if they don't pass it.

It dawned on me, though, while I was making sure that nose cones and shock cords and streamers were all attached appropriately: Each of these kids in our rocket workshop needed a different kind of support. Each of them could build a rocket, but they needed help in different ways.

The exit exam is a knothole through which all kids must pass. But not all kids can show what they know in the same manner. Not all kids are heading in the same direction. Perhaps if we had some variety in the manner that we ask kids to demonstrate that they've achieved the standard, we'd get a better sense of how well prepared they are for the work world.

Well, 5 p.m. arrived, and we had 10 rockets all assembled and painted. Four went home to be finished off. One, about halfway done, stayed at school to be finished later. We had a bunch of happy kids, though, and one exhausted principal. And next year, I'm buying a lot more "debonder."

(Educational Issues is a column written by members of Petaluma's educational community. Bob Raines is superintendent of the Wilmar Union School District and principal of Wilson Elementary School. Contact him at bobraines@earthlink.net.)