And they all forget to ask kids

The Boston Herald

The child in me sees things clearly.

She watches as I struggle to identify what's wrong with public education. She waits as I read the experts, even allows me to make some vague generalizations studded with silver-dollar words before tapping me on the shoulder and saying: Wait just a minute. Do you really want to know what's wrong with public schools? Do you really want to know how to make things better? Then put your notes down, sit a while and think.

So I think about all the talks my parents used to have with all the teachers at all the schools I ever attended. The subject was always the same: what would be best for me. They talked and I sat over on the side and listened and always wondered why no one ever included me in these conversations, because I could have them exactly what was best for me.

I think about a young teacher who taught mythology and how passionately she loved her subject, so passionately that everyone in her class caught her enthusiasm and arrived early and stayed late, though at first we hadn't wanted to be in that class at all.

Then I think about an English teacher who red-marked everything anyone wrote and a psychology teacher who sat at his desk and read from his notes.

See? You don't need to quote any "experts" the child in me says. You're the expert. Anyone who has ever been to school is an expert. Everyone knows what makes school interesting. Everyone knows what makes someone want to learn. Why do you think it's possible to love history one year and hate it the next? Why do children start off eager to learn and grow less and less enthusiastic as the years go on?

Because all teachers are not equal, that's why. Because there are far too many bad teachers.

Why do children start off eager to learn and grow less enthusiastic?

Because there are far too many bad teachers.

The talk these days is all about deteriorating buildings and old textbooks and class size and the cost of transportation as if these were the educational issues. These issues and they important, but not as important as the one thing no one ever talks about: How do we get good teachers?

A few weeks ago, my daughter's high school held a parent-teacher night at which parents got a chance to attend abbreviated sessions of their children's classes.

At 8:45 p.m. I walked into a math class, dreading it because the hour was late and I was tired and I loathe math and always have. There was this teacher who'd been on his feet for 13 hours, who must have been tired, too. I took my seat, settling in, expecting to be bored, but wasn't; instead I was intrigued by a man who in 10 minutes made me want to know more, made me want to be his student, made me wish I could learn math the way a good preacher makes you yearn to be a better person.

This teacher isn't a young man. His enthusiasm is not veneer. He has been around a long time. But he loves what he does, so his enthusiasm is continually renewed.

This is what makes a great teacher: enthusiasm and love of subject and love of learning, which are contagious.

When adults attend seminars, they are routinely asked to fill out evaluation forms. If a lecturer scores poorly, he is not asked back. It's as simple as that. Mediocrity in the business world is not tolerated.

Yet in a public classroom it is not only tolerated but rewarded, because teachers are tenured. Children are passive partners. They aren't allowed to say what they like and what they don't like. And besides, there is no demand for excellence.

What a tragedy all this is. Children want to learn. Children are by nature curious.

So what happens to this curiosity? A child tells me that his science teacher allows him to ask only two questions a day. Two questions a day? No adult would ever impose such a rule on another adult.

No doubt some money will be found to ease this newest education crisis and schools will be spruced up, textbooks bought and some overcrowding reduced.

But the heart of the problem - how to reward good teachers and how to get rid of bad ones - will not be touched. It never is. Which is why the mediocrity goes on.