Every school district has THAT psychologist. THAT psychologist who everyone is hoping will just retire already. Everyone is just waiting a few more years for that incompetent person to leave. The mere mention of THAT psychologist’s name strikes fear and disgust in people’s hearts. The other day, a colleague said the name of an incompetent employee we know and I reflexively repeated her name in a low voice, with one squinty, suspicious eye. She laughed at my Pavlovian response to her name, as it is well known this person should not be around children, let alone be responsible for any portion of a child's mental health.
My visceral negative reaction to this person's name is not unlike the scene in Young Frankenstein in which every time they say Frau Blucher’s name, the horses whinny up in fear. My colleague and I had a good time whinnying that day.
Do watch the whole clip. The last 5 seconds are the best.
I have had to work with this Frau Psychologist (Niiiiiiihiiiii!)* before. She is presently still employed in an unnamed district and is approaching her 6, maybe 7,000th year as a “school psychologist.” I put that in quotations, because she does not resemble what I think of as a school psychologist. Some of her infractions include:
1) Writing incoherent reports that use 3 different kids’ names in them and read like this: Derek’s scores indicate that Franklin is in the above average range with below average skills. Casey showed poor reading skills, along with excellent reading comprehension. Results indicate that . No, I didn’t forget to finish typing, that was her conclusion.
2) Not having a basic understanding that a kid can be behind in reading or math and it is not due to a disability. A teenager she tested had just came from Mexico two weeks prior to testing, did poorly on reading in a language he didn’t know, and she concluded he was learning disabled and he went in special education.
3) Incessant noisy gum chewing. Ok, that doesn’t make you a bad school psychologist, but it sure is annoying *smak* to *smak* listen *smak* to *smak* that *smak* in *smak* between *smak* *smak* *smak* words.
4) Frau Psychologist (Niiiiiihiiiii!)* also angers easily and is toxic in every meeting. Once, when asked to contribute money to the social fund for a psychologist who was ill and in the hospital, she argued that she shouldn’t have to because no one got her anything when she was sick last year. Nice empathy.
5) As you can imagine, any psychologist who followed in her footsteps had a boatload of unethical, incompetent assessments to re-do. When a child was due for re-testing, I would cautiously open up the file, say a silent prayer she didn’t do the last testing, and then of course, have to re-do it entirely and tell the parents that we were just kidding about that learning disability.
How can it be that such incompetent people continue to shame our profession? Does this happen in other professions? Are there Frau Accountants, Frau Teachers and Herr Human Resource Guy? How are these people not fired???
All I know is I came across a Frau Psychologist* report the other day and inadvertently whinnied out loud and reared my arms up in manner of horse, and then had a lot of explaining to do to my co-workers around me. Maybe soon I will be the crazy psychologist people hope they don’t have to deal with. Then, it will be officially time to retire.
*Niiiiiiihiiiiii! Horse whinnying sound.
Sunday, 28 September 2008
Monday, 22 September 2008
Tune in, Bay Area Night Owls, for a NFTSP Sound Bite!
For those of you in the San Francisco area, I was interviewed for NBC News, and the piece is allegedly airing tonight, Monday the 22nd at 11pm, on KNTV Bay Area Channel 11. I was interviewed about a new study on the potential positive sides of video games.* They wanted an Educational Psychologist's take on the study, so here you go.
While the popular media tends to portray this as, “Video Games are Good!” the main point of the new study is that there's a lot of diversity in the kinds of games teens play and that paying attention to the qualities of their experiences while playing games is important. It contends that we need to move beyond the games-are-good/games-are-bad arguments and think about how kids are spending their time when playing video games rather just whether and how much they're playing.
One interesting finding was that some video game play is providing opportunities to think about social issues and develop civic skills (leading groups, helping others, making decisions about how a city is run) and this appears to be related to real-life civic and political activity.
Another interesting fact is that NBC likely found me through this posting on a horrible date in which I was made to play Grand Theft Auto.
*I hope my hair was professional, but not Palin. Discuss.
While the popular media tends to portray this as, “Video Games are Good!” the main point of the new study is that there's a lot of diversity in the kinds of games teens play and that paying attention to the qualities of their experiences while playing games is important. It contends that we need to move beyond the games-are-good/games-are-bad arguments and think about how kids are spending their time when playing video games rather just whether and how much they're playing.
One interesting finding was that some video game play is providing opportunities to think about social issues and develop civic skills (leading groups, helping others, making decisions about how a city is run) and this appears to be related to real-life civic and political activity.
Another interesting fact is that NBC likely found me through this posting on a horrible date in which I was made to play Grand Theft Auto.
*I hope my hair was professional, but not Palin. Discuss.
Sunday, 21 September 2008
The One in Which My Lunch is Interrupted by a Faux Knife Fight
The teacher’s lounge can be a scary place to be. I have been assigned as the school psychologist in no less than 10 different schools in the past few years and have seen my fair share of teacher’s lounges. Each one has it’s own culture. Sometimes, I judge a school by the collegiality of the Teacher’s Lounge. There was Peace Elementary School* which sported a Teacher’s Lounge/Book Room/Ant Farm that I avoided like the plague because every time I went there I got the inappropriate disclosure from the teachers. I’m a psychologist, not your psychologist so I’d rather not hear about how you are cheating on your husband while I eat my sandwich. Also: not interested in your porn addiction.
Then, there was Haides Middle School’s Teacher’s Lounge.* One could not really call it a “Teacher’s Lounge” as it was more of a classroom with microwave and a copy machine. No one ever sat down in there except me. I was all eager “let’s consult!” newbie who quickly learned that some lounges are toxic to the soul. This room should have had a dark, rainy cloud over it in manner of Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh. It wasn’t a lounge, but really just a scowly-teacher waystation, filled with inappropriate judgments about the kids. I never went in there again after I asked a teacher how the Jones twins were doing and the teacher said, “Jim is a crack-head nitwit, but not as big of a crack-head nitwit as his twin.” Lovely.
But I have digressed from the knife fight. It’s coming, I promise.
The Teachers Lounge I was in the other day is a nice attempt at fostering joint-lunch consumption. However, I have never seen anyone in there but me. Some teachers fly by to grab something out of the fridge, say hi, and quickly dart back to their rooms. So I eat alone. In order to entertain myself, I spy on the children at recess through the window. It is quite a show. The fun game I play every day as I sit down to eat, is “Let’s hop right back up from my meal, poke my head out the window and break up a play fight.” I intervene early in the chain of behavior because play fighting is the gateway drug to real fighting. But today I really wanted to eat my lunch warm. I watched the beginnings of a play fight as I ate my salmon, fashioning myself as an ethnographer of tweens:
12:08pm. Subjects engage in hierarchy-establishing pseudo-aggression to establish dominance. Note smiling while pushing.
And then, out comes the knife. Crap. I should have intervened earlier. To my credit, I could tell that it was a giant fake knife, so instead of panicking, I mentally noted the backpack from which it came and the students who touched it. I have been through grad school and know that eyewitness testimony is flawed and I didn’t want to make a mistake. Most school districts have a zero-tolerance approach to fake or real weapons. I went outside and opened my hand for them to give it to me. They played dumb for a second until I told them I was in the Teacher’s Lounge and saw everything. They tried to pass one over on “La Blanca”** by talking in Spanish to each other about their lie. HA! I know what “mochilla” means! Gotcha!
And the moral of my story is: Eat in your own classroom or office. No, wait, sorry, it’s to intervene early in the chain of behavior and have more supervision in “hot spots” like the one near the Teacher’s Lounge.
*Totally a pseudonym.
**Kids who don’t know me have actually called me this. The White.
Then, there was Haides Middle School’s Teacher’s Lounge.* One could not really call it a “Teacher’s Lounge” as it was more of a classroom with microwave and a copy machine. No one ever sat down in there except me. I was all eager “let’s consult!” newbie who quickly learned that some lounges are toxic to the soul. This room should have had a dark, rainy cloud over it in manner of Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh. It wasn’t a lounge, but really just a scowly-teacher waystation, filled with inappropriate judgments about the kids. I never went in there again after I asked a teacher how the Jones twins were doing and the teacher said, “Jim is a crack-head nitwit, but not as big of a crack-head nitwit as his twin.” Lovely.
But I have digressed from the knife fight. It’s coming, I promise.
The Teachers Lounge I was in the other day is a nice attempt at fostering joint-lunch consumption. However, I have never seen anyone in there but me. Some teachers fly by to grab something out of the fridge, say hi, and quickly dart back to their rooms. So I eat alone. In order to entertain myself, I spy on the children at recess through the window. It is quite a show. The fun game I play every day as I sit down to eat, is “Let’s hop right back up from my meal, poke my head out the window and break up a play fight.” I intervene early in the chain of behavior because play fighting is the gateway drug to real fighting. But today I really wanted to eat my lunch warm. I watched the beginnings of a play fight as I ate my salmon, fashioning myself as an ethnographer of tweens:
12:08pm. Subjects engage in hierarchy-establishing pseudo-aggression to establish dominance. Note smiling while pushing.
And then, out comes the knife. Crap. I should have intervened earlier. To my credit, I could tell that it was a giant fake knife, so instead of panicking, I mentally noted the backpack from which it came and the students who touched it. I have been through grad school and know that eyewitness testimony is flawed and I didn’t want to make a mistake. Most school districts have a zero-tolerance approach to fake or real weapons. I went outside and opened my hand for them to give it to me. They played dumb for a second until I told them I was in the Teacher’s Lounge and saw everything. They tried to pass one over on “La Blanca”** by talking in Spanish to each other about their lie. HA! I know what “mochilla” means! Gotcha!
And the moral of my story is: Eat in your own classroom or office. No, wait, sorry, it’s to intervene early in the chain of behavior and have more supervision in “hot spots” like the one near the Teacher’s Lounge.
*Totally a pseudonym.
**Kids who don’t know me have actually called me this. The White.
Friday, 12 September 2008
I Have a Whole Bag of Worry with my Name on It
“Worry is like a rocking chair—it gives you something to do, but it doesn’t get you anywhere” –Dorothy Galyean
I had dinner with some graduate school classmates from UC Berkeley the other day, and after two minutes of social pleasantries, we of course launched into our favorite topic: The Public School System. We are all school psychologists. Some of us work in fancy schmancy districts where the district has to employ detectives to make sure kids really live in the district boundaries, and some work in districts like mine where finding a working copier is a real treat.
We got to talking about our own kids—some just entering preschool, some about to graduate from high school—and my own children I don’t have yet, but have great names already picked out.* I admitted that I am pre-worrying about sending my future children to public schools and have tremendous guilt about being a public school employee who may not be able to walk the walk when it comes to my own kids. Ideologically, I want them to go to public school. But I admit, I worry about the gamble. The mid-ground has been that my fiancée and I are already calculated our next move to coincide with living in a “good” public school district.
But what is a “good” public school district, anyway?
I’m glad you asked. I want my kids to have caring and competent teachers, a safe environment, a positive school climate, diversity of staff and student body, be developmentally appropriate (no shoving inappropriate standards-based curriculum on my kids, thank you very much), have opportunities for parent involvement, but not support the intrusive parenting culture (where all things are monitored, including every move the teacher makes and children’s consumption of glucose), high standards, but not too high that the average kid feels dumb, learning goals over performance goals, and within walking distance to my house. Oh, and that house needs to be under a million dollars in California, because c’mon, I’m a public servant.
After my diatribe about the type of school I want to send my not-children to, I sighed, and wondered if my pre-emptive worry is jumping the gun a bit.
Then, I worried that my pre-worry traits will make me become one of those hyper-involved helicopter moms who will swoop in on all educational matters.
Sigh. If you need me, I’ll just be here in my rocking chair for the next 4-18 years. Anyone care to join me?
*This is such a difficult task for an educator, because we’ve heard every name there is, and have our own associations. I have worked with some hell-on-wheels kids who have ruined perfectly good potential baby names.
I had dinner with some graduate school classmates from UC Berkeley the other day, and after two minutes of social pleasantries, we of course launched into our favorite topic: The Public School System. We are all school psychologists. Some of us work in fancy schmancy districts where the district has to employ detectives to make sure kids really live in the district boundaries, and some work in districts like mine where finding a working copier is a real treat.
We got to talking about our own kids—some just entering preschool, some about to graduate from high school—and my own children I don’t have yet, but have great names already picked out.* I admitted that I am pre-worrying about sending my future children to public schools and have tremendous guilt about being a public school employee who may not be able to walk the walk when it comes to my own kids. Ideologically, I want them to go to public school. But I admit, I worry about the gamble. The mid-ground has been that my fiancée and I are already calculated our next move to coincide with living in a “good” public school district.
But what is a “good” public school district, anyway?
I’m glad you asked. I want my kids to have caring and competent teachers, a safe environment, a positive school climate, diversity of staff and student body, be developmentally appropriate (no shoving inappropriate standards-based curriculum on my kids, thank you very much), have opportunities for parent involvement, but not support the intrusive parenting culture (where all things are monitored, including every move the teacher makes and children’s consumption of glucose), high standards, but not too high that the average kid feels dumb, learning goals over performance goals, and within walking distance to my house. Oh, and that house needs to be under a million dollars in California, because c’mon, I’m a public servant.
After my diatribe about the type of school I want to send my not-children to, I sighed, and wondered if my pre-emptive worry is jumping the gun a bit.
Then, I worried that my pre-worry traits will make me become one of those hyper-involved helicopter moms who will swoop in on all educational matters.
Sigh. If you need me, I’ll just be here in my rocking chair for the next 4-18 years. Anyone care to join me?
*This is such a difficult task for an educator, because we’ve heard every name there is, and have our own associations. I have worked with some hell-on-wheels kids who have ruined perfectly good potential baby names.
Tuesday, 9 September 2008
Special Education: The Department of Redundancy Department
This is the post in which I realize that crazy has become normal. Since I’ve been immersed in crazy for 7 years, I didn't even realize what I was saying today was crazy until I said it to a new staff member. I actually found myself in the following conversation:
New Administrator: Can we make a referral for mental health services for a student who may be a student special education? I think the student needs some counseling.
Me: Sure, I just have to fill out the paperwork. First, I will send out a notice of intention to assess the student, distribute the paperwork to document the prior interventions, then once that’s signed by the parent, I can then send out the actual assessment plan to the parent, which they will need to return, then we can start the assessment. Then, 60 days later, if the student qualifies, we can initiate another referral for mental health, in which I document the same information on a new form, then mental health will send out an assessment plan to do essentially the same assessment I just did, then the parent will return that and they will do the assessment, and in 60 days, we will have a meeting to see if we can get the student mental health services.
New Administrator: (stunned silence)
Me: I know, it’s dumb. Let me just get permission to check in on the kid this week.
This is the problem with my job in the public schools. It takes over 120 days to get something easy done. Over the years, I’ve learned that the biggest gift I can give to those I work with, especially the parents, (many of which do not know the process, are rightfully intimidated by the process, don’t speak English, and did not obtain special education law degrees) is to streamline the redundancy for them. If I can cut out a dumb step legally, I’ll do it. Sometimes though, I’m bound to the redundant dumbness.
And I’m bound to the redundant dumbness too.
New Administrator: Can we make a referral for mental health services for a student who may be a student special education? I think the student needs some counseling.
Me: Sure, I just have to fill out the paperwork. First, I will send out a notice of intention to assess the student, distribute the paperwork to document the prior interventions, then once that’s signed by the parent, I can then send out the actual assessment plan to the parent, which they will need to return, then we can start the assessment. Then, 60 days later, if the student qualifies, we can initiate another referral for mental health, in which I document the same information on a new form, then mental health will send out an assessment plan to do essentially the same assessment I just did, then the parent will return that and they will do the assessment, and in 60 days, we will have a meeting to see if we can get the student mental health services.
New Administrator: (stunned silence)
Me: I know, it’s dumb. Let me just get permission to check in on the kid this week.
This is the problem with my job in the public schools. It takes over 120 days to get something easy done. Over the years, I’ve learned that the biggest gift I can give to those I work with, especially the parents, (many of which do not know the process, are rightfully intimidated by the process, don’t speak English, and did not obtain special education law degrees) is to streamline the redundancy for them. If I can cut out a dumb step legally, I’ll do it. Sometimes though, I’m bound to the redundant dumbness.
And I’m bound to the redundant dumbness too.
Tuesday, 2 September 2008
Pay Attention!
I recently got in a fender bender in my car, which I could blame on my dog for being so cute in the back seat, but really, it was all my fault. I was distracted by said dog, and just rolled right into the lady in front of me. She was really nice, but she kept saying, “Why did you do that?” and “Why weren’t you paying attention?” I kept apologizing, but after the 10th time she asked my why I wasn't paying attention, I whined, “I ran into you because it was an accident! That is why it is called an accident and not an on-purpose!”
In general, I have excellent focus. If you reviewed my school records, it would not say what I see over and over as a school psychologist reviewing records: “Rebecca has potential when she pays attention.”* But this week, I guess I was literally driven to distraction. I felt bad enough for hitting this woman, and then even worse when she kept blaming me for my lack of focus. Not. Helpful.
I couldn’t help but think of my students with Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) who are constantly being told they need to pay attention. I wonder if that is also not helpful. I wonder if there is a cumulative effect of discouragement when every time someone says your name it is to tell you to pay attention, focus, or get “on task.” There are certainly times when all students need reminders, but if you have ADD, I bet you get them all the time. I will make a point this week to use my springing social skills* in the classroom by ascending upon children who are focused this week, and praise them.
*Preschool teachers did note that, “Rebecca would like others to think she is shy, but she really likes to socialize.” What does that mean? I spring my extroversion on unsuspecting peers? I have this image of shy 5 year old me hiding behind the bookshelf in the reading corner and then jumping out at a small group of kids screaming, “HA! Play with me!”
In general, I have excellent focus. If you reviewed my school records, it would not say what I see over and over as a school psychologist reviewing records: “Rebecca has potential when she pays attention.”* But this week, I guess I was literally driven to distraction. I felt bad enough for hitting this woman, and then even worse when she kept blaming me for my lack of focus. Not. Helpful.
I couldn’t help but think of my students with Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) who are constantly being told they need to pay attention. I wonder if that is also not helpful. I wonder if there is a cumulative effect of discouragement when every time someone says your name it is to tell you to pay attention, focus, or get “on task.” There are certainly times when all students need reminders, but if you have ADD, I bet you get them all the time. I will make a point this week to use my springing social skills* in the classroom by ascending upon children who are focused this week, and praise them.
*Preschool teachers did note that, “Rebecca would like others to think she is shy, but she really likes to socialize.” What does that mean? I spring my extroversion on unsuspecting peers? I have this image of shy 5 year old me hiding behind the bookshelf in the reading corner and then jumping out at a small group of kids screaming, “HA! Play with me!”
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