The seeds of my educational philosophy were sown three weeks into my first year of teaching. I was preparing for a rather nebulous 10th grade history unit called, “Unresolved Problems in the Modern World.” Since I was a tree-hugger who had just gotten out of the Peace Corps and had worked for the Forest Service, I wanted to focus the unit on environmental degradation.
I wanted the students to understand not just what was happening to the environment, but where. So I gave my students a map of the world quiz, and I was totally blown away. And not in a good way.
The entire class failed. 95% of my students were Latino, primarily Mexican, and only 10% of my students could find Mexico on a map. One of my colleagues, a much more experienced teacher, said, “Why would you give those kids a quiz, Jose? Don’t do that!” The implication was that I had just stupidly ruined my own day by administering a quiz the students would inevitably and spectacularly fail.
I was totally dejected. How could I teach students who knew so little?
My mentor teacher met me in the counseling office to offer his support and encouragement. This man believed in me; I could see that. He earnestly wanted to help me get through tough days like this one and build a career in education. If I could just understand this one thing, he said, I’d make it as a teacher. And that one thing has inspired me every day since.
You Can’t Make Chicken Salad Out of Chicken S**t
My mentor planted one foot on a stool, and leaned over his knee. “Jose,” he said, “If you're going to survive teaching, you’ve got to understand one thing. You can’t make chicken salad out of chicken s**t.”
I recoiled inside. Little did he know I had been “chicken s**t” myself when I was a kid. If not for a teacher who stood between me and my bad decisions, chicken s**t I might have remained. Later on I realized my mentor didn't really know how to teach. He had no pedagogy, no strategies to share with me. Nobody did!
All my mentor could give me was absolution. It’s not my fault the students can’t find Mexico on a map. Absolution was all around me, and I could take it if I wanted it.
Middle school didn’t prepare these kids. Absolved.
These kids are lazy. Absolved.
Their parents don’t care. Absolved.
I don’t get paid enough for this. Absolved.
This is not in my contract. Absolved.
These kids are chicken s**t after all!
But I wasn’t looking for absolution — and I wasn’t going to lower my expectations.
Why I Held High Standards for My Students
My mentor teacher believed, in his heart of hearts, that he was helping a new teacher. But what he said to me made me feel ugly and awful. As I walked back to my classroom, I thought, Someone is full of s**t. And it’s not the students!
15 years earlier I was ditching school and getting high. Thankfully a teacher I respected told me I was better than the way I was acting, and he held me to high standards in the classroom. I was determined to do the same for my own students. I was on my way to becoming a school founder, principal, and administrator.
Within a few weeks of that critical meeting with my mentor, I asked a simple question of a student named Guillermo.
Guillermo, When did Christopher Columbus get to America?
I dunno.
Actually, you do know, Guillermo. I’ll wait.
The class sat in silence. Minutes pass. I waited.
1492, he finally said.
So you do know! I know what you’re doing. I know you’re smart! I need you to bring that out.
How many of us teachers quickly move on, unwilling to wait for students like Guillermo to respond — and hold them accountable for what they actually do know?
“We must end the soft bigotry of low expectations.” I may not have liked President George W. Bush much, but this quote resonated with me back in 1999 — and it still does today. When we absolve ourselves of responsibility for our students’ silences and failures, all of us pay the price, either now or later. On the other hand, when we maintain high standards for all students, soft bigotry withers in the face of their infinite potential.
Let’s Rewrite the Narrative of the Helpless Teacher
I have never bought into the narrative of the helpless teacher — one who cannot possibly prepare each and every student for college due to insurmountable cultural and institutional forces. I have mountains of experiential evidence to prove the opposite.
Standards-based grading — in combination with restorative practices — is powerful and effective. The school I helped found and led as principal was one of LAUSD's highest performing schools with 99% graduation rate and 98% A-G completion (For those not in the California education game, A-G courses are the basic high school classes kids need to get into state universities. Most schools struggle to get even half their students to complete them). That’s some seriously good chicken salad!
And that school was made up of black and brown students that other educators may have written off as chicken s**t.
We are the most significant resources our students have. When we do not see ourselves as such, and we don’t act as such, we only compound problems.
Recently, I ran into my old mentor, now decades after that pivotal conversation. He casually remarked that not all students should go to college. I disagree. While college isn't the only path to success, our job isn't to decide who can or can't make it.
Talent is everywhere, but opportunity is not. We must give our students a fighting chance by opening doors and inviting them — no matter their race, class, or culture — to walk through. That's how we fight the real battle against soft bigotry and create some seriously good “chicken salad.”
I was lucky enough to have a teacher who maintained high expectations. I bet you did, too. So let’s remember this one thing in order to succeed as teachers: Refuse absolution, and pay forward what is given to us.
To bring this high-expectations approach to your school through a keynote or workshop, contact me. Let's transform student potential together.
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