Handling Teacher Preps

I was initially horrified at my schedule when I first saw it last June. Having since conceded the possibility–just the possibility, mind you–that I might have overreacted, I thought I’d discuss teacher preps.

Preps is a flexible word. A teacher’s “prep period” describes the free period the teacher gets during the day, ostensibly to “prep”are. “I’ll do that during my prep” or “I go get coffee during “prep”. But if a teacher asks “How many preps do you have?”, the query involves the number of separate courses the teacher is responsible for. So a teacher could say “I have no prep, but I’m only teaching one prep–geometry” or “I’ve got three preps and it’s brutal” without explaining which prep is which.

Non-teachers can’t really understand preps properly without realizing something I’ve mentioned frequently: teachers, particularly high school teachers, develop their own curriculum.

Odd that I’m mentioning Grant Wiggins again, but a little over a year ago, he said that too many teachers are “marching page by page through a textbook”. I’m sure that’s true, but said even teachers who march through a textbook using nothing but publisher generated material, make decisions about which problems to work, which test questions to use, and, unless they are literally walking through the textbook as is, which sections to cover. And those are extreme cases. Most teachers that I would describe as “textbook users” still make considerable decisions about their curriculum, including going “off-book”.

So preps are a proxy for workload. A teacher with four preps has a much greater workload than a teacher with one prep.

I’ve taught at 4 high schools (including my student teaching) and observed how many others operate. So this next description is typical of many schools, but variations on the theme occur.

At both the middle and high school level, math teachers are kind of like the swimmers in Olympic sports—we’ve got the most events.

English has many courses, but more of them are electives (journalism, creative writing) and then there’s the “ELL” split that few teachers cross. Most students take a four year sequence by grade, either honors, AP, or regular. Science and history courses add up because unlike math, each course has an AP version. Science has a 3-year sequence that lower ability students take four years to get through; the rest take an AP course in one of the same subjects, or an elective. History has a four-course sequence over three years, and can’t take an AP course again, which is too bad.

High school math has a six-course sequence that students enter at different points–five course if you count algebra 2/trig as one. From geometry on, each course has an honors version. Calculus is generally offered in both general and AP versions AB and BC. Algebra often has a support course. Then there’s statistics and AP Stats, and usually Business Math. Toss in Discovery Geometry. What is that, 17? And unlike ELL vs. regular English, we math teachers cover it all.

English and history high school teachers rarely have more than two preps, often a primary and secondary. I won’t say never. Science teachers are the most likely to have single preps, or general and honors in the same subject, because they have specialized credentials.

Math teachers often have three preps. Larger high schools may have more specialization. Maybe in big schools you’ll hear someone described as a geometry teacher, or a calculus teacher. But that’s just never been the case in any school I’ve seen.

To the degree math teachers do specialize, it’s a range of the 6 year sequence. The most common is the algebra specialist, a gruesome job that others are welcome to. (It’s only been four years since algebra terrors, my all-algebra-all-the-time year, can you tell? I still get flashbacks.) Some algebra specialists have limited credentials and unlimited patience. Others are genuine idealists, determined to create a strong math program from the bottom up. All of them can go with god, so long as I don’t go with them.

Sometimes you find the high-end experts, the ones that teach AP Calc, honors pre-calc, AP Stats, or some combination of. Sometimes these folk are the prima donnas with the math chops. Other times, they just aren’t very good with kids so they get stuck with the most motivated ones—they also teach the honors algebra 2 and geometry courses sometimes, because they just can’t deal with kids who aren’t as prepared or motivated. (No, I’m not bitter. Why would you think that?) And while we don’t have a name for what I do, it’s not uncommon for a math teacher to focus on “the middles”, the courses from geometry to pre-calc.

But not all schools go the category route. Others require all math teachers to cover a low, mid, and high level course in the sequence to be sure that no one gets cocky.

So now, after that explanation of preps, go back to the beginning, when I mention my hyperventilation over easy, familiar preps that I thought would be boring. Many teachers would agree—quite a few colleagues in all subjects commiserated with my dismay. Other teachers consider it rank abuse of power when admins assign them two preps, much less three.

Why? Because some teachers love the additional workload, love building and developing curriculum, mulling over the best way to introduce a new topic. For teachers like me, that’s an essential element of teaching—and repetition, teaching the same content three or four times a day, is so not essential, but rather Groundhog Day tedious. Others see curriculum as something they want handed to them or will do, reluctantly, once. Or, something they’ve honed after umpty-ump years and it’s perfect so they aren’t changing a thing. To these teachers, curriculum is a distraction from their primary job of teaching, the delivery of that curriculum–the job they actually get paid for. Give them the day of the school year, they know what they’re teaching.

If you’ve never really considered teacher preps before, certain questions might come to mind. Does teacher effectiveness (however measured) vary with the number of preps? Does teacher effectiveness vary by subject? (I’ve wondered before if I’m just better at geometry than algebra, for example.) Could we improve academic outcomes by giving weak teachers one prep in a limited subject, and strong teachers multiple preps (assuming we know what that is)? Do teacher contracts negotiate the maximum number of preps that can be assigned? While Ed’s informed assertions are interesting, surely there’s better data that gives a better idea of how many preps high school academic teachers have, on average? Or middle school teachers?

What terrific questions. They all occurred to me, too. And while I’m a pretty good googler, I began to wonder if I wasn’t using the right terms, because I could find no research on teacher preps, no union contracts restricting preps.

Let’s assume that some research has been done, that some contracts exist but escaped my eagle Google. Teacher preps still are clearly not on the horizon. I can’t remember ever hearing or reading a reformer mention them. When I was in ed school, the subject never came up—how to identify the best combination of preps, what number was optimal, and so on. Given how little control teachers have over preps, ed schools may just count it as one more of the nitty-gritty elements of the job we’ll discover later.

Education reformers simply don’t understand the degree to which teachers develop or influence curriculum and the resources it takes. They don’t understand the tremendous range of curriculum development that takes within a school. Moreover, most reformers don’t even understand that preps exist or have any impact on teacher workload. Few of them ever taught at all. So they don’t really know what a “prep” is, and then assume that most teachers rely largely on a textbook. That doesn’t leave them much room to mull.

Researchers don’t discuss preps much, either. I’m not even sure Larry Cuban, who describes teacher practice better than almost anyone, describing here the multi-layered curriculum which explicitly describes teacher-designed curriculum, has never written about preps. Many researchers also tend to confuse textbooks with curriculum.

I wonder if researchers are prone to ignoring high school preps because they would have to acknowledge how questionable their conclusions are without taking preps into consideration. If a researcher compares two high school teachers using a new curriculum, does it matter if one teacher has one prep and is teaching the same topic all day? This may give that teacher more time to adjust, notice patterns, change instruction. Meanwhile, the busy teacher with three preps who is just teaching one class with the new curriculum may just be doing it as an afterthought. Alternatively, teaching one class all day may also bore the teacher to the point of rote delivery, while the teacher with one class jumps in with enthusiasm.

Once I really started thinking about preps from a policy perspective, I became really flummoxed at the lack of play it gets. I may be missing a whole field of research, that’s how odd it is.

Administrators keep preps firmly in mind; whether contracts require it or not, they rarely give high school teachers more than whatever a commonly agreed amount is (usually three). Ideally, they will limit new teacher preps, although my mentee from last year had three preps each semester. Now that I think on it, I had three preps, too. Never mind—they pile it on newbies, too.

If VAM ever gets taken seriously at the high school level (which I find very unlikely), preps are likely to become a contract issue. Teachers being judged on test scores will probably demand a large sample size, which means fewer preps.

Fewer preps for teachers, of course, means far less flexibility for administrators putting together the dreaded master schedule. Ultimately, it means more teachers on the pay roll or fewer courses offered, because fewer preps and less flexibility must be compensated for somehow.

And hey. I just realized that Integrated Math (bleargh) schools have fewer preps. Maybe this is another foul plot of Common Core.

For myself, I do not want limited preps, even if my feet are forced to the fire on the point that hey, I’m really enjoying this easier year. But honesty compels me to point out that preps should be explored for their impact on teacher satisfaction, teacher productivity and–to the extent possible–academic outcomes.

I have no real ideas here. Only thoughts to offer up and see what others have on tap.

However, there’s another issue never far from my mind that perhaps the above mullings cast some light on: that of teacher intellectual property. Stephen Sawchuk just wrote a great piece on various issues in the related arena of teacher-curriculum sharing, and mentioned IP and copyright. I have huge issues with the absurd notion that districts own teacher-developed curriculum, which I’ll save for another post.

But surely this post makes it obvious that if teacher preps vary, then one of two things must be true. Either teachers in the same subject are getting paid the same salary for doing dramatically different jobs–and I don’t mean quality here, just work expectations.

Or teachers are paid to teach, in which case the actual delivery is the same no matter how many preps we have. Teachers then have the choice–the choice–to use the book and supplied materials extensively, or develop their own, to do the job as they determine it should be done. This seems to me to be the obviously correct interpretation of teacher expectations and the “work” they are “hired” for.

And in my world view, teachers are not paid to develop the curriculum, and therefore the district can keep its damn paws off my lessons.

Hrmph.

Handling the Teacher Perks

Before turning teacher, I spent all but five years as a temp worker, self-employed or contract. Unemployment? A hassle I didn’t bother with the few times I was eligible. Retirement? My very own funded SEP_IRA, no employer matching. Paid vacation and sick leave? Outside of those five years, I never had any.

Going from that life to public school teaching was kind of like Neal Stephenson’s description (excerpted from In the Beginning was the Command Line) of the guy who was raised by carpenters from early childhood with only a Hole Hawg as a drill and then meeting up finally with a puny homeowner’s version.

What the hell. With so much free stuff, how can you call this work?

From Veteran’s Day to the first week of the New Year, over three weeks off, the bulk of them from mid-December to early January. Five plus days off at spring break, and two months off in the summer. Eleven days of sick leave that accrue, and two “use it or lose it” days. I get the same amount of pay every single month. Guaranteed pension, already vested comfortably, probably to retire with 30%—not bad for a late entry.

Plus, I hear it’s hard to get fired.

I clearly remember watching the perks of corporate employment slowly be stripped away back in my twenties, perks that few people under 50 can even imagine. So it’s bizarre to have entered a profession where it feels like the 80s again.

Now, I’m wondering if I’m getting used to it.

In the previous five years of teaching, my collective time out of the classroom was 3 sick days and 6 mandated professional development days. This year, I was out of class for nearly 10 days of professional obligations: three days for an honest to god, out of state, education conference, two-plus days for mentoring and induction responsibilities, and 4 days of Common Core testing.

I felt very guilty about all this time off, and without question the absences impacted instruction time and coverage. So much so that when I came down with a really severe case of with food poisoning (you know those rotisserie chickens? Used to love them. Hope I eventually trust them again) during testing week, I came in anyway because I knew it would wreak havoc both on testing schedules for administration and my carefully scheduled coverage plans (I was missing alternate classes during the week). I went four days munching crackers and chugging that weird chalky pink stuff, previously unknown to me.

In retrospect this struck me as idiotic, so I went to the principal’s secretary and asked how to request time off. That’s when I learned formally I had 13 days a year, including two use or lose–which I’ve been losing for the past five years. I took a whole day and a half just for a family graduation 10 hours away, when I normally would have left Friday afternoon and come back Sunday night.

More evidence: for the first time in eight summers, six of them as a teacher, I decided to forego employment (part-time and no benefits, of course) at my favorite hagwon, where I usually act as chief lunatic for book club, PSAT prep, and occasionally geometry.

Why? I wanted more time off.

This wasn’t a sudden decision. Last year it finally sunk in that despite the easy hours and students, the elapsed time of my hagwon day clocked in at 9 hours: three on, three off, three on, for eight weeks. While this hadn’t seemed punitive with a 5 minute commute, the schedule lost much of its charm when I moved 45 minutes away. Meanwhile, the eight week schedule left just eight uninterrupted days off at the end of summer.

Yes. The four weeks I am granted throughout the year is not enough. I want more of the eight uninterrupted weeks. It shames me.

But there’s hope. If eight days seemed too little, two months off seemed….excessive. Years of temp work leaves me never entirely comfortable not knowing where my next dollar would come from. Long vacations make me nervous. Back in my tutor/test prep instructor life, my son and I took a long road trip one summer that culminated in a 6 week stay in another city. I notified a local Kaplan branch, got some SAT classes, put ads in Craigslist and got some private tutoring, making enough to offset the fuel and food expenditures for the trip.

I am not yet ready to abandon summer work altogether. I wanted a summer job. Just a different one, with a shorter work day, a shorter employment term, and higher hourly pay so I’d get more time off but the same dollars’ pay.

Normal people are thinking “Hah! And a pony.” Teachers are thinking “Duh. Just teach summer school.” Public summer school, that is. Six weeks at most in my area, higher hourly pay, out at 1:30.

I have very strong feelings about summer school, none of them positive. But public summer school it is, this summer. More of that later, assuming I can push through and finish this absurdly non-essential piece because family fun time and work are coming perilously close to giving me writer’s block.

As a side note, a transition marked: I’ve now left all three legs of my previous income behind. Private tutoring mostly gone over the past two years, the hagwon this last year, Kaplan since ed school.

A job change to get a longer summer break. Another worrisome trend?

But then, just when I began to worry about having been slowly sucked in, I learned what my preps for the upcoming year would be and nearly had a meltdown.

Every year, teachers are given a form to list their preferences for subject assignments (aka, “preps”). Every year, my form says “I’m happy to teach any academic subject I’ve got a credential for–but please don’t limit me to one prep a semester. Two is better, three is best.” Then I list three classes I haven’t taught in a while, or would like to do a second time. This year, I’d asked to teach at least one session of history, to build on my last year, pre-calc, which I hadn’t taught in a year, and any lower level class, just to keep myself humble. Again, this is in the context of teaching any other class as well.

I went into school after summer started to work on one of the professional obligations above, and as a thank-you, the principal showed us the master schedule board.

Semester One: Algebra 2, Trig. Two blocks of each.
Semester Two: Algebra 2, Trig. Three blocks total, two blocks Trig.

This schedule would be, to most teachers, a perk. Just two preps I’m familiar with. An easy year, after an extraordinarily demanding one in which I had two brand new classes, one of which was in a completely different academic subject for the first time in five years. Some might view the schedule as a form of thank-you, or maybe an acknowledgement that I’ve got more professional responsibilities so require a schedule with less planning or curriculum development.

I looked at the board and thought Christ, I have to quit this school, that’s awful, I love this school, but I have to get out of here. I need some time for job-hunting. I can’t quit summer school, it starts Monday. But I can jobhunt in the afternoons, it’s a Friday so I have some time to update my resume. Maybe I won’t have to leave the district, so I could keep tenure, and maybe I can talk to the administrator at summer school, hey, it’s actually good that I’m not at the hagwon this year, I just need to update my resume….

So not a perk, to me.

I tend towards extreme reactions, as alert readers may have noticed. Self-knowledge has led to compensatory braking systems. In years past, I would have just turned in my resignation on the spot. But my braking system kicked in, I remembered that quitting is just a symptom of my temporary worker mindset. I reminded myself how good it felt to get tenure, that my administration team likes me. Before I quit, I should perhaps consider other alternatives.

I will cover those alternatives, and my fears, in a follow-up post. No really, I promise.

So no, I’m not yet sucked in by the teacher perks. But I do want more free time during my 10 weeks off. Call me ungrateful.

***************************************************************

Note: I will always value intellectual challenge over predictability for my own job satisfaction. But many teachers do an outstanding job teaching just one subject or the same two preps for thirty years. Outsiders, particularly well-educated folks with elite pedigrees, champion intellectual curious teachers with cognitive ability to spare as an obvious advancement over what they see as the “factory model” teacher turning out the same widgets ever year. But little evidence suggests that intellectual chops produces better results, much less better teachers. So please don’t interpret my rejection of predictability and routine as evidence of anything other than a fear of boredom.