Why I Love Summer School
If you know a teacher, you know the last days of the school year bring a predictable progression of activities and emotions. The anxiety of testing season is over; the pressure to cover just one more standard has passed. End of year activities - spree days, award ceremonies, senior nights, talent shows, portfolio showcases, and graduations are done. Energy is dwindling; exhaustion is a steady companion. Rooms are cleaned; end of year checklists checked. Carefully crafted bulletin boards are taken down; countertops cleared. Materials purchased personally are locked away. If that sneaky department head doesn’t come in and scoop them up, some unscrupulous summer school teacher might. It happens.
On the last day of school you’ll be greeted by the smell of industrial grade disinfectant and piles of dust bunnies. You’ll find first graders sorting crayons, tossing the worn-out reds and blues in the trash. No one can do any serious work with those. You’ll see third graders lolling on blankets on the floor pretending to read as they chat about new sandals, old bikes, baseball, and who can do the best cartwheel. Sixth graders will huddle over yearbooks, writing to their BFFs and drawing hearts. Teachers will putter; they’ll stand in adjoining doorways talking about plans for next year and beach trips just around the corner; they’ll worry about the kids whose moms can’t let them out of the house because there’s too much gang activity on the block and the kids whose moms let them out anyway. They’ll pack up and they’ll purge, filling the trash bins in the hallway. There will be workbooks with torn edges, folded flashcards, wrinkled worksheets, love notes, hate notes, and highly detailed drawings of Mario and Luigi. Boxes filled with binders, beaten and battered, as they journeyed to and from school will take their place next to the bins. There will also be piles of tee-shirts, sweatshirts, jackets - is that a Northface? Jeans. Seriously? Jeans? Yup. These kids are moving on. Their moms haven’t mentioned those jeans in weeks. No way a kid is going to bring clothes home now and start all that again.
Most teachers, and kids, will walk out of school at the end of the last day imagining weeks without the chirp of alarm clocks and the hurriedness of weekday mornings. They’ll play outside and inside. They’ll go to pools and playgrounds and parks. They’ll ride bikes and skateboards and scooters. Moms will hide video game controllers so kids will interact with their siblings, and then hand over controllers so they’ll leave their siblings alone. Some kids will pick up a book on their own. Others will trade summer reading time for time on their Nintendo 3DS or with their phone. But beyond that, most will not engage in anything academic for the next eight weeks.
The result of this time off can be a summer slide. According to the Colorado Department of Education, “Summer slide is the tendency for students, especially those from low-income families, to lose some of the achievement gains they made during the previous school year.” Research shows that elementary students from middle class families and those from poorer families gain reading skills at the same rate during the school year. But students from lower income families tend to lose skills over the summer resulting in a significant reading achievement gap by ninth grade. The article “Stop the Summer Slide and Brain Drain,” https://feaweb.org/stop-the-summer-slide, from The Florida Education Association, offers tons of great resources to help parents support their children’s learning over the summer.
For some students concerns about regression or failure to meet academic expectations during the year due to poor performance or attendance issues leads to enrollment in summer school programs. Those two words, summer school, are fingernails on a chalkboard to many teachers and students. To me, however, they are breezy reminders of what’s to come. Don’t get me wrong, teaching summer school is hard work. But for me something magical happens in the summer.
First of all, I keep my daily routine for a few extra weeks without the intensity of the September to June demands. The day starts a little later. The dress code is relaxed. The classes are smaller. The goals more specific. It’s school-year-lite.
When I first started teaching, summers off were an absolute necessity. I couldn’t have have gone back to school in June if I was going to have Harry, Ron and Hermione as students. I was that done. And after five weeks of beach days, tie dying, swimming, drive-ins, bike rides, friendship bracelets, ice cream, the library, squirt guns, street hockey and lots of sleeping in, I would remember how much I loved being home with my kids and I’d begin to wonder if I would be able to muster the energy needed for the September to June cabaret. That’s when I’d start to cry.
Summer school takes that all away. I finish the year, admittedly exhausted, and take a week or so off. We come back to school for a few more weeks, take another break, and hit the ground running in the fall. That routine is perfectly tailored for someone like me. I’m like a shark in this way. If I keep moving, I stay alive.
Second, no kid really has to come to summer school. They may lose credit or even be retained, but no court is going to knock on a door because a parent didn’t send their child to summer school. I remind my students of that all the time. I call them warriors and champions because while the rest of their friends are still snoozing under a sheet, they are in school. They walk past empty classroom after empty classroom. They see the trash bins and overflowing boxes and piles of dust, broken pens, eraser pieces, pennies, Starburst wrappers, and an occasional fidget spinner. Amid the remnants of an academic battleground, they are the ones left standing. They should be proud I tell them. They’re investing in themselves. By showing up, they’re showing they believe in themselves. And that’s a big part of the fight.
Third, instructional freedom reigns during summer school. I don’t have to worry whether there are enough books, computers, or desks. There are. I don’t worry whether there is enough bandwidth to support us all being online at the same time. There is. I don’t worry if there will be a line at the copy machine. There won’t. I don’t have to worry about supplies. They’re provided. In a box. With my name on it. I just have to be sure my students learn. That part is non-negotiable. And when I don’t have to worry about all the other stuff, I can do it. I can teach and they can learn. This year the summer school theme is heroes. We’re reading and writing about sports heroes. Are super athletes really heroes? Do they have responsibilities to their fans? Is it tremendous talent that makes you heroic? We’re designing super heroes and asking why we need them and how super heroes have filled roles in society in different ways throughout history. We’ll interview firefighters and paramedics and read about heroes who bring hope to people in trouble every day. Without all the demands that the sheer numbers bring during the school year, we’ll be able to more closely assess and individualize our lessons. And most importantly we’ll have more time with our kids.
Summer school provides an unparalleled opportunity to get to know students. There’s a routine that’s a little more relaxed; kids who are, in many ways, showing up by choice; and teachers who are free to access the standards in fun and creative ways. The combination is a magic formula for building student-teacher relationships and a spirit of collaboration. In this setting I’ve had invaluable discussions with kids. We’ve talked about their goals and their fear of pursuing them; their home lives and friendships; things they find challenging and what has helped them succeed. We’ve laughed harder, worked steadier, and learned more. Through it all I’ve fallen a little more in love with my learners. And that is why I love summer school.
