Tag Archives: Students

Through the Cracks

I grew up in a society with a dangerous myth, one that suggests that everyone has the same chances in life, that one can pick themselves up from any circumstances and become something better. I’d like to think that myth has become less pervasive in recent years, but the dearth of social policy to help people who need it suggests otherwise.

Because we don’t all have the same chances in life.

Because chances for some of us are handed over on a silver platter, or otherwise lovingly passed from parent to child, while chances for others need to be scratched out of concrete with nothing more than one’s own fingernails.

In the society I grew up in, the former is upheld as the way things “should be.” The latter is celebrated as confirmation that the myth is reality; it should be celebrated because of its improbability.


More often than I had expected, I find myself thinking of the baby boy born to my hospital roommate the day before my daughter came into the world. I remember how the nurses pointed out to her that the baby needs her attention and physical contact. I remember how she called her partner to tell him that the baby needs a sleep sack and his own little bed. Her eyes rarely left her phone during the days we shared a room, but she cooed lovingly at the baby when changing his diaper and clothes. The phone was somewhere else at those moments. But for the distractions of the media world, she might have been there for him.

I’ve run into her a few times in town, the baby always on her chest. Maybe she has had a change of heart or mind and realized the choice she made by having a baby. Or maybe the tiny moments I have seen are simply tiny moments.

I wonder how the baby is doing. When I imagine his home life, I wonder how his chances in life will look. Our two babies were born in the same hospital with the same team of midwives and doctors, one day apart. On paper, they are equal. In a fair world, they would have the same chances in life. But then I think about his first days and her first days and I know: there is a difference between fairness and equality. In the real world, despite efforts by different societies, people fall through the cracks. I grew up in a society that refused to see the cracks, or blamed the cracks on the individuals needing helps. I am living in a society that sees the cracks and has imperfect systems that attempt, however clumsily, to address them.


My students have recently finished exams and will soon celebrate the completion of their schooling. While I was not there for the critical last months, I have spent a great deal of time with this group of young people, teaching some of them since arriving in Germany nearly five years ago. I have watched them mature, become more confident, make mistakes, pick themselves up. They may have gotten to the end in different ways, but they all got there.

Some of them took their exams in separate rooms. Some of them were allowed to type rather than write their answers. This is not equal, but it is fair. In order to be able to do what exams want them to do – demonstrate a certain type of knowledge – some students need different starting points. In the end, they will be evaluated equally, but the way they get to the end is not always the same.

On a larger scale, however, nothing about this is fair. My students attended private school and have completed the exams that will allow them to attend universities around the world if they choose to do so. That puts them in a very different position than young people who do not have these advantages. Regardless of the community we live in, we expect everyone to play a productive role in society. It is the responsibility of the society to build communities in which there is space for each of us, in our own ways, to do so. We might not all contribute equally, that is, in the same way, but we should all be set up to contribute in the ways that we can, which is fair.


I think about my hospital roommate’s baby boy. I look at my daughter and imagine the future that my partner and I are working to set up for her. In the event that these two babies do not have equal opportunities in life, I hope they grow up in a society that provides them with fair chances and is there to catch them before they fall through any cracks. I hope that my students, with the opportunities they have been given, will help to create that society.

Weimar, Germany – May 2026

Looping

Looping is the practice by which a teacher follows his or her class into the next school year. As this is more common in elementary schools, I was quite a few years into teaching by the time I experienced it for myself. The IB Diploma Programme is a two-year course for grades 11 and 12, meaning I taught my grade 11 psychology and Theory of Knowledge students, as a cohort, again in grade 12.

This is quite different from the secondary school practices I encountered in the US. In that context, for example, if I teach grades 9 and 11, I might indeed teach a student for the second time in grade 11, but the entire cohort hasn’t moved up together. Teaching a student multiple times is a coincidence of scheduling, rather than a design. That being said, there are a number of pastoral care models in which a homeroom remains together with the same homeroom teacher over a period of years.

When I first heard about looping as part of an elementary school model, I could imagine the positives and negatives. Knowing the students, having ways of working together, and having spent a year establishing routines and expected behaviours makes for a smoother second year together. However, if relationships are rocky, classroom structures haven’t gone as planned, and certain individuals (adults or students!) just don’t click, that could make for a challenging round two.

Moving to Germany, I was introduced to a very different model of education. Student cohorts stay together for all of primary school (grades 1-4), and then again for all of secondary school (grades 5-9/10), after having been mixed up due to significant choice, including finishing level, in their type of secondary school. At my school, groups are mixed up when needed for social reasons, or to balance out the number of students in each cohort. Scheduling in the upper school, where we all teach multiple grade levels, is deliberately planned so that we loop with our students, either as homeroom or subject teachers. I have always followed my grade 9 students into grade 10, and will teach the ones who choose psychology in both grades 11 and 12. Considering I also teach grade 7 and used to teach grade 8, some students and I are beginning our fifth year together.

Obviously, we know each other very well, and that is precisely the point. My students understand my classroom structures and expectations, and they know how to meet them. And because I have seen the students grow up and change, experience good and bad days, and try out new friend groups, I have learned how to work with them however they present. They have had a lot of opportunities to make an impression, and I have years of evidence for what works and what doesn’t, who might need extra support and who needs a challenge, which friends work well together and which need to be separated. And as things change, we change together.

Another aspect of looping that I really enjoy is the relationship it has allowed me to build with the families. We have parent-teacher conferences twice a year, and there are some families who come at every opportunity. Knowing what to expect with these meetings allows me to approach them in a way in which the family will respond, and this helps us create better partnerships.

Naturally, there are also downsides. The students who pushed my buttons in grade 9 kept right on doing so in grade 10, and the families who have an antagonistic relationship with the school have minimal incentive to turn over a new leaf. Sometimes, it can be a real drag knowing that we are in it for two years rather than just one.

Overwhelmingly, though, I have found that this system of looping works. We celebrated our 25th anniversary at school on Friday, and the day culminated in a summer fair in which all members of the community took part. My partner attended, too, and could not stop commenting on the feeling of positivity and joy, the sense of belonging, the ways that the students presented themselves, and the ways that they interacted with me and with each other. The atmosphere was a particularly special one, given the face painting, raffle, and international food offerings, but in no way unusual. This is a school built on relationships, and we really are all in it together.

No Straight Lines

Beginning at the parking lot and continuing along the walking trail leading to my favourite climbing spot are whimsical painted stones giving life advice. One that I particularly like reads, in translation, “The crooked tree enjoys life. The straight tree becomes a board.”

I have to smile every time I see this modified teaching from Daoist philosopher Lao Tzu. Indeed.

Consider an individual who carves their own path versus one who unquestioningly follows a straight line. Think of creatives, often revered for their skills, who report having had difficulty fitting in. There are whole communities of “alternatives” who are so similar to one another as to not be “alternative” at all. As an educator, I find this important to keep the spectrum of difference in mind in working with students. To some extent, I need them to “play the game” of school because of the way society is structured, but there is wiggle room between adherence to instructions and stamping out individuality.

I can see my life path reflected in the saying, too. I spent my childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood occupied with, out of a combination of intrinsic and extrinsic factors, what I was “supposed to” be doing. I had a plan and followed it, pretty predictably, until I didn’t. When I stopped the relentless, goal-oriented drive towards some imagined end, I realized that I didn’t actually want what the end had come to symbolize. I’d foregone the opportunity to “take chances, make mistakes, and get messy” in the words of Ms. Frizzle, everyone’s favourite science teacher, and came a little late to self-discovery.

But I got there, which is what had me in the forest climbing rocks in the first place.

This particular sign is placed so that you catch a glimpse of it on your way into the forest and see it full on when leaving. A little something to think about on the drive back home. I walked that way once with a friend whose oldest son is a good example of the crooked tree. He does not fit into any model called typical and things are hard for him that are not hard for everyone. But he can carry on a conversation like an adult, has genuine interests, and is afraid of nothing. My friend and I stopped together at the tree. Neither of us needed to say any more.

Thüringer Wald, Bad Tabarz, Germany – April 2024