by cheri block
Please note: Part 1 of “What’s wrong with California Public Education?”
I walked by Stanford’s School of Education on Monday afternoon on my way to a class called The Politics of Humanitarianism.
I stopped at Coupa to have a coffee.
While sipping what can only be compared to a caffeine neutron bomb—a spicy Maya Mocha—(hooray for a Mesoamerican-named-drink-only-at-Stanford and other politically correct institutions), I ruminated on the terrible failure of American public education.
Even the rosy-cheeked professors up on the fourth floor of The School of Education with curious upward glances and pregnant pauses (during their lectures) had to admit, albeit reluctantly, that the East Palo Alto charter school sponsored by their own esteemed School of Education, had failed too.
The Maya Mocha had a pleasurable effect, so I ordered another and returned to my cold iron patio chair.
There I listened to the chipper chatter in an international flavor.
iPads aglow, computers on fire, brains churning out conversation about sustainability and Unitarianism—it all was so stimulating.
So, I had another Maya Mocha.
By then, critical mass had been reached.
So, what is wrong with public education? I asked myself, out loud. Action must be taken!
I picked up my briefcase, full of notes on the Bosnian crisis and a book by Sadako Ogata entitled The Turbulent Decade, and marched authoritatively up to the fourth floor of the School of Education to demand an answer from someone who, more than likely, had never taught a day in her life.
“May I see the Dean of the School of Education, pretty please?”
An average-looking woman behind the desk smiled a beige smile and said, “No.”
By then, the cumulative effect of 20 grams of pure caffeine, cayenne pepper, and chocolate, was well underway in a extra-hot fusion.
“OK, Miss Smarty-pants,” I yelled. “ I am sending you and all of the other stuffy ineffectual intellectual Professors of Education, Collaboration, and Constipation straight to the office. In other words, I am giving you a referral for your failure to produce anything other than published material.”
And with that pronouncement, I left and found my cold iron patio chair still in its place, waiting for my return.