On Losing Katniss...

Although I am fighting it for all I'm worth, I'm losing Katniss. The loss has been gradual, but inevitable, and I feel it more everyday. I'm trying to hold on to the Katniss I've known for over two years, the one whose battles I've tensed every muscle through, the one whose struggles I've had nightmares over. That Katniss is becoming more and more dreamy; I can still see her, but through a cloudy fog. More and more I'm losing the Katniss that I've imagined, and she's being replaced with...

Jennifer Lawrence.

As a reading teacher, I teach my students to visualize the descriptions in the books they read. My principal refers to it as "the movie in their heads" when they can actually see what they're reading. While reading the Hunger Games trilogy, I visualized Katniss, and she became a friend during those books, one I felt I actually knew, one I missed once the books were completed.

But now The Hunger Games movie is being filmed, here in my own state, so I'm inundated with pictures of Jennifer Lawrence, the beautiful and talented actress playing Katniss. My Katniss was not quite so beautiful...well, she was naturally pretty, I guess, but that's not how I thought of her. She was tough. She was dirty. And she didn't have pouty lips as perfectly shaped as the bow she carried.

Jennifer Lawrence is gorgeous. Jennifer Lawrence doesn't look as if she has it in her to wipe out all the other tributes (16-year-olds selected by lottery to fight to the death - on reality tv - while representing their districts.) But my son the actor says she's a brilliant actress so maybe she'll be able to pull it off. I still miss my Katniss.

I worry about our students' imaginations dying out, becoming extinct from lack of use (like we've been warned about our pinky toes.) Let's take the Twilight series, for example. I haven't talked to one middle school child who can describe the character Edward from details in the book. But they can describe Robert Pattinson the actor to a "t." And Taylor Lautner, too. These guys are plastered all over middle school lockers and notebooks. Their faces (and bodies) are ingrained in the brains of adolescent girls. Who needs an imagination?

And is there one person in the world who doesn't see Daniel Radcliffe when they hear the words "Harry Potter"? But here's J.K. Rowling's description: "Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose." He's also described as being extremely thin and small, wearing baggy clothes that are Dudley's hand-me-downs. Well, I for one, don't remember seeing taped glasses in any of the Harry Potter movies, and Daniel Radcliffe looks pretty normal-sized to me.

As teachers we must make an explicit effort to design lessons that foster the use of imagination. We have to model the transformation from author's description to reader's visualization: "How is Katniss described by the author? What does she look like to you?" If we're lucky every student's rendition is a little different, every imagination taking the author's words to varied shades of different directions.

Also, with a bit of luck, we can get ahead of the movies, ahead of the video games, ahead of the music videos that interpret the songs for our students so they don't even have to bother. Hopefully, we can teach them first to think and imagine for themselves.

My son the actor has met Josh Hutcherson, who'll play Peeta, the male tribute from District 12, and one of my favorite characters in The Hunger Games. Josh was a teenager when they talked at the Teen Choice Awards in 2005. Years later, he and my son would share the same acting coach in New York City, and they would have lunch together.

Lunch with Peeta. I can't even wrap my head around that. But thanks to Gary Ross, director of the movie version of one of my favorite books, I may not have to think or imagine anything. I'll just sit back and watch...and fight like a tribute to not allow my Katniss and Peeta to be erased.

Don't Get Comfortable

'Tis the season: folks everywhere are donning fashionable gowns and moving the tassel from right to left. That moment - when the graduating class of 2011 is introduced - the future will lay ahead for the graduates, the veritable "rest of their lives" will be upon them.

My own nephew became a college graduate yesterday, and I was asked to represent the family by providing some remarks to a gathering on Fraternity Row. I was even given a prompt: "Tell the Sigma Nu brothers what they need to know for the future."

Oh, my. That was a tall order. I don't even know what I need to know for my future. How could I place myself back at 22 years old and find words of wisdom?

But that's exactly what I did: I thought about my own graduation from the very same university 32 years ago, and asked myself what I wish I had been told back then.

And after enjoying the huge feast prepared by Big Sam, the Sigma Nu cook, here's what I said:

Finding eloquent words for a group of brilliant young gentlemen like yourselves shouldn't be difficult. Others out there have shared words of inspiration, great words that we all know - Tim McGraw will tell you to "live like you're dying." Leann Womack hopes "you dance." Even John Mayer will tell you "there's no such thing as the real world" as he's running through the halls of his high school.

These are all great messages, but mine's a little different. I have three words for you: Don't Get Comfortable.

I'm not talking about your basic needs. Of course, we want you to eat well, be healthy, have shelter, and so on. I'm talking about your goals for your professional life...don't get too comfortable when it comes to your career.

I had a dream once...to be a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader. It never happened. And as I look back, I realize the problem: I never went to Dallas.

Evidently, you actually have to go there. The Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader Fairy did not come to North Carolina to recruit me. She did not show up on my porch and tap me with a wand, leaving me in tassels and boots.

I had played it safe and stayed home where I was comfortable.

Don't get comfortable. Be a risk-taker. Push yourself beyond what you think your boundaries are. Step out of the safe zone. Be innovative and creative. Don't let complacency rule your life.

I don't want you to look back in 32 years and wonder why you were, um, never a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader. Whatever your goal is, go for it! Move mountains to make your dreams happen. Do whatever it takes.

Just don't get comfortable.

I'm not sure if my words hit their mark with the young brothers of Sigma Nu, but one of the fathers in the audience said to me later, "Hey, uh, Dallas is still there. It's never too late."

Hmmm....something to think about.

My daughter, an NFL cheerleader for the Carolina Panthers, is on the far right, beside the Dallas Cowboy cheerleader, at the NFL Pro Bowl in January 2010.

A Sorta Fairy Tale

Tori Amos' song title is appropriate today as we watched a prince marry his princess...er...duchess, the title she was given by the Queen. It was sorta a fairy tale due to the pomp and circumstance, the regalia, the carriage ride, and the prince/husband. But in some ways it was the same story as my own son and his bride...just a couple of kids who met in school, went separate ways a few times, came back together, said "I will" and "I do" and hope to live happily ever after.

There have been some who have challenged those of us who were mildly interested (or wildly fascinated) at the nuptials today. I get it. As an educator, I have been thrust into the current war zone along with my colleagues. These are times that I feel the need to justify to the world that I am a professional, that my work is important (so important that it can't be evaluated by looking at student numbers that are gathered on one day, reflecting one test.) So that's stressful and important and distracting enough without getting up at oh-dark-thirty to watch television. In addition, as a resident of the Southeast, I have spent a good part of the past two weeks peering out windows, dreading the all too familiar funnel cloud that has been common around here.

In other words, I know there are more important issues than a wedding involving strangers across the ocean. But lest you haters want to judge, indulge me a moment, and let me tell you why I watched and why I felt compelled to provide a play-by-play social media commentary during the event.

First of all, I have a degree in English. I love England, having studied the history of the country as required by my major. Also, I spent the better part of my last two years of undergraduate studies reading dead poets and playwrights who unknowingly impacted my learning, and then my teaching, for almost forty years. When the Reverend Richard Chartres, the Bishop of London, quoted Chaucer during the ceremony, he sent me straight to translations of The Canterbury Tales and my senior English class with Mrs. Gertrude Chewning in a trailer at Northern High School then to an entire semester devoted to "Geoffrey" all by himself my junior year in college. Later during the ceremony the choir sang "Jerusalem" based on lyrics by one of the Romantic Writers, William Blake. At that moment I was transported to sitting in Greenlaw Hall at UNC-Chapel Hill reading Tyger, tyger, burning bright..." Fittingly, both of these literary heroes of mine are buried at the wedding venue, Westminster Abbey, along with Wordsworth, Byron, Shelley, Tennyson, Dickens, and Austen in a section appropriately named "Poet's Corner." If I ever have a chance to see it, I will surely weep.

Poet's Corner in Westminster Abbey - if only those tombs could talk....

So, yes, the English major in me wanted to see the wedding. But the middle-aged woman in me wanted to see it, too. I was there, nose pressed to the television in 1981, rocking a four-month-old and watching the timid Lady Diana marry her prince. A year later, little Wills was born, and I watched him continue to grow through the years just like my own little princess. And I, like so many others, looked on as the marriage struggled, saw the divorce play out in the tabloids, and watched in horror as Diana lost her life and was laid to rest after two little boys followed her casket through the streets of London. Like it or not, this family is a piece of our culture, and for that reason I wanted to watch the next chapter.

For some of us, the royal family is an intriguing history lesson. I tweeted earlier this week that if our country's forefathers could see all the media coverage of this event, they may wonder why they fought so hard for independence. But what a unique social studies lesson for our students: here's where we started, here's what happened next, and here's where we are now. Then we could ask: How about when they sang "God Save the Queen" and it sounded just like "My Country 'Tis of Thee" that we all learned in first grade? Why is that? And why wasn't the Queen herself singing, but her husband was? Cool classroom conversations...

What about the rich discussions we can have in our classrooms about just exactly who among us hails from England? Many of our students originated in other places; let's talk about everyone's heritage while we're on the subject...

Speaking of heritage, my father told me his family came to America from Wales, another reason I found the event today so interesting. My mother's family has traced my ancestors back to Leicester, England. Those of us with ties to the United Kingdom may just enjoy comparing cultures. For example, I have a problem with the fact that if I ever meet Kate Middleton, and I want to display proper etiquette, I will have to curtsy to a 29-year-old and refer to her as "ma'am."

Please. I have sweaters in my closet older than she is. And in general, I was put off by the formality of the wedding. It was too quiet inside the abbey. When the couple was announced as husband and wife, there should have been a few cheers, at least a clap or two. I hate when weddings sound like funerals.

And when the bride and groom exited, I longed for Kate to simply grab Will by the arm; that dainty handholding halfway up in the air looked a little as if they may break into a waltz at any moment.

Which leads me to the last reason for watching the Royal Wedding: the sheer entertainment of it. I mean, seriously, Eugenie and Beatrice, you call yourselves princesses? I call that stuff on your heads target practice! I feel bad for whoever sat behind you.

Here's the thing: in these days of devastation and tragedy, these days of feeling that there is a fight brewing inside us ready to be unleashed at every turn, we need to take a break and celebrate love and beauty, and, well, magic. Life will be back to smack us in the face soon enough.

Sometimes we just need a sorta fairy tale.

My son, Prince Will, and his Princess Rebecca last August. No formalities during this wedding recessional....right down to the Converse sneakers.

Irises and Sweet Bubby Bushes

The Smokehouse at My Grandparents' Old Homeplace

In so many ways, we are who came before us. In many other ways, we are the antithesis of our ancestors, fighting to do better, have more, and be more than our parents and grandparents.

Today I sifted through artifacts (trinkets, my daughter called them) of my grandparents' life. In a house that was built during WWI, my brother, sister, husband, and I waded through the debris that takes over when a house has been abandoned by sickness and death...a house that previously had seen 100 years of Christmas-gift-opening laughter, 50 years of chicken dumplings and strawberry cakes served by my grandmother, 30 years of gathering around the piano to sing "Have a Little Talk with Jesus," countless years of living about to be demolished as new owners will soon clear the land to build a new home.

"Watch out for Tippy's grave," my brother told the buyer.

"Watch out for my memories," I thought.

In the summers of my childhood, when other kids were packing up for camp, I was sent to my grandparents' house. I dreaded it with all the fervor my young self could muster: as a child I thought the country was undoubtedly the most boring place on earth! My grandmother went to bed at 7 PM...and we may as well have been in bed: there was certainly nothing to do there, and by the way, it was darker in the country than any individual from the city could imagine! They didn't believe in lights there. I thought all those old-timey years with candles ruined them - they were so impressed with inside electricity that lighting outside would seem an indulgence.

So I spent those weeks in the summer scared senseless at night, lying awake with bulging eyes because no kid in America could possibly be asleep at that hour, and no kid should have to lie awake and listen to sounds that don't include interstate traffic.

Occasionally, I was scared senseless during the day, too. I was awakened every morning to the crow of a rooster (does anyone really think that screech is a pleasant sound?) The other daybreak sound in the North Carolina Sandhills is that of a Mourning Dove - those "who-who-who's" are still ingrained in my audio memory and remind me of missing my parents during those summer trips.

Once I woke up with an ax-wielding Granny standing over me. My grandmother needed help with a classic country chore - chopping the head off a chicken. I was pronounced the "holder of the chicken." I had a problem with this job on many levels, none the least of which was that Grandma the Chicken Slayer could possibly miss and chop my hand off. Also, I love all living things, and to this day can't even step on a spider in my house, preferring instead to hoist him onto a paper towel and deliver him outside. So poultry-cide certainly proved unpleasant to me. And, by the way, chickens DO run like, well, a chicken with its head cut off...in a circle...all over the yard. Note the post traumatic stress here!

I was also traumatized by the lack of conveniences out there in my Granny's sticks! She didn't have indoor plumbing until I was married and had my own children. I was pretty sure that there were creatures that had not been identified in the abyss that was the bottom of the outhouse. Sometimes I was brave enough to look down there in that hole, but there was nothing discernable - only darkness forever and ever. The fear still lurches in the pit of my stomach today when I think of the child abuse that was going on when Granny made me sit on that hole.

All that aside, I have other memories of my childhood summer place that aren't so traumatic. When I was eight, my grandmother's friend loaded my cousins, my sister, and me into the back of a pickup truck and took us to see The Sound of Music in the movie theatre on the day it was released in that small Southern town in 1965. I remember the bumpy truck ride over rural dirt roads every time I see the movie replayed.

And how many people can say that they have climbed on a wooden pasture fence and jumped bareback onto a moving horse, grabbing the mane, and holding on for life? (But mainly holding on so Mama wouldn't find my body in the pasture and know what I had done.)

How many folks have played in the top of a hayloft, jumping to the bottom floor of the barn (but not getting hurt because of the hay mattress that lay below)? Who's picked blackberries from vines beside the garden, only to be eating warm cobbler thirty minutes later? Gathered chicken eggs out from under squawking hens? Watched kittens emerge from a little hole in the stable door just as they're able to walk? Seen neighbors walk up the driveway with fresh baked goods to share? Snapped beans on a country porch for hours while swatting gnats? Taken a ride on a mule-drawn plow through rows and rows of cornfields? Who's banged on a piano, displaying no talent at all, but yelling, "You like my song, Granddaddy?!" only to hear, "It's beautiful!" shouted in from the other room? (Nothing to DO in the country? Boy, was I wrong...)

All of these experiences make up a big part of who I am. But my parents chose mostly a different life for me, raising me in the city and stressing the importance of getting the education that my grandparents didn't have. I'm a long way from the cotton mill that my grandmother worked in. I'm a long way from that outhouse.

Today my mother pointed out flowers around my grandparents' yard and house. "Just dig up a few, and we'll replant them at home. I want the Seven Sisters roses and the purple and gold irises."

I reminded her that we gathered bunches of irises during our last visit. They're blooming in my yard now. "Well, get me some of that Sweet Bubby Bush then."

Soon we drove away and began our long journey home. For miles I could hear my Granny playing the piano; I could taste her dumplings and home-canned green beans. I could feel crafts between my fingers, the ones I made every summer at Vacation Bible School at the Bright Light Baptist Church. I could feel the rough wood of my Granddaddy's plow.

I arrived home with a sense of homesickness - I walked outside to shake it off....homesickness at home - such an oxymoron.

I walked across the backyard with my dog and caught a flash of color.

I turned and saw the purple and gold of my grandmother's irises, transplanted to the city like me, blowing in the wind.

What Kind of Difference Will You Make?

It is no secret that I've been preaching far and wide about the difference that teachers make. I've lived it, as a first grader, in a dark basement classroom, and I've read it in letters from past students who want to thank me for impacting them in a positive way. I've written articles about the importance of teacher/student relationships, and I've written a book about the difference my own first grade teacher made almost fifty years ago.

A theme that runs through my speeches and articles, as well as my book, is that the nurturing, caring teacher is the one who makes the biggest impact on students. The adult who displays an unconditional regard for students and their learning is "the one" who will be remembered as making a difference in the life of a child. And I'll stick to those words. But I had a conversation with someone a few days ago who had an interesting twist to the story of teachers making a difference.

She told me that as she thought back over her life, she knew the teacher who was the reason behind her eventually becoming successful - an educator, now working on her doctorate - as opposed to becoming a juvenile deliquent taking a destructive path to nowhere. That teacher was a high school math teacher, and my friend was not a good student, particularly in math. Growing up in poverty, she didn't have the tools she needed to be successful in school, and she was not confident about her abilities in math. I waited for her to tell me how this teacher encouraged her, hovered over her desk and pointed to numbers on her paper, giving her a quick hug before moving on to the next student.

That's not what came next. She told me instead that this teacher would often humiliate her in front of the class, would admonish her for incorrect answers, and would mistreat her in unthinkable ways. She said it was during that year that she decided to focus her energy on doing whatever was necessary to be successful in school. She woke up every morning determined to be a stellar student, a student who wouldn't give that teacher the opportunity to humiliate her in front of her peers.

"She pushed me to be great," she said.

Years later, she gave that teacher a call to tell her that she had, literally, changed her life. The teacher did remember her but made no mention of her drive and determination. Instead, she learned that my friend's current job isn't inside a classroom; it includes mentoring and training other teachers. The math teacher displayed some old habits when she ridiculed my friend: "Well, you're not even a teacher." Some things never change.

All teachers have the opportunity to make a difference in the life of a child. I've said before that many times we don't even know the impact we've made. Once I was walking in a local shopping mall when I was approached by a lady who identified herself as the mother of a former student. As she went on and on about my class, how much I meant to her son, and so on, I was horrified that I didn't remember him. His name didn't even sound familiar. But I listened and nodded, hoping she'd say something that would spark a memory.

Finally, she said, "You don't know this...but you're the reason my son made it through seventh grade. He was struggling that year, having a hard time with peers, was so depressed I thought he was suicidal at times, but he enjoyed your class and wanted to come to school because of it." My mouth fell open and my brain was spinning. How could I have had that type of impact on a kid and not even know it?

The point is...we do make a difference. We have the honor and the responsibility of making a difference with every child we teach, every day they sit in our classrooms. Luckily, my friend had an inner drive that pushed her to make something positive out of a negative experience. And luckily, I was able to impact a student in a very important way, even though I was unaware of it and had no memory of the student years later.

How will the difference you make as a teacher be remembered? Will the story your students tell about you be positive or negative? Think about that as you walk through those classroom doors every day. What an amazing opportunity...

Bring It!

Right now, sitting here in an office in my school, where down the hall I worked through the years to inspire struggling readers to greatness, I have never wished to be back in the classroom more than I do right now. Right now this very minute! But not for the reasons you think.

Ever since I was pulled to serve as a "Teacher Ambassador" when I was named North Carolina's Teacher of the Year in 2008, I have, of course, missed kids. Even though I've grabbed up opportunities in the past three years to get myself back in front of the little boogers, I have not had my own classroom since that time. So, yes, I listen intently every day in the hopes that I'll hear the administrators' walkie talkies popping: "Seventh grade is moving..." so I can walk out in the hall and inhale children. So, yes, I do miss the kids, but that's not my motivation today.

I also miss my own learning communities, the language arts teachers I planned and collaborated with...you know, the ones who encouraged me to dress like Britney Spears on our Genre Jam day. Luckily, now that I'm serving as a "teacher-on-loan" to our state education department, I have been able to set up my office in the same building where that "jam" occurred...which means I see my collegues often and can get my collegiality fix. I'm still there for all the social gatherings - the after-school baby showers and book clubs - and some days I just get up from this desk and walk into their classrooms. My friends, and their students, are accustomed to my drop-ins. But I'd really like to sit down and plan again, to look at assessment data and put our heads together to figure out what will enable our students to grow. But that's not why I'm longing for the classroom right now.

I also miss the actual act of teaching, too, and all the stuff that goes along with it: room decorating, lesson planning, assessing, re-teaching, re-directing, explaining, listening, counseling, hugging...I do miss all that. I even miss faculty meetings.

But none of those are the reasons I'm wishing I could be back in my own classroom today. During the current tumultuous times, I want to be there to join in with all those educators out there showing the world it can be done: teachers can and will continue to provide more with less, to survive in conditions that are demoralizing and demeaning, and to make ends meet with frozen salaries and pink slip threats.

I see it daily in my school: teachers continue to advocate for kids while working from dark until dark to plan innovative lessons all while maintaining positive relationships with kids. In short, teachers continue to make a difference even as policymakers negatively impact working conditions by making decisions that raise class size and cut positions, all while raising standards for performance.

Yes, I wish could have my own classroom during these chaotic times. I truly believe that as the craziness would swirl around me, I would feel pushed even harder to do what's right by kids. Threaten my job? I'd keep working until they dragged me away, still clutching the active board marker. Continue to reference "bad teaching?" I'd spend countless hours working to get better and better, sharpening my teaching skills by staying in touch with cutting edge research and technology. Decide to make my students' test scores public, along with my name?

At that I would stand in front of my classroom and talk to myself using the language of my middle schoolers: "Girl, you GOT this!" Then I'd look out the window toward the world and shout,

"BRING IT!"

International Sound Bites!

I was delighted to receive an invitation from the Council of Chief State School Officers to attend the International Summit on the Teaching Profession that was held in New York City on March 16-17, 2011. Thirteen State Teachers of the Year (three of whom became National Teachers of the Year and several finalists in the bunch) represented America's teachers at the summit that brought delegates from fifteen countries to meet with the delegation from the United States to talk about teaching.

I was star-struck upon entering the room and seeing our Secretary of Education Arne Duncan (even though I don't always agree with his politics.) At 6'5" he looms large anyway, but he had quite the presence in the room full of dignitaries as others clambered to speak to him. Also members of the US delegation were NEA President Dennis Van Roekel and AFT President Randi Weingarten. Marguerite Izzo, 2007 New York Teacher of the Year, served as the teacher representative, welcoming the other delegations to her state.

Linda Darling-Hammond, Professor of Education at Stanford University, was present as well and wrote about the experience in a eloquent manner that I won't attempt to match. Instead, I'll share the "sound bites" that I wrote down or sent out to the Twittersphere on those two days.

Arne Duncan began by saying that the goal of the summit was to "strengthen and elevate the profession" and that it shouldn't have taken this long to "get to this day."

Here are a few quotes from representative countries:

Brazil - "The dignity of the profession has to do with more than salary."

Canada - "It's important to further explore professional development for teachers and roles that school boards, schools, and teachers play."

"We should stop talking about teachers and instead talk about teaching. We need to talk about the skills of teaching."

China - "We must create an atmosphere of protecting teachers and continue to elevate teachers."

"The movement around the world is education for all. We must be careful it doesn't become test scores for all."

"Teachers must support reforms in order for them to work."

Denmark - "Teacher evaluation doesn't have to be so difficult. Principals should talk to teachers about their teaching."

Estonia - "We must invest in education."

Finland - began by saying, "We're proud of our teachers."

"The climate of the school and school leadership are the most important factors. Also, teachers need time to study, to have formal continuous learning."

"Only one in ten who want to teach actually get to become teachers. All must have master's degrees. 6,000 applicants for 600 jobs."

"There are no national tests in Finland."

"Teachers are considered experts of their work, academic professionals."

Japan - "Teachers are the vital force in education."

Netherlands - "We have secured autonomy of schools. We need to secure autonomy for teachers, but it's important to have accountability."

Norway - "We must respect and listen to teachers. We must raise the status of teachers."

"Curriculum doesn't change what happens in the classroom."

Poland - "We're inspired by these discussions of leadership and teamwork."

Singapore - "It's important to look at principals and how effectively they 'rally their team.'"

"Evaluation should be formative, not summative."

Slovenia - "We need cooperation between unions and ed leaders."

UK - "Evaluation shouldn't be so individual; it's like surveillance. Teachers should observe each other for higher impact."

"The voice of teachers is the heart of public policy."

"We need a system that's aligned and coherent. We need to trust teachers and design improvement WITH teachers."

US (Gene Wilhoit - Executive Director, Council of Chief State School Officers) - "It's inspiring for sixteen sovereign nations to come together to talk about the future of our countries by talking about our children."

"Developing school leaders who in turn develop good teachers is the way to go about it."

"The voice of teachers is the heart of policy."

Arne Duncan - "We've got to get better faster than we have before."

Dennis Van Roekel - "In US we have charter schools in an effort to provide autonomy. Only 17% do better than regular public schools. Most do about the same. Some do worse."

"We need to get the voice of teachers there...their perspective, create their vision. That voice should be in the room."

"There's so much conversation about the profession of teaching. Everyone's an expert because they WENT to school."

Randi Weingarten - "States are heirarchal instead of horizontal."

"Professional development and teacher learning should not be left to chance."

"Those closest to kids - teachers, parents - have the least amount of voice in policy."

"Historically we've had 'drive-by evaluation.' Now we have 'observation by test score.'"

Andreas Schleicher, Special Advisor on Education Policy to the Secretary-General, OECD - "The research shows that teacher evaluation doesn't change anything."

Fred Van Leeuwen, General Secretary, Education International - "Testing is a teacher's tool, not a political device."

Marguerite Izzo, 2007 New York Teacher of the Year - "I've waited a long time to be at this table. I'm proud to represent America's teachers here."

An audience member from the UK - "Teachers aren't afraid of evaluation. They're afraid of being evaluated by people who don't teach, who haven't for a long time, and who don't know what they're doing."

Fernando Reimers, Professor of Education at Harvard - "Many countries mentioned the need for teacher autonomy, teachers being allowed to design curriculum, plan lessons, and make professional decisions. Pushback - in these days of Facebook, Twitter, etc., do we really do anything alone? Is autonomy irrelevant?"

All agreed: We need a systematic approach to education. We need to get the voice of teaching to the table.

On teacher evaluation: We stress a focus on collaboration, but we evaluate individual teachers.

Secretary Duncan ended the summit by saying, "We have to collectively create the next generation of innovators and entrepreneurs."

Many of us asked, "What's next? What will come of these discussions?"

I did see the Secretary taking notes, and I sincerely hope that we have learned from countries that respect teachers and hold them in high esteem.

But we all know we have a long way to go...