Tuesday has very little going for it. It doesn’t have the unambiguous “you have to get through it” feeling of Monday. It’s not hump day. It’s not Thursday (a.k.a. almost Friday). And of course, it’s not Friday. But Tuesdays this year are even more intolerable because of our Collaborative Team Meeting. A weekly mandatory meeting, it’s as bad as it sounds. Occasionally, we get something useful from it, but like so many things these days in education, it just has the feeling of being a report mill for the higher-ups (who usually make two, three, four, or more times the average teacher’s salary) so they can justify their job.

It’s often a day for giving a test. I would have said “A day for testing,” but “testing” now has connotations of standardized testing, and the increase in standardized testing is one reason so many of us are trying not to give tests of our own as much as possible. After all, how much can these kids be tested?

“Why not just use all the tests you have to administer for the district as grades?” Today, for example, we went over our benchmark scores. The benchmark, according to the powers that be, is supposed to be an accurate reflection of the degree to which the students have mastered the standards we are to teach in a given quarter. The only problem: they always include questions from other standards which we are to teach in other quarters!

“How is that a benchmark?” I asked one of our leadership team (another useful bit of jargon).

“Well, it’s also predictive,” came the response.

Predictive of what? I don’t need a test to tell me how well the students are going to do on a standard I haven’t even covered yet.

And the questions themselves — so often a jumble of confusion. We went over one question today (they are allowing us to see isolated questions this year, but only when they were projected on a screen without us taking pictures or copying it in any way — profits over the kids!), and I had trouble making sense of how they were even supposed to answer it, let alone which was the correct answer.

“If I am struggling to make sense of the question, what chance do my students have?” I asked.

“Let’s focus on the things in our control,” came the reply.

When you start your day of with that kind of a meeting, it’s a challenge to regain a positive footing when the kids start coming into the classroom. And had it been last year’s kids that came in after such a meeting, I would have stood by the door as the students entered and daydreamed about simply walking to the front office and saying, “Someone better get in my room — there’s no adult there, and I’m not coming back.”

But this year, I have such wonderful kids. Sure, some are disruptive and a little argumentative. Many are immature. Several are chronically lazy. But there’s not a kid about whom I could say, when he’s absent, “Well, thank the heavens for small mercies.” There’s not a kid that I just dread working with because I know she’s going to turn every single thing into a confrontation and make me thing it would be more productive to bang my head against the cinder block wall for the entirety of the period than to work with that kid. And trust me — I’ve taught plenty of kids like that. But this year, not a one.

So it’s easy to reign in the frustrations of a meeting and put on a positive face when such a great group of kids comes in. But it makes all the uselessness of all bureaucratic nonsense all the more acute.