The secret: Brandon Hogan’s parents sending daily emails to teacher. Brandon learning the meaning of trust. And Brandon growing sick of Saltines.
At Amistad Academy you need to be wearing a blue shirt to earn tastier snacks.
Brandon has been trying for a while to earn that shirt. That tale began here, part of a year-long look at parental involvement in local schools; the Independent is following the Hogans and two other families during the school year.
Fifth-grader Brandon, who had previously been home-schooled, thought you had to be perfect when you entered a school like Amistad. So he was uncomfortable taking the criticisms of teachers. Not wanting to disappoint his involved parents, he didn’t always tell them the full story of what happened in school. His emotions collided; he giggled when he should have been serious. He is, after all, a kid.
So there was not full communication between Brandon’s teachers and Susan and Fred Hogan, even though the parents visited the school regularly.
As a result, Brandon had fallen short of earning two consecutive weeks of 75 or more on the weekly “paychecks” that Amistad uses to acclimate its new fifth-grade students to the rigorous standards of learning and decorum. Usually two points are deducted from each week’s beginning 100 for small infractions — behavioral or academic — such as not turning in work on time or stepping out of line or being silly. Big deductions are for disrespect or “putting hands on” another child.
Several weeks ago, Susan Hogan heard from Brandon that he had deductions from his check for “smiling.” That prompted a meeting with Brandon and his teachers.
“I’m an investigator,” said Susan Hogan, “and a pastor. I love my kid, of course, but one of the forms that love takes is trying to be objective. I wanted to get all sides of the story. I sensed I wasn’t getting it all from Brandon,. As a parent of eight and as a pastoral counselor, I know that with all people, even teachers, there’s a way of typecasting a kid. So we met, and it turned out Brandon was not being disrespectful when he smiled.”
He was in a group of kids who were, and the teacher made the wrong call. “There is such a thing as guilt by association. And, as I told one of the teachers, we can’t let frustration cloud our judgment, because doesn’t that foreclose on the possibility of change? None of us is perfect.”
It turned out that a pivotal result was also that Hogan decided to have regular email contact with the teachers so such confusions could be nipped in the bud, or diminished.
There were also meetings between Brandon and the older siblings whom he admired, and, of course, the pressure of his church community. There was even a little old-fashioned punishment: He was denied going to a favorite cousin’s birthday because the blue shirt was too long in coming.
Brandon had come close before, but not close enough. Then, this past Thursday morning, with an 84 and a previous week’s 75, not only did Brandon receive the coveted shirt. His mom bought him an Amistad sweater to go with it.
When Brandon was hailed by the entire school community in its Thursday family circle meeting, something unusual happened. His teacher, Karissa McKinley, asked Brandon to step out into the middle of the circle; public recognition for such individual triumphs is one of the major elements in Amistad’s arsenal of incentives. The teacher then asked his parents to step forward to receive accolades as well. It had been a team effort — by Brandon, teachers, and parents.
In a confidential interview, Brandon said that he liked the high fives all the kids were now giving him. He also appreciated the counsel of an older kid whom Amistad had assigned to him to talk up the importance of the shirt. He said he felt a new status based on people trusting him more and he them.
He also acknowledged that with the blue shirt, as with certain highly advertised credit cards, come certain privileges: You can avail yourself of better snacks. You can go ahead in line of kids still in white shirts.
Plus, with the blue shirt, Brandon can now avail himself of Encore, the after-school enrichment program that includes drama and orchestra. In his white shirt up to now, between 3:45 and 5:00, it was rigorous and mostly silent study hall. “Now Brandon can join orchestra and play the violin,” boasted father Fred. Brandon has naturally picked up the instrument from playing with his musically talented dad.
Fred Hogan, incidentally, was honored in a ceremony at the Davis Street School Wednesday night for his male role modeling previously at the Vincent Mauro School and at Amistad,
It’s been a long journey, this shift from home schooling to the demands of fifth grade at the Amistad Academy. When they began, director Matt Taylor had told them that at Amistad there is no such thing as an over-involved parent. He and the school have been true to their word; and in their own way, the Hogans have also redefined parent-involvement to include a bit of teacher education as well.
Next challenges for the Hogans: Brandon needs to keep his shirt on. It comes off and he slides back to white if his paycheck falls below 75 for two weeks in a row. Also, he’s close to achieving Honor Roll. At last week’s parent conferences, the Hogans saw he was at 78, receiving all A’s and B’s and a C in math. Honor roll requires an 80 for two weeks.
In the meantime, Brandon looks handsome and happy in his blue shirt and sweater.
For previous installments in the Independent’s series on parental involvement in local schools, click on:
Son Gets Pills; Suspension Policy Targeted
Dad Goes To The Top, Gets Results
Parents, M&Ms Join In Math Lesson
Brandon Aims For The Blue Shirt
Night-Shift Waitress Hangs Up Apron
Dad Meets The Teachers. All Of ‘Em
Ms. Lopez Moves Brandon’s Seat
Night-Shift Waitress Gets Xena To Class On Time
Fifth-Graders Get “Amistadized”
Board of Ed To Parents: Get Involved!
Task Force Hones Plan for Kids
The New St. Martin DePorres Comes Home
Good-Bye Recess. Hello Take 10.
Every time I hear about Amistad's behavior policies I get a little weirded out. There's always talk of some kind of emotional bribery, or I guess, snack bribery. I know it's deeply unpopular in New Haven nowadays to criticize the model because of, I guess, raised test scores and grades?
I visited there once and a kid who had behaved badly had to wear a yellow shirt, separating him from the rest of the group until his behavior got better. I remember him sitting all alone in the computer lab, looking forlorn while the other kids chatted and worked happily together. I couldn't imagine how making him sit alone (and dressed differently than the other kids) did anything other than make him not want to get caught behaving badly. In other words, how does it address why he was misbehaving or, most importantly support him so that he doesn't need to act out in the future? That seems like the most important piece to me, rather than an insta-response that has the immediate goal of getting the kid to fall back in line.
I know people are always saying "What Amistad does 'works,' so stop judging it." I must just not be understanding how it works as a whole, or something?
When I was at West Hills from kindergarten to 8th grade what seemed to work was parents, teachers and school support staff working closely with kids and teachers to get at the <b>root</b> of the behavior and deal with that (in a supportive, collaborative way) until the behavior or grades or whatever got better. I remember even the baddest asses of the badass kids after talks with teachers and staff were mellower, kinder and participatory. It sounds like Brandon Hogan and his parents and teachers worked as a team, which is awesome. But there are just some things about Amistad's "arsenal of incentives" and other methods of getting kids to be good members of society that smacks of social control.