Eight

I live and work in one of the smallest counties in the United States. It is 26 square miles, not more than 10 miles, end-to-end, at its farthest points. We are a densely populated county, though, located adjacent to a major U.S. city. My county is very affluent, and with one of the highest per-pupil expenditures in the country, we are widely considered to have a first-rate school system. Newsweek Magazine consistently ranks all four of our high schools in the top 2% of the nation.

That is an overall picture of our success, and you would think that it would be an accurate depiction of all the schools in our district, as small as we are. But in the 8.14 miles it takes to make it from the northernmost school in our county to the southernmost, the difference in ethnic, racial and socio-economic demographics is startling, and so, not surprisingly, there is a discrepancy in test scores as well.

The perception that the north-county schools are somehow better because of their superior test scores stings a little to those of us who work in the more diverse, less affluent neighborhoods. There is an underlying sense of elitism that we resent, even though teachers all over the county debate about which type of student is more challenging-- those with over-involved parents or those who would probably benefit from some more parent support. Many times, throughout my career, I've had people tell me how admirable I am to work with the population I do, and when those words come from fellow educators, they are often followed by, "I don't know how you do it... I just want to teach, y'know?" as if what I'm doing is somehow more or less than that.