I want you to tell a graduate program why I should — or shouldn’t — join them.
I probably break too many rules when it comes to education — but really, I only do it when I’m convinced my rule-breaking is an improvement. I especially play by the rules with college applications, but I’d like you folks to help me break one with my own graduate school application. I’m applying to a Ph.D. program in education policy, and together we’re going to crowdsource the recommendation process. I’ve submitted the URL to this page with my application, so now it’s up to you to make it worth reading.
Why am I doing this?
I’ve worked with a lot of people over the years with admission to college, graduate and professional schools. I’ve helped them choose programs, institutions, cities, essay topics, addenda to write, addenda not to write. There’s unique positioning for scholarship applications, making sure CVs hit different qualities/experiences than essays, and tailoring it all to the specific characteristics of who’s reading the package.
The college application process — even for the best, most selective schools and programs — is a horribly imprecise measure of not only a student’s abilities, but also their fit with wherever they’re applying. It isn’t optimal for the student and it isn’t optimal for the institution. Written content on the application is usually so heavily-edited as to be a substantial departure from the student’s actual ability with language; transcripts reveal little about the nature of a course (or course of study), its instructor, or its place relative to other schools; the resume is frequently a swollen highlight reel. Even when you throw in an interview, you’re making a big decision on too little information.
It’s a process so flawed that it makes the NFL combine and resulting draft look infallible. (Remember, these 50 guys all submitted great apps and got accepted.)
Good Lord, I don’t want to be education’s Ryan Leaf. For my sake and for a school’s, let’s prevent that.
What’s wrong with traditional recommendations?
The least useful part of that flawed application process is the series of required recommendations. It should be one of the most important parts, as it amounts to an independent audit of the applicant and an endorsement backed by one’s professional reputation. Having testimony from a relevant party, especially for graduate and professional programs, is helpful when all you know about someone is what they’ve chosen to tell you in a few pages.
But in reality, it’s a lot like asking a baseball player to hand-pick two batting practice pitchers to lob him grapefruits at his scouting tryout. Oddly enough, he hits a lot of home runs when his old high school coach throws them slow and waist-high.
Unfortunately, the team who drafts him and gives him a fat signing bonus doesn’t know if he can hit a major league curveball. Or a minor league curveball. Or a slider, a knuckleball or even those batting practice rainbows for more than 20 pitches. They’ve just got a few pages he wrote saying he was great at hitting all of them, some impressive box scores from his Little League career, maybe some videos or familiarity with his play, and a couple of folks willing to showcase his hitting skills by tossing the ball right where he likes them.
It would be most useful if a team could bring in their whole pitching staff to see what the guy can do, but that isn’t practical. It would be hard to coordinate, it would be expensive… and it would require an organization to think differently about the process, which is likely the toughest of the three.
We’re the education blogosphere — it’s different.
I’m in a very different position with my application. I can bring in the whole pitching staff to throw whatever they want — including brushbacks.
Since 2007, I’ve gotten to know hundreds of people in the education world. Ed tech, curriculum, math specialists, union reps, parents, entrepreneurs, everything. I’ve been able to meet, converse with and debate so many relevant stakeholders because we’ve had venues specifically built for it all — our own education sites. Some are news-y publishing, others are opinion blogs, but we read each other’s stuff and usually talk about it. Even when we don’t actively participate in discussion, we stay abreast of what’s going on and get involved when we can.
Professional responsibilities stalled my independent ed writing over the last 2 years — fear not, this site’s getting a redesign and will be active again shortly — but if you’ve gotten this far, we’ve kept up in some capacity. You know something about me, and it might be positive, negative or neutral (but probably all three). You’ve come across the comments I’ve left on your site, e-mails, writing here, some contributions at National Journal and other sites, work on Ed Debate and Education News, etc. Or maybe you’re one of the 4,500 Twitter followers or one of the gajillions of G+’ers. Either way, you’ve got an opinion.
And that’s what I want you to share in the comments. Tell these folks why I’m an asset to their program, or give them a heads up on what they need to watch out for. I want it for the faculty and department who will be investing a tremendous amount of resources in my development. I want it for me to help ensure that I commit to a program that knows more than a 1/8″ stack of papers might reflect.
You’re teachers, writers, parents, wonks, hobbyists, pundits, rabble-rousers and media pros. You’re my pitching staff. Get on the mound and throw.
Just a few rules…
I want this to be as authentic as possible. Having said that, there are a handful of simple rules:
1) As long as it’s honest, I won’t delete your comment. In 5 years, I’ve deleted two comments on this site (other than spam). One was an anonymous suggestion that I sold drugs for a living. The other was from a handwriting expert in San Francisco who suggested that saying my signature was prettier than Barack Obama’s meant I had an oedipal complex. Neither comment was true, so I deleted them. I expect positives and negatives — it’s only fair and honest — and I won’t delete yours for any reason as long as it’s based in reality.
2) I won’t name the program here. It might seem a bit odd not to point right to the place and people, but I don’t want the page popping up in Google for search terms related to the institution and its people (and I also don’t want to n0index the page). It’s a highly-competitive Ph.D. program in education policy teeming with well-known education scholars, and I’d put my time into examining research and the mechanisms of education reform. If you really want to know, drop me an e-mail at mktabor@gmail.com and we’ll talk.
3) You’ve got to sign your name — or moniker. Anonymous just doesn’t work for this one, folks. I could’ve chosen a sexier domain name, but I purposely chose this one because I wanted an element of accountability that we don’t always see in online discourse. That type of accountability has been a mainstay of my time in the ed world, and now I need it from you. That doesn’t mean you have to leave your full name and social security number; if you’re known online, as some folks are, by a nifty handle, go with that. Otherwise, a name and simple description (science teacher, education blogger, etc.) works. I’m going out on a limb here, so I’m sure you can manage a bit of ID.
Have at it, folks.
You’ve read my pitch. Now it’s your turn. Speak your mind in the comments below. Whether you write a ringing endorsement or a ‘Here Be Dragons’ warning, I can’t thank you enough for weighing in.
I’ll let Professor Diane Ravitch kick it off with the recommendation she left me on December 31, 2010 when I suggested she’d do well to make specific suggestions to solve education’s problems.
Surely you can do better than a block!
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The education media is, as a whole, ineffective at educating the public. [Yes, there's a little bit of irony there.] Sometimes ed writers don’t know enough about a subject or practice to write a complete story. Sometimes they turn to tabloid-style baiting, partly because it’s easy, partly because it can be entertaining.