Losing Sight of the Big Picture or What’s Wrong with Mapquest

I am on the road again traveling between training events. On my journey to Martinsburg, West Virginia Monday afternoon it occurred to me that Google maps (or Mapquest or Yahoo maps) may be a perfect analogy for the tunnel vision we often possess when educating and parenting young children.

As I referred to my Google maps printout of my journey, I found the directions clear, specific, and practical. Still, I felt lost, like I didn’t know where I was. Internet driving directions get me to my destination without difficulty but they lack what a folded paper map provides: perspective. In the old days when I pulled out the AAA maps, I always had a sense of my whole journey and the detail I needed to get to my destination. With internet mapping, however, the focus is on the detail to the exclusion of the whole.

I fear this focus on the detail to the exclusion of the whole is often true of our time with young children. As parents, we focus on nutrition labels and attempt to provide all the nutrients our child needs in his or her diet. As educarers, we focus on developmental checklists and meeting standards in our educaring. And, yet, while all of these are ostensibly good for children this focus on the detail sometimes gives us tunnel vision.

In our tunnel vision, we miss the joy of simply being with our children as our parental angst increases. We worry that 5 grams too much of the wrong kind of fat will irreparably harm our daughters and sons. In our tunnel vision, as educarers, we miss the spontaneity and teachable moments that provide the best learning experiences as we worry about the ECERS (Early Childhood Environmental Rating Scale) or state learning standards.

As I followed my internet directions, I knew that my next turn would be in 24.2 miles but I didn’t know how long I’d be in Maryland or what was around the next bend. I didn’t know why Harper’s Ferry was significant. I didn’t have a sense of the distance I was traveling or of where I was on this big blue planet.

As parents, we can provide the correct nutrients and have a child who never experiences the joy that comes from sharing good food, laughter, and family times at the dinner table. As educarers, we can have all the right equipment and the required labels on the walls while the children never experience the passion and joy for learning about the amazing world around us.

Perhaps, we need to emerge from the tunnel, take a moment to allow our eyes to adjust to the light, and begin to focus on building relationships with children. In doing so we can help children discover what they really need: love, happiness, joy, and curiosity.

The Absolutely Best Dentist

I was recently reminded of the following story attributed to John Taylor, Superintendent of Schools, Lancaster County School District, South Carolina.

The Absolutely Best Dentist

My dentist is great! He sends me reminders so I don’t forget checkups. He uses the latest techniques based on research. He never hurts me, and I’ve got all my teeth, so when I ran into him the other day, I was eager to see if he’d heard about the new state program. I knew he’d think it was great.

“Did you hear about the new state program to measure the effectiveness of dentists with their young patients?” I said.

No,” he said. He didn’t seem too thrilled. “How will they do that?”

“It’s quite simple,” I said. “They will just count the number of cavities each patient has at age 10, 14, and 18 and average that to determine a dentist’s rating. Dentists will be rated as Excellent, Good, Average, and Below Average and Unsatisfactory. That way parents will know which are the best dentists. It will also encourage the less effective dentists to get better,” I said. “Poor dentists who don’t improve could lose their licenses to practice in Illinois.”

“That’s terrible,” he said.

“What? That’s not a good attitude,” I said. “Don’t you think we should try to improve children’s dental health in this state?”

“Sure I do,” he said, “but that’s not a fair way to determine who is practicing good dentistry.”

“Why not?” I said. “It makes perfect sense to me.”

“Well, it’s so obvious,” he said. “Don’t you see that dentists don’t all work with the same clientele; so much depends on things we can’t control? For example,” he said, “I work in a rural area with a high percentage of patients from deprived homes, while some of my colleagues work in upper middle class neighborhoods. Many of the parents I work with don’t bring their children to see me until there is some kind of problem and I don’t get to do much preventive work.”

“Also,” he said, “many of the parents I serve let their kids eat way too much candy from an early age, unlike more educated parents who understand the relationship between sugar and decay.”

“To top it all off,” he added, “so many of my clients have well water which is untreated and has no fluoride in it. Do you have any idea how much difference early use of fluoride can make?”

“It sounds like you’re making excuses,” I said. I couldn’t believe my dentist would be so defensive. He does a great job.

“I am not!” he said. “My best patients are as good as anyone’s, my work is as good as anyone’s, but my average cavity count is going to be higher than a lot of other dentists because I chose to work where I am needed most.”

“Don’t get touchy,” I said.

“Touchy?” he said. His face had turned red and from the way he was clenching and unclenching his jaws, I was afraid he was going to damage his teeth.

“Try furious. In a system like this, I will end up being rated average, below average, or worse. “My more educated patients who see these ratings may believe this so-called rating actually is a measure of my ability and proficiency as a dentist. They may leave me, and I”ll be left with only the most needy patients. And my cavity average score will get even worse. On top of that, how will I attract good dental hygienists and other excellent dentists to my practice if it is labeled below average?”

“I think you are overreacting,” I said. “‘Complaining, excuse making and stonewalling won’t improve dental health’…I am quoting from a leading member of the DOC,” I noted.

“What’s the DOC?” he asked.

“It’s the Dental Oversight Committee,” I said, “a group made up of mostly lay persons to make sure dentistry in this state gets improved.”

“Spare me,” he said. “I can’t believe this. Reasonable people won’t buy it,” he said hopefully.

The program sounded reasonable to me, so I asked, “How else would you measure good dentistry?”

“Come watch me work,” he said. “Observe my processes.”

That’s too complicated and time consuming,” I said. “Cavities are the bottom line, and you can’t argue with the bottom line. It’s an absolute measure.”

“That’s what I’m afraid my parents and prospective patients will think. This can’t be happening,” he said despairingly.

“Now, now,” I said, “don’t despair. The state will help you some.”

“How?” he said.

“If you’re rated poorly, they’ll send a dentist who is rated excellent to help straighten you out,” I said brightly.

“You mean,” he said, “they’ll send a dentist with a wealthy clientele to show me how to work on severe juvenile dental problems with which I have probably had much more experience? Big help.”

“There you go again.” I said. “You aren’t acting professionally at all.”

“You don’t get it,” he said. “Doing this would be like grading schools and teachers on an average score on a test of children’s progress without regard to influences outside the school, the home, the community served and stuff like that. Why would they do something so unfair to dentists? No one would ever think of doing that to schools.”

I just shook my head sadly, but he had brightened.

“I’m going to write my representatives and senator,” he said. “I’ll use the school analogy-surely they will see the point.” He walked off with that look of hope mixed with fear and suppressed anger that I see in the mirror so often lately.