September 11, 1998
By Michelle Locke
ASSOCIATED PRESS WRITER
SAN JOSE, Calif. - On a drowsy summer day, as the wind drifts hot across the bruised grass outside, Ms. Villarreal's first-graders stare at a picture of a frisky white animal with a scraggly beard.
There is a long pause as 18 small brains try to describe, in English, what they see. Finally, 7-year-old Samuel blurts out, ``Chivo!''
Right animal, wrong language.
Last year, Samuel and his limited-English-speaking classmates at Sherman Oaks Elementary would have learned about the mischievous ``Chivo en la huerta.'' This year, it's ``The Goat in the Chile Patch.''
Proposition 227, the ballot measure approved in June that declared children should learn English by being taught in English, is in full swing. But outside California classrooms, the debate over bilingual education goes on, with challenges looming in state and federal court.
School officials are also looking anxiously toward Oct. 1. For this school, that's the 30-day deadline provided in the law by which some parents may ask that their children return to bilingual lessons.
But for now, the education experiment is on, transforming Sandra Villarreal's brightly decorated classroom into a crucible of sorts.
At issue: Will Proposition 227 be a catalyst for comprehension or confusion?
``Nobody's really talked about children and the effect on children,'' says Marcia Plumleigh, superintendent of the Campbell Union School District that is home to Sherman Oaks.
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The children sit cross-legged, their dark eyes fixed on Ms. Villarreal. Freshly buzzed crewcuts, slicked back cowlicks and tennis shoes with dazzling white soles bear testament to this being the first day of school.
District officials interpret Proposition 227 to mean that teachers may start out with a little Spanish instruction, so Ms. Villarreal begins by reading ``Voy a la escuela,'' a book about a girl's adventures at school.
The pupils shout answers to questions about what they've just heard.
``Levanten las manos,'' the teacher commands, and hands shoot up into sudden silence.
When she switches to English, she slows her speech and adds deliberate, exaggerated gestures.
When she wants the children to stand, she extends her hands, palms up. Reading a book called ``Walking to School,'' she throws her hands over her shoulder to illustrate the line ``and swing the books behind just so.''
She asks a youngster if he can name some of the colors on the cover of the book. He is silent.
At recess, she carefully explains where to line up when the bell rings, but the children end up at the wrong door.
After the children dash out to play, Ms. Villarreal sighs.
``Everything is taking much longer,'' she says.
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The man who wrote Proposition 227, Silicon Valley millionaire Ron Unz, argued successfully that California's 30-year-old bilingual system was holding children back. The solution, he said, was a one-year English immersion program that would propel students into the mainstream.
Backers of bilingual education, on the other hand, say children with limited English have to be taught core subjects in their primary language - in most cases Spanish - if they are to get a real grasp of learning.
The fight isn't over.
Civil rights groups are in federal court trying to block Proposition 227, and some school districts have filed state lawsuits for district-wide exemptions.
Yet to be resolved is the issue of individual waivers, permitting parents in some circumstances to ask that their child go back to bilingual education. Unz and state officials differ on the circumstances, which could mean another court battle.
Sherman Oaks parent Oliva Rojas already knows she will request a waiver.
Her son, 6-year-old Alexis, is usually the first to raise his hand whether the question is in Spanish or English. She's sure he can survive English immersion, but she would rather have him back in the program that showed promise of making him literate in both English and Spanish.
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Among decorations on the classroom walls is the cover of a book called ``Say Hola to Spanish.''
It's a holdover from the dual-immersion bilingual program Ms. Villarreal taught last year, which aimed to increase the amount of English taught until students got a 50-50 mix by fourth grade. The goal was to produce bilingual and biliterate students.
This year, it's ``adios'' to Spanish, at least for now.
Some of the pupils seem to be coping, like Jessie, who masters - in English - the tricky equation of what number plus one equals one.
But others hover on the brink of comprehension, like Martin, who listens to Ms. Villarreal's painstaking explanation, in English, that the class is going to run around the playing field later - not now, after lunch - and then, as the class moves on, emits a puzzled, ``Teacher? Don't we gotta run?''
On Day 2, pupils begin with a writing assignment in Spanish. But when Ms. Villarreal, in English, tells them to wait while she collects their papers, about half stay where they are while the rest mill about.
And then there are pupils like Samuel, a boy with an engaging dimple who seems lost when the Spanish stops. He sticks to Spanish on his first day, saying ``negro'' for black and ``chivo'' for goat.
``I know he knew what I was talking about, but he couldn't communicate it to me in English,'' Ms. Villarreal says.
By day's end, Ms. Villarreal slumps, exhausted with keeping 18 lively youngsters interested and in line without breaking the language rule.
``I think the hardest part is knowing that if I was able to say everything that I wanted to in Spanish they would have been more comfortable with the routine,'' she says. ``The day would have been a lot more smooth for them.''
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