Whether we think we can or we can’t, we are probably right. This is the message that has stuck with me since 7th grade. It originated from the poem “The Man Who Thinks He Can,” which my 7th-grade wrestling coach read to us before every match. It resonated with me then as a young boy struggling with himself and the world, and it resonates with me now as an old man facing many of the same struggles–indeed, life doesn’t change; we just get older. But. This is different. It is no longer about an uncertain, awkward, self-conscious boy trying to avoid humiliation on the mat; it is about a man bearing the responsibility of helping young people find themselves and their ways in the world. And so, I seek to give what was given to me so long ago, the gift of “can” through attempting to instill in my students the power of a growth mindset.

This week in 211 I will immerse my kids in the idea of a growth mindset, setting the stage for their roles as learners in the days to come. I have already taken the fear of failing out of the equation by gifting an A, a move which may prompt some to ask, then, what’s the point? Fair enough. A look at the graphic above would suggest that by doing so I have already eliminated the first three components to learning: challenges, obstacles, and effort by taking grades off the table. So, yeah, what is the point?

This. Project 180, by taking grades off the table, is not making learning easier; it is attempting to make it more relevant, more meaningful, more personal. The kids are no longer chasing a grade; they are building themselves. I don’t believe I need grades to present challenges, to lay down obstacles, to elicit effort. I will provide these opportunities every day in 211. Of course, I will have to be ever mindful of the types of tasks I create because kids now truly have a choice. I am betting on commitment as a better motivator than compliance. “Failure” is still an option. But now instead of failing the class, they can only fail themselves. I want it to be about them. It has to be about them. I want them to succeed not in search of a grade but as a means to better themselves. I want them to be selfish in this. I am gambling on it. In fact, I have placed my whole professional farm in the pot.

Though, in some respects, the stakes are high, my goal through Project 180 is to make the stakes more real. For each kid. It is my earnest hope that each and every kid sees this year’s experience in 211 as a journey to growth, a journey not without challenges, obstacles, or effort, a journey that helps them discover power of “can.” Sometimes learning is about more than content; sometimes learning is about attitude, and even if it doesn’t matter all the time, I have come to learn, in life, attitude matters most of the time. This week we will begin building our growth mindset attitudes. The journey begins.

Happy Tuesday, all. Thank you for tuning in and offering your support. Together, we CAN change the world. Now, that’s the attitude. 

I’ve come to learn that there is little else in life that matters more than relationships. I’ve also come to learn that this is no less true in the classroom. When I think back on any success or failure I’ve experienced in teaching, it has had everything to do with relationships. Importantly, in school, as in life, relationships–even our best ones–are work. They are not accidents. They are not magical things born of fairy dust. They are intentional constructs created and sustained by commitment to those with whom we choose to experience life. And while I only have the honor to experience a small fraction of my students’ lives, I like to think it’s an important slice of the pie, and I have a responsibility to “learn their lives” while I can, in hopes that what I learn can guide me in helping them prepare for the next stages in their lives. So, I work. I work hard to learn their lives. I do this with intention. I do this with conviction. I do this with the knowledge that there are many important academic things to get to this year, but those things can wait. They will be there when we get there. My job is to make sure the kiddos are with me when we arrive. And, relationships, I find, best satisfy this prerequisite.

Today, when the kids walk into 211, they will find the desks  pushed to one side of the room, creating an open space on the floor for us to sit and engage in an activity called “Community Circle.” For the entire period, we will spend intentional time learning the lives of our community as each shares bits of him/herself. I have done this activity for years, and I have found that it may be the most important thing I do. It builds and fortifies the foundation of learning for the entire year. Indeed, relationships first. Nothing is more important.

So, this ends, then, the first short week of Project 180. I haven’t been fired yet, and the kids shared with me yesterday that their parents generally responded favorably to their gifted A’s. Thank you, all, for the support this week. Can’t do it without you. Have a great Labor Day weekend.

Nervous. Surprisingly more nervous than I expected to be, but standing on a path with no return, I read with shaky voice  and short breath, the letter below to introduce Project 180 to my kids yesterday.

Dear Learners:

Welcome to Honors English 10. I am beyond excited to begin and share this journey with you. And while I am not certain about all that we will encounter and experience along our way–or even where we will land at our journey’s end, I am certain that it will be unlike anything we have experienced in the past.

As you entered the room today, I handed you a wooden letter A. It is my gift to you. It is your grade for the year. No, I did not misspeak, I am giving you an A…for the entire year. It is yours to keep. I will not take it back. Promise. Cross my heart.

But, my young adventurers, take heed. For, after all, what I handed you is just what it appears to be: a wooden letter A. It is nothing. Oh, don’t worry. I am not going back on my promise. I will type the A into your transcript at the end of each semester, but even that is merely a digital character, a mark on a screen. It, too, in reality, is nothing. So, before you sit back and relax with your gift and chalk me up as your “best teacher ever,” consider the following.

In truth, I gave you nothing, but I did that, young traveler, to give you everything. When I handed that A to you as you came aboard today, I really gave you ownership. I gave you the keys to your learning. I gave you choice; I gave you freedom. I gave you responsibility. And that is the essence. In the end, young friend, you are responsible for your learning. I cannot give it to you. In this arrangement that we find ourselves, I am responsible for providing opportunity and support, and I can and will give that freely and abundantly, but I am not responsible for your learning. You are. This reflects, then, the terms of our agreement for our journey.

So, we set out. 180 days from now we will set anchor in some unknown harbor. But before we set sail, pick up your A. Look at it. Feel it. Right now it is an empty gesture, a simple symbol. It won’t mean anything until you give it meaning. Months from now, as we look back on the calm and storm of our journey, and you hold this symbol in your hand, what will it mean then? I can’t wait to hear about your discovery. Thanks for letting me join you. I am honored.

Welcome aboard,

Syrie

Fortunately, my nerves got better with each delivery, but the first one was a doozy, as I had no idea how a new batch of learners would respond to such a radical departure from tradition. The initial response each period was suspicious silence, as I went on to explain that it was not a joke, that I was serious, that I was–hand on heart–giving them an A for the year. Still, desiring to know more, I asked each to react to the A on a note card, beseeching them to be honest. In addition, I asked them to share on the other side of the card what they wanted me to know and understand about them as learners. In general, the most common response communicated the relief they felt from the pressure of grades. I selected a range of specific responses from each class to share with you.

“I think it is a great way to make people realize how important learning really is”

“The A sounds like a great idea for students who want to learn; sadly, there will be those students who take advantage of it.”

“Because of the A, I feel like I have more freedom to learn the way I need to and not the way the school wants me to.”

“I really have no idea how I feel about this A. It seems cool, but my initial reaction is ‘What is this?’ I was always taught that nothing is free, so it worries me.”

“I love this idea! I think it’s very bold and I hope it works for you and me. I really hope, however, it does not at any point give me an excuse to slack, so I am going to have to work hard at that.”

“I think that this is a little daring, but either way, you’ll have kids that goof off and kids that work no matter what.”

“Not stressed.”

“I love it. I appreciate you giving us a chance to learn calmly without stressing about grades. I will most likely do a better job on the work because I won’t be scared to make mistakes.”

“I am excited because it’s a new innovative approach to learning, and I want to see where it goes.”

“I am split on the decision. It ‘ll help my test stress, but I am worried I won’t push myself hard enough , and next year I will be unprepared.”

“My reaction at first was kind of like ‘Yes! don’t have to do anything,’ but it’s kinda like being able to control your own learning.”

“Shocked. Surprised. A little suspicious.”

“I was relieved, but it made me want to work harder because I haven’t really earned it yet.”

“Where’s my A+? Also, my dad’s going to be confused.”

In general, this represents my kids’ reactions to their A’s. At the moment, I am feeling good about it, but we have a long way to go, and I have a lot “proving” to do. I expected my inbox to be full of parent emails this morning, but so far no calls to have me fired. My next anxious moment will be at open house next week when I meet parents in person. I just hope they are able to place their faith in me. I just hope they are willing to give me a chance.

So, day one’s done. A’s delivered and generally accepted. I told the kids yesterday that they did not need to keep their wooden A’s, that they could leave them on their desks if they did not want them. Three students left A’s behind. And that’s fine. No harm. No foul. After all, they’re just silly symbols, empty gestures–nothing.

Happy Thursday, all.