Well, it is unlikely that P-180 will lead to an ideal world. But it may very well lead to ideas for a better world–at least in education. And though it would be folly to suggest that it would be a significantly better world, it is possible that it may be a little better. In the glacier that is education, any movement is movement, and movement is progress. In education, we’ll take what we can get. For we have moved little in a century. Glacial indeed.

The P-180 classroom relies heavily upon feedback to drive progress, to drive learning, for there are no grades. It is at the center of my interactions with kids. And it has certainly been at the center of my recent and continuing conferences with them, as I give them feedback on their performances. And while this feedback will help them, “empower them” on the upcoming SBA and/or placement test for those seeking the Running Start option at EWU, there is something bigger at play here. Growth requires feedback. No feedback. No growth. But kids–heck, people–do not always readily or eagerly accept this, for it requires judgment. And, thus, we are reluctant to cozy up to feedback; in truth, we tend to avoid it.

If nothing else happens in my 180 classroom this year, my greatest hope is that kids learn to seek and value feedback as a vital component for learning. I hope in the absence of grades, they come to learn that grades are neither always the best motivator for nor always the best indicator of learning. I hope they see this. I hope they demand this from their teachers moving forward. That is empowerment. They have not only the right but also the responsibility to demand feedback from their teachers. Grades alone don’t cut it. If there is no feedback, if there is no opportunity to apply new understanding, then there is no learning. Anyone can give a grade. Grading does not make the teacher. Feedback is what separates the effective from the ineffective. We have to give our kids actionable feedback if they are to learn. The absence of grades has opened my eyes to the power that feedback has in learning.  And, even if I ultimately swing back to a standards-based approach, I will carry with me what matters, what has to be the focus: feedback. There is nothing else.

Happy Monday, all.

Can’t do it without kids. Beyond the obvious that the job requires students to fill the seats, rests the notion that without kids to recharge our batteries every day with their indefatigable energy and dauntless spirits, we could not sustain that which is necessary to do the job.  And so, I look to my kids every day to give me the hope and energy I need to meet the challenges of this unparalleled profession. And some days, I make a very intentional, necessary effort to draw deeply from their power reserves, for I need it. And that comes in the form of Community Circle.

With the desks pushed to the wall and the seats arranged in a large circle around the room, we sit and talk for the period. I present a prompt or question and we go around the circle as each has an opportunity to respond. Of course, the kids always have the option to pass. No one is ever forced to share. The questions are both fun and serious. The goal is to have an opportunity to learn about our community. I learn about the kids. The kids learn about each other. And the kids learn about me. We laugh. We disagree. We find commonality. We discover differences. We empathize. And sometimes we cry.

Here are some of the questions/prompts we explored yesterday.

• Share a nickname.
• What do you wish parents better understood?
• What do you wish teachers better understood?
• If you could have a conversation with your younger self, what advice would you give?
• When’s the last time you cried?
• What traits do you look for in a friend?
• Finish the statement, “We cannot be friends if…”
• Name a song that would be in your all-time top-five playlist.

Learned a lot yesterday. No, we didn’t advance academically, and yes some of my colleagues believe I wasted a day, but they’ve been telling me that for years, and yet I continue to waste time with my kids, impudently committing malpractice. Someday I will be a better teacher. ‘Til then I’ll ramble along the rebel road. But I’ll make a deal. I’ll quit when the kids no longer follow. Cross my rebel heart.

Happy Friday, all.

The recipe.

1 table

2 chairs

1 teacher

1 student

2 Chromebooks

1 SBA Argumentative Rubric

1 “Things to think about” column

1 “Things to celebrate” column

2 pens

1 highlighter

29 other quietly engaged students

10 minutes

Result. Learning.

At a pace of roughly five conferences an hour, we set to baking learning cakes yesterday. And though the ingredients are mostly uniform from one cake to another, the most important ingredient, the student, makes each cake unique; there is no mold. And that makes for beautiful baking.

Said it a million times, and I’ll say it a million more: the most satisfying, the most impactful thing I do with kids is conferencing. It’s  also the most exhausting. It takes an immense amount of energy to sustain a dynamic dialogue–holding their eyes, pushing their limits, protecting their mindsets, honoring their persons–kid after kid, period after period, day after day. And at the end of those days, I am drained to my core. Yesterday, lingering as he oft does, Ralphe responded to my dramatic, out-loud, sigh as the room cleared for the day.

“Mr. Sy, I hope that conferencing doesn’t stress you out.”

No. No, Ralphe. It just wears me out. It makes me tired. But it’s a good tired.”

“Good. I’m glad. ‘Cause it’s important. That interaction.”

Yes, Ralphe. It is. It’s important.”

“See you, Mr. Sy.”

“See ya, Ralphey.”

Only one day in, and already I am so impressed with the kids’ letters to the Board–on both sides of the fence. Madison’s argument against the movies remaining in the curriculum was so compelling that I told her I was experiencing a tinge of guilt for showing the movies, and I also told her, in jest, that I was hesitant to send her letter to the Board in fear that they may side with her. But, for as many successful, hit-the-target letters that I read yesterday, there are many that are not quite there–yet. But they will be eventually.  And that is the beauty of the conference. It’s not only a celebration of arrival, but also, it’s equally a celebration of progress, of moving forward, of growth. Having “arrived” or not, I want each kid to feel their potential, to yearn for “yet,” because there’s always more road around the bend. We never really arrive. We chase next. We chase yet. Can’t imagine a better way to sell that to my kids than face-to-face.

Happy Wednesday, all.