Next week many of the kids will face their toughest challenge of the year. They will have to face an audience of their peers. I can’t wait. No, I do not revel in their anxious discomfort. But I will marvel in their moments to come. They will face their fears. They will grow. They will shine. And I will have the best seat in the house when they do. I live for it.

Yesterday, I revealed this in an unexpected way to my kiddos. Haley, Chromebook in hand, twinkle in her eye, came to me asking me to read her finished speech. She was obviously proud and pleased with the final outcome. I told her, “No.” Confused, crestfallen, she tilted her head and locked my eyes with a “What gives, Sy?” Noting her hurt, I quickly tried to explain.

“It’s selfish, Hale. It’s not that I don’t want to read your speech. I do. It’s just that…well, I live for your moments. I live for your opportunity to rise and shine next week, kiddo. If I read your speech today, it will diminish the experience for me next week. I want to experience it all at once. The first time. One time. Your beautiful moment. So, please understand my not reading your speech is not my being lazy or shirking my responsibilities. It is my selfish trust that you will rise to the moment, that you will face your fears, and in that, you will truly shine. Of course, if you must have me read it now, I will, but I am reluctant to do so, kiddo. I will help you with specific parts or answer specific questions, but please don’t make me spoil the moment.”

And, she obliged. We continued to talk. She did seek feedback on a few specific elements, but she did not cajole me into reading her full speech. Of course, by now, the entire class had heard bits and pieces of the exchange, so I saw an opportunity to make the same pitch to all my kids, explaining again my need for their moments next week.  And I used the same Haley-exchange to explain my selfish stance to all my other classes yesterday.

Today, we are going to engage in an activity to practice making eye-contact when speaking.  Below, I have included the Speech Feedback form that I will use next week to assess the kids’ performances. Can’t wait.

Happy Wednesday, all.

A year ago, I began scheming and dreaming. I wanted to make a bold move against tradition and convention in our public schools. I wanted to challenge the status quo, especially in the area of grading. So, I devised a bold plan. I wanted to challenge the perception that kids won’t do, that kids can’t learn without grades. In earnest, I believed differently, so I decided to take grades off the table. And though I knew that I would have to push the pendulum past center, I never expected to shove it clean to the other end.

My initial plan did not include giving everyone an A. It was a late development stemming from my learning that my plan of giving everyone a “pass” may prove problematic for college entrance and scholarship opportunities, so I went with plan B. I decided to take grades completely off the table by awarding an A to each student so as to make the focus learning, not simply earning.  But I also sought to call attention to my approach by making a radical move, a move that I was certain would warrant strong opposition from my peers, opposition that would hopefully lead to a deep dialogue around grading practices and policies. However, astonishingly, that opposition never manifested as I thought it might. Not even a little bit. And I’m not sure why. I have my guesses of course, but I’m not certain that airing them will matter now anyhow, so I will let them lie. It’s time to move forward. It’s time, as I planned all along, to let the pendulum swing back to center.

Next year’s plan for grading is currently under development. I have taken what I have learned thus far from the 146 days of 180 and begun to construct an approach that still bears the core principles of 180 but presents a far-less radical approach to rebuffing convention and tradition. Oh, there’s still plenty of “rebel” in it–I’m still me, but it is not so crazy as not to discourage others from joining the journey. In fact I am honored to announce that the other sophomore LA teachers Jenna Tamura and Maddie Alderete have already signed on to creating a unified approach to grading for all tenth-grade language arts courses, regular and honors. I am so excited to collaborate with these exceptional educators. They have been staunch 180 supporters from the beginning and now they are jumping on board. I will reveal the plan over the coming weeks. The swing back to center has begun. Excited. Truly.

Happy Tuesday, all.

We build automobiles on the factory assembly line. It is efficient. It is effective. And it gets more so all the time, for with each analysis of the system, we find ways to streamline our approach, increasing productivity, decreasing cost. It works. Really well. It works because we are tweaking products on the production line. And over the last century, we have attempted to emulate this model of success in nearly every aspect of our culture, including school.

Maybe, especially school. As more students poured into the system through compulsory education, we had to find ways to educate the masses, and so the factory model seemed a good approach to maximize production and minimize cost. We presented a K-12 system where in each year new standard features would be added to the vehicles as they made their way down the thirteen-year production line.

• Place student on conveyor belt at 8:20.
• Allow subject-area specialists an hour to make uniform additions and modifications to thirty models.
• Ring a bell signifying the move to another manufacturing department.
• Allow five minutes for system to re-calibrate for new additions and modifications.
• Ring bell. Begin next hour-long production. Repeat six times per day.
• Shut down system for cooling and maintenance for a half-hour each midday.
• Resume production.
• Remove students from conveyor belt at 3:00.
• Repeat five days per week.
• Repeat 180 days per year.
• Repeat for 13 years.
• Apply to every school in the nation.

And voila, we have hundreds of shiny new stock cars ready to enter society.  But, of course, it’s not working. Oh, we cling to it as if it were, for it has remained essentially unchanged for a century.  But it’s a lie. We are not churning out uniform models, equally equipped for all roads and driving conditions. We are churning out vehicles with cheap paint jobs, so they look fresh with success at the end of the line. Turns out, we don’t need actual success. We only need the appearance of success. And thus we continue to cling to that which is efficient, but not effective. It is madness. And as we’ve reached an unprecedented level of standardized testing in the realm of education, the madness is out of control.  It is time for a new model. It is time to do away with the factory mentality. It is time to see education as an investment, not an expense. It is time to see students as people, not products. It’s time. It’s way past due.

Sorry for the vent this morning, all. Happy Monday.