What if I’m wrong? This is a recurring thought for me during the grading process, a thought that worries and haunts me, sometimes for days and weeks after the process is over.  For those who are not teachers, this may seem a strange admission, but for those of us who are teachers, teachers who are reflective about our practice, we know all too well the worry of our judgment on student work. You see, grading is not exactly an objective process; in fact, much of it is subjective, left to the professional judgment of the teacher, especially in my area–language arts.  And while we try to make it less subjective through the use of criteria-based rubrics and scoring guides, we never really arrive at a place where we can make the process purely objective.  Consequently, in the end, it is what it is, and we simply strive to make it if not objective, then at least clear.  Even so, subjectivity still persists, allowing for error, creating some doubt.  

Granted, there are some subjects where less subjectivity is more easily achieved, such as math, but even math is not entirely immune to the subjective judgment of the teacher, for any time partial points or credit is given, the possibility of error exists, and teachers may inadvertently punish kids on the basis of their interpretation.  Now to be fair, in many cases our interpretation may have a positive impact on students’ grades, but then this, too, calls into question whether we follow the same standard for all kids in all situations.  If I like Jimmy a little more than I like Susie, might I not award more points to Jimmy?  Is it possible that I might do it and not even know it? The truth is, I don’t know.  I am certainly not above human shortcomings and failings, and in the end, I may be human and unconsciously award or punish kids unwittingly, unfairly.  And this is what worries me.  And though it may end up being a wash in the end, the odds eventually evening out, I find it unsettling.  So, this is what I’ve done about it.

Every semester, at the end, I add a grade to the grade book that I’ve come to call “the fairness factor.”  Essentially, I give each kid five points. That may not sound like much, but for many it makes the difference between a B- and a B, which could impact their getting accepted to college, their getting a scholarship, or their getting a discount on their auto insurance.  Five points can make, for some, a huge difference.  In fact, I am still surprised as I watch each score go up every time I input the five points.  I witness the difference.  Of course, each semester, I communicate the purpose of the fairness-factor grade to the kids, and they just think I am being nice, but I quickly correct them and tell them it’s not about being nice; it’s about being fair.  I think it’s about taking an honest look at one’s grading practices and recognizing the possibility of a margin of error and then erring on the side of the students’ best interests.  Could the margin be greater than five?  Maybe.  But as I reflect on my practice, my professional judgment, I have to be fair to myself, too, for who knows I might be right.

Today’s Parting Questions

1. Teachers, how do you account for the subjectivity in your grading?
2. Students and parents, have you inquired about how your teachers account for subjectivity in their grading practices?

Happy Monday, all.  Hard to believe a month has already gone by since I launched on January 1.  Thank you for the support.  Look for some changes.  I will send a post this evening, highlighting some course corrections as we enter month two of our journey.

Of course, as it goes, my kids had to wait till the very last day of the semester to be their most attentive–all eyes forward, pin-drop silent, truly in tune with what was before them. And, of course, as it goes, it was not I who was on stage. Nope, I was upstaged. By Disney. For an hour and a half I was the forgotten star, cast aside for a story far more interesting than The Saga of the Sentence and the Phantom Phrases. Yep, a new kid was in town. Lilo and Stitch assumed center stage. And it’s tough to compete with a cute little girl who befriends a little blue alien. I didn’t even try. I’ve learned to acknowledge and accept when I’m whooped. I let Lilo and Stitch have the stage. I kinda had to anyway. I made a promise.

Weeks back, in a moment of weakness, I promised that at the end of the semester we could watch a movie just for fun. And though they seem to forget most of what I say, they certainly did not forget this, so I had to honor my word. We would watch a movie on the last day, possible because of the finals schedule, which created hour-and-a-half alternating periods over two days, perfect length for a Disney feature. Thus, stage then open for a movie, the kids selected Lilo and Stitch.

Of course, this decision was not completely made only in the interest of the kids; I had another motive. In the end they won fun, but I gained survival. I found time, time to climb the mountains of two days worth of finals. So, then, the stage was set. Fun for kids, time for teacher.

Settled in, we engaged in our separate activities. They watched. I graded. Well, for the most part. They did their part, but I deviated from the plan. I couldn’t help it. I got distracted, got lost. In a moment. In a visceral moment I got caught up in the “kid in the room,” a collective mass of enchanted minds lost in the wonder of fun, the peace of joy. I was struck. I was struck starkly with the reminder that for as much as we, as I, demand from them, they’re just kids after all. And as they move headlong into a world not always fun or joyful, we need to remember that and give them permission to just be kids.

Happy Friday, all. Thanks for the support. Can’t do it without you.

Next Time

Next time what I’d do is look at

the earth before saying anything. I’d stop

just before going into a house

and be an emperor for a minute

and listen better to the wind

or to the air being still.

 

When anyone talked to me, whether

blame or praise or just passing time,

I’d watch the face, how the mouth

has to work, and see any strain, any

sign of what lifted the voice.

 

And for all, I’d know more—the earth

bracing itself and soaring, the air

finding every leaf and feather over

forest and water, and for every person

the body glowing inside the clothes

like a light.

~William Stafford

 

Fortunately, life is full of next times.  And for those of us who live with this wisdom know that next times can lead to better times.  This is certainly true in teaching, a consistent cycle of endings and beginnings, chances to start anew, chances to make “next” better.  And, now, as we come to an ending–semester one is done tomorrow, we stand on the edge of a beginning, a new next time.  

Uncertain of whether it’s a chance to escape the mistakes of my past or embrace the opportunities of my future, I reach–often impatiently and prematurely–for new beginnings, seeking the renewal, the hope of a fresh start.  But sometimes this urgency gets the better of me, and I race to the end to get to the beginning, and I don’t always appreciate the present.  So, this “next time,” I vow to do different.

This next time I will be present in the moment, slowing down for the “now,” trusting that, regardless the pace, the end and the beginning will come.  Of course, this is not the first time I have made such a vow, but this time, I hope it happens.  And that is why I dusted off the poem above, an old friend and counselor, to remind me of the moments now, the people in my present.  Sorry, old friend, it has been a while.  But thank you for the reminder.  Thank you for the memory of my moments with kids when I have watched “the face, how the mouth has to work, …to see any strain, any sign of what lifted the voice.”  Thank you, too, for the reminder of their “glowing lights” as they come and go, in and out my day, brilliant and bright.  Thank you.

Indeed, a new next time.  A better next time. A time for me to measure the moments, not the days to the next.  It will come. And I will be there, richer in spirit, buoyed by the brilliance of my many bright stars.

Happy Thursday, all.  Sorry so sappy this morning.  I got caught up in a moment.  May you find some magic in your moments.

So yesterday, in 219, my kiddos took the first of two finals, an assessment on rhetorical elements in two speeches.  They had to not only identify the elements but also analyze them and then deliver them in a “three-sentence-essay” format: claim, cite, clarify; we’ve come to call them CCC’s.  And though my kids have had ample practice, they and I were a little anxious going in, feeling a little pressure on game day, performance day.  And atypical to how things usually go in  219, there was an added element of pressure: time.  With so much still to do and the end looming, I could not give them the entire period but only thirty minutes, which really, if they were prepared, was a fair amount of time to successfully complete the task.  Most did, but a few used every available second, and even the extra minute or two that I tacked on at the end.  Hey, I’m flexible to a fault.  I’m working on it.

Anyway, as Jacob, my last straggler, made his way up to my desk (we had already begun getting ready for the next task) he remarked aloud, in his ever-affable way, “Hey, I think I’m finally getting this stuff.”  A few smiles and chuckles emanated from his peers, and I responded, “Well, Jake, now is probably a good time for that to happen.  And while I was pleased with his remark at the moment–teachers like to hear that kids are “getting it,” it was not until later, upon further reflection, that I discovered that his “getting it” was not what pleased me most.  No, what really set with me, was that he finally got it.  Truly music to my ears, for that is what I strive to make happen for my kids.   

I believe in the practice-feedback-performance path to proficiency…well, path is probably a misnomer; it’s more like a cycle, for I believe learning happens when things come full-circle for kids, and sometimes that requires numerous spins around the block until things come to fruition, until kids demonstrate proficiency, demonstrate mastery. I do not believe in the linear, “learn-it-and-leave-it” model that so many teachers employ, trying to plow through as much course content as possible, often leaving kids behind.  And while I think it is hard to truly put a finger on what learning is, I dare say that the “content-is-king” model is what learning is not. So, when Jacob revealed his aha moment yesterday, I reveled in his simple sentiment, glad for him and glad for me, for I put a lot of stock in this approach, and it’s nice to find affirmation in the small successes that my kids experience.  It’s really rather thrilling.  

Today, my kids will take their second final, an assessment on sentences and phrases.  For this, too, they have had ample practice, so I hope that most have an “I’m-finally-getting-this-stuff” moment as things come full circle.  And long before I grade their tests, I will know.  I will know by the confidence I find in their eyes as they hand me their tests.  Looks give measure as much as words. Not much better than the eyes of a confident kid.

Happy Wednesday, all.  I wanted to share with my faithful few that I successfully reached a wider audience yesterday on Edutopia.  They published my first weekly wonder and another post is pending.  I am really excited to have another venue.  Here’s the link.  http://www.edutopia.org/discussion/should-we-fail-kids

Responsiblity: the opportunity or ability to act independently and make decisions without authorization.  This is but one definition of responsibility, but it is the one that I believe best fits the world I am attempting to build in room 219.  Beyond teaching them gerunds and rhetorical devices, I also want my kids to learn about the value of being responsible, but as with many things in room two-one-nine, I approach it a little differently.  I expose my kids to responsibility by letting go.  I am not convinced that learning responsibility requires a realm, rigid with restrictive rules.  For while it may work in the short term, forcing compliance, it is often only a disguise for responsibility, and it fades from sight as kids leave the set of that particular stage, only able to remember the lines when the script is in hand. Instead of forcing compliance, I believe we should seek commitment.  I believe we should give kids the freedom, the opportunity to make decisions independently.  And that means we have to let go.  But, importantly, we need to understand that this cannot happen all at once.  No, to be sure, it is a slow, gradual process.  Learning about responsibility is a monumental undertaking, and there can be serious consequences when our youngsters find freedom.  Our letting go must be slow.  This past week, I gave the kids some rein, letting them have their heads a little as we near the midpoint of our journey this year.

So, as most know, cellphones are an issue–have been and will be.  They’re not going away any time soon, and it’s likely it will get worse before it gets better as educators struggle to find an answer to the dilemma.  For me, discovering the best cell-phone policy has been a long journey, demanding more of my energy and time than I dare admit.  Hate ‘em.  Plain and simple.  They are a huge distraction, and I often long for the “good old days” when things were simpler, and kids just passed notes.  But those days are gone, and we have a new reality.  Grudgingly, I am beginning to accept that new reality; consequently, this new-found acceptance has led to yet another cell-phone policy this year.

This year, I have tried the “brain break.”  Roughly half way through the period, I give my kids a three-minute brain break, a time when they can talk, stretch, relax, and…use their phones.  Really it should probably be called the “phone break,” for that is what nearly every kid does, but I feel better about calling it a brain break.  In the end, it is what it is, and even if I don’t love the fact that they are on their phones, it is their time, and I let them have it, but the other 52 minutes are mine, and phones are put away; on that, I do not budge.  Somewhat surprisingly, it has gone better than expected, and I have discovered that giving them a little bit of freedom has resulted in my best year in regards to dealing with cellphones.  It is working.  And though the old adage goes, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” I “fixed it” and let go a little more. I took a risk.  Now, on the days when the kids are working, I have decided to let them decide when to take their brain breaks, asking them to keep it to the agreed-upon three minutes, letting them know that I trust them.  I am giving them an opportunity to play with responsibility, an opportunity to rehearse in a role that will possibly have long-term implications.  The results?  Well, so far, so good.  Of course, there  are a few who need a knowing glance from me at times, but that’s part of the deal.  After all, I am still the director in this drama.

Have a terrific Tuesday, all.  Remember to check out the Weekly Wonder if you have not had the chance.  http://www.letschangeeducation.com/?p=288

Choices.  Choices not only promote independence, but they also require responsibility, taking ownership of one’s self-selected actions.  And while life, for young and old, is full of choices, this week for students and teachers, choice gets pushed to the forefront, taking center stage. It’s grading time,  which means a variety of dramatic situations will play out this week as semester one comes to a close, one of two times a year, that everyone takes a greater interest in the game.  The game of grades.

For students, choice will mostly involve their willingness to muster the strength to make a final push to get ready for finals and–if possible–get make-up/late work turned in to boost their final grades.  The latter generally plays out the most dramatically, for anxiety-filled students must approach stress-filled teachers asking what they can do to improve their grades.  And for many kids, this presents a not-so-easy choice, for not all teachers welcome this final scene of the play, some being unwilling to even have the conversation, much less giving kids a chance, a choice.  The traditional narrative, here, generally goes, “Kids have had a chance all semester long to make choices, and it’s too late now.  They should have made better choices all along.”  Of course, this notion is not bereft of wisdom; kids have made choices and there are consequences.  But teachers make choices, too.  And sometimes, often times, the consequences of our choices don’t always benefit kids.

You see, no one tells teachers what their grading policies are.  There is no uniform, vetted standard that we follow to ensure fairness and equity for all students.  Teachers alone decide. They have a choice; they have independence.  And though one might hope that these independent choices by teachers would always have kids’ best interests in mind, it is not always so.  Kids know this.  Parents know this.  Many parents learn this in their interactions with teachers, especially at conferences where they move from one autonomous ruler to another, discovering six different sets of rules in six different communities, six different–often starkly different–worlds, where what is and isn’t possible truly seems galaxies apart. I wonder how parents process this, what conclusions they come to.  I have to guess that the whole thing seems a little off to them, and I wonder if they really understand that teachers alone make their decisions about their grading policies, that teachers have choices.  And while I cannot speak to the all the choices my colleagues make, for they are their choices, I can speak to my choices.

In room 219, I choose to create a realm of possibility, a world where all things are possible, a place where kids truly have choices that are limited only by their desire to progress and improve, not limited by some arbitrarily devised grading policies that generally consider my, instead of my students’, best interests.  This week–as with every week–I will choose to let my kids do, redo, re-submit, retake, and correct anything they choose.  I want them to make choices and own the consequences of those choices; thus, I create a world where choice exists.  This week my kids need my flexibility. It’s how I choose to conduct business. My choice.

Happy Monday, all.  If you missed the Weekly Wonder yesterday regarding the fairness of our grading system, here is the link http://www.letschangeeducation.com/?p=288

Is Our Grading System Fair?

“A zero has an undeserved and devastating influence, so much so that no matter what the student does, the grade distorts the final grade as a true indicator of mastery. Mathematically and ethically this is unacceptable . ”

Rick Wormeli quoted in O’Connor, K., A Repair Kit for Grading, ETS/ATI, Portland, 2007, 92

 

The topic this week opens a huge can of worms in education.  For better or worse, in the end it seems that everything comes down to the final grade, which generally generates a source of anxiety for kids and a source of contention among stakeholders when disagreement or confusion presents itself in regards to how the grade was determined, and perhaps most importantly, what the grade really means and if it truly indicates learning. In short, one little letter has the power to make a huge impact on a kid’s life.  Of course, this is nothing new.  It has always been the case, and little has changed. Grades have been and remain the center point in education, which are often accepted as the final word on learning, the final indicator of success or failure.  But what if the final word is flawed?  What if grades are not really true indicators of learning, success, or failure?  I wonder.  And though my wonders may lure me to wander into a huge realm full of questions never asked and answers oft ignored, I will stick to one worm in the can for now: zeroes.  We will explore the general topic of grading practices in greater depth next month.  

The great majority of kids who fail do so because of the dreaded zero, which is most generally the result of a missing assignment, not necessarily an indicator of low-or-no proficiency with course content.  So, invariably, zeroes kill grades, often creating holes that kids cannot crawl out of, resulting in many giving up and failing a course. So, too, even kids who do not fail courses suffer the unfair penalty of zeroes, which often drastically decrease their grades.  So what?  If they didn’t want the penalty, they should have completed the assignment.  One should not get something for nothing.  Kids need to learn.  Yes, they do, but some lessons make more sense than others.  And zeroes don’t really make sense when we examine traditional grading scales.

Most grading scales roughly reflect a 10-point-increment scale, moving down the scale from “A” (100 – 90) to “B” (89 – 80) and so on.  Again, this is nothing new.  We all were subject to such a scale, and kids still are today.  And, as we continue down the scale, it remains uniform until we get to “F” and then it abruptly dives from 59 to 0.  “F’s” should stop at 50.  There are no “G” through “K” grades, only “F’s”.   In terms of numbers, scores given in this range may reflect a degree of completion (a kid did 3 of 10 problems, so he gets 30%), but in terms of learning, scores given in this range whether it’s 59, 34, or 17 reflect one thing: failure.  When kids or parents see scores below 60, they generally understand that that indicates a performance well-below standard; students have not been successful with the content. When we start assigning numbers within this range, what are we really seeking to communicate?  Let’s take a 52%.  Are we really meaning to suggest that this is a lesser fail than a 33%, which should then suggest a greater fail? This then continues down the scale, approaching the zero, a sign of complete and utter failure.  Kids in this range for various reasons are well-below the grade-level standards that we have established in our classrooms.  That’s the message, generally intended and generally received.  This is clear.

What I wonder is if we also have to attach a punishment in the form of a sub-50-point score?  Somehow, it just doesn’t seem fair.  Why can’t we let an “F” be an “F?”  We let “A’s be A’s” and “B’s” be “Be’s.”  Why not “F’s?”  Why do we have to let the bottom drop out?  A bottom that drops the kids off a cliff they can rarely re-climb, especially in classrooms where they cannot turn in late work or redo assignments.  Is this really fair for kids?  Is this ethical in an arena where the stakes are so high? I’m not sure.

Four years ago, I quit zeroes.  They are no longer allowed in my classroom.  I still have “F’s” which communicate, in number and learning, performances well-below standard.  Kids still receive failing scores in my classroom, but I don’t tack on punishment, additional insult to injury in the form of sub-50% scores; 50% is now the lowest score possible in my class.  The kids know from the mark that they have failed to meet standard; I don’t need to crush them more with added penalties.  It makes sense to me, it makes sense to my kids, and it makes sense to parents.  It’s also beginning to make sense to some of my colleagues, who, too, have adopted a no-zero policy.  But not all. Some of my colleagues have accused me of malpractice, suggesting I am ruining kids’ lives by not teaching them a lesson.  And I guess of that I am guilty.  But I sleep at night knowing that I have given kids a fair shake, and while I may not be teaching them the harsh lessons of life, I am giving them opportunity by creating a realm of possibility in room 219.

Your turn.  Is the practice of giving zeroes fair?  Please, join the conversation.  Your words matter.

“This speaks to me this year. With being a first year coach and teacher, my volleyball season was one where I rarely had time to myself. I would have Sunday as my only day “off” because we had games on Saturday. Not complaining at all, but it truly is a full-throttle time for me.”

Alexsandra Harris, Teacher, Wasilla, Alaska responding to January 22 Morning Minutes http://www.letschangeeducation.com/?p=278

 

Push ups?  In English class? So, two days ago, feeling especially drained after school, wanting only to sit down in my chair and take a nap, I made myself go for a run with my dog Daisy.  Well, it was more of brisk walk with a few minutes of running in the still-deep snow around our property.  After the initial, why-am-I-doing-this doubts cleared away, I started to settle in and feel alive, heart-pumping, lungs laboring, stress subsiding.  Run done, I walked into the house, and as I was taking off my wool cap, I paused.  That’s it.  I am doing it.  No excuses.  I am going to make myself a priority.  I am going to give myself 30 minutes of life each day.  I, no matter what, am going to workout 30 minutes a day.  Every day. No matter what.

By now you may be wondering if you linked to the right blog this morning.  Yes, this is still my education blog, not my fitness blog.  So what gives?  Okay, as you may have begun to suspect, I have grand plans for the next twenty years.  I, for a lack of a better way to say it, want to change the world.  And I hope by now at least, those who know me, trust that that is not conceit but commitment.  But if I am going to make that happen, I have to be around; I have to take care of myself.  Okay, but what does that have to do with teaching, with education?

Here’s the deal.  From the outside, it may appear that we teachers have it made.  Seven-and-a-half hour days, one-hundred-eighty days a year.  Sounds pretty good, and in many respects it certainly is, but I wish more understood what it really takes for those of us, and we are many, who pour all we have into our years.  First, it never stops.  We never stop thinking about our classrooms, our kids, our plans, our units, our lessons.  It never stops.  Second, there’s the “dynamic drain.”  Great teachers are dynamic.  They bring an energy, a passion, a zeal every minute, every period, every day–even when they don’t want to.  There are few jobs where one is on stage every minute with an incredibly demanding audience.  For most, it’s five shows a day, with a five minute potty break between curtains.  It takes a toll.  Third, we are ever torn between our teacher role and the many other roles we play in and out of school.  If only I could teach.  I am a department chair, I teach a college class, I am on numerous committees, and I am a father and husband.  The last in the list, sadly, most of the year, comes last.  And so we bear our guilt as we are torn between our duties.  My wife, a middle school art teacher, can’t watch a movie  without correcting papers.  I want to hassle her about it, but I know what she’s going through, and I leave her alone.  She doesn’t need any more stress.

So what’s the message, what’s the takeaway?  Teachers don’t take care of themselves.  I don’t take care of myself.  Two days ago I decided to do different.  And while I’m still feeling a little guilty about being selfish, I am getting over it, finding wisdom in my decision, wanting to be around for those I serve and love.

So what about the push ups in the classroom?  Well, I guess I never really escape my kids, even when I am being selfish. On that same run, where I decided to take care of myself, I decided to take care of my students, too.  So, now, for the first thirty seconds of the period, we do some kind of fitness activity.  Of course, I don’t make the kids do it, but I at least require them to stand.  Surprisingly, most do the activity.  I’ve come to call it our brain boost.  Because, as we know, activity boosts our brains.  And whether it’s real or imagined, I feel better, and when I feel better, I am better.  And while I have many for whom I need to be better, I need to be better for myself, too.

Happy Friday, all.  Make yourself a priority.  Be better.

“Schools should help students learn to respect values such as hard work, tolerance, democratic citizenship, the rule of law, and intellectual inquiry.  The role of the school is to socialize children into existing norms and values.”

“Schools should help students gain critical distance from existing forms of social life, and help them develop capacities for individual autonomy.  The role of the school is to help develop critical thinking (i.e. independent thinking) and self-governance.”

These reflect two contradictory views on the purpose of education in our country.  I present these views to my college students who are just entering the education program at Eastern Washington University.  I then make them select and endorse one of them.  In general, their decisions are neither immediate nor easy, but I force them to choose only one.  Selections made, I then have them discuss, sometimes debate, their choices and why their chosen view is the superior of the two.  The discussions are often lively, especially at the beginning, each side sure they have chosen the “golden view,” but as the debate continues, most, if not all, begin to concede that each side has some redeemable qualities, and they begin to wonder if we couldn’t just combine the two for a better view.  Of course, I acquiesce and tell them of course we can.  We already do.  As with all things in our country, there are no shortages of varying views, which unfortunately end up polarized, suggesting that the truth resides only on the ends of the spectrum, forcing us to choose one side or the other.  But many of us know that is an unreasonable, generally unhealthy paradigm, and the truth really exists somewhere in the middle.  And, so, I tell my kids–ready or not–they have to find their own truth about the purpose of education.  

Each teacher enters the classroom with a particular worldview, which in turn will play a role in creating the culture of his or her classroom.  In or out of teaching, one’s worldview plays no small role in creating the world one lives in, the world we see.  It is certainly no different in teaching.  But there is a difference, for the world we create in our classrooms is inhabited by young individuals who, too, are developing and refining their own worldviews, and as masters of the classroom universe, teachers have not only an incredible amount of autonomy but also an immense responsibility.  We have an awesome power to do harm or good, and as kids live in our worlds (our classrooms), what happens there will have no small impact on the rest of their lives.  THE REST OF THEIR LIVES.  Power indeed.  I like to think that my college kids take not lightly the responsibility they assume as they cross the threshold of their classrooms.

Yesterday, I was contacted by a former Cheney High student Rachael Hamby, who is in pursuit of a teaching degree at Eastern.  She wanted to know what I believed “the purpose of the K-12 education is, or rather, should be.” Of course, and I let her know, she couldn’t ask me a simple question, so I was up half of the night thinking of my response, hoping to discover the profound truth and share it with the world this morning.  And the answer?  I don’t know the truth.  I only know a truth, my current truth, for my “truths” have changed countless times in the past 20 years.  This is the current truth in room 219, captured by Ted Dintersmith, a man on a mission to discover the true purpose of education, whom I highlighted in an earlier post. http://www.letschangeeducation.com/?p=193

“So back to that purpose question. Maybe, in the end, the purpose of school is to help our kids find their own sense of purpose. To prepare them for a life where they can set, and achieve, their own goals, not grind away to meet the needs of some bureaucrat or college admissions officer. Given decades of damage from our testing and accountability strategy, maybe it’s time to place our bets on a strategy that puts its weight behind engaging and inspiring our kids . . . and teachers. Imagine what our country is capable of if we figure out how to launch millions of purpose-driven kids into society prepared and energized to their world better through their talents, passions, developing skills, and ability to learn. Kids that are, truly, prepared for life.”

So, Rach.  That’s what I have at the moment.  It’s likely to change as I learn, reflect, and grow, but for now, this is the culture that I am cultivating in 219.

By the way, readers, if you read it, this is the Rachael from my poem, “I Wonder If They Know: Confessions from the classroom.” http://www.letschangeeducation.com/?p=246

I wonder if they know

That Rachel earned an A,

But I gave her a C.

It could not be helped.

She had not done

All her homework.

 

I will not tell

Of my now desperate hope

As I shy

From the mistakes of my past,

Clinging not to

The prejudice of grading

But the justice of learning.

 

I am so proud and pleased that this young lady is entering the profession.  I am eager to learn of  her journey to discover her own truths as she creates a world for her own students.  Thanks for the tough question, Rach.  Sorry about the “A” thing.