Today, we change the world. Well, at least we will present our ideas for changing the world. That was the final this year in my LA 10 Honors classes: come up with plan for making a difference in our world.

And, of course, there will be no grade, which, then, takes us back to the central question that’s loomed large in room 211 this year: will there be any learning? Depends, I suppose. What is learning?

Is it cramming for hours the night before?

Is it a 2-hour comprehensive final?

Is it something that can be run through a Scantron machine?

Is it the accumulation of scores in a gradebook?

Is it the fear of failure?

Is it knowing something long enough for the test?

OR

Is it the opportunity to create something?

Is it the collaboration among peers?

Is it the ownership of the outcome?

Is it the accountability of peer review?

Is it the power of autonomy?

Is it the freedom of choice?

Is it an experiential anchor to remember and build on?

More questions than answers. And though I am no expert on learning, I have been  a learner all my life. And as I recall those lifelong experiences, I am hard-pressed to point to any final test that contributed significantly to my enduring understanding. Learning, then, for me, has come from anchor experiences not my final tests. I know because the former are still with me, the connections remain; the latter faded away after the transaction was complete.

I am not giving my kids a grade. I, instead, gave them freedom. Wonder what they will remember years from now. Wonder if they will learn anything.

Happy Thursday, all.

Though I will try to explain, not all will understand. But my kids would understand, and maybe, for this, that is all that matters. I call my kids losers. Every day. Every day, as they leave, I throw them a “Later, losers!” as we shuffle off to the next segment of our day. Many of them, return the sentiment. And I accept it warmly. Takes one to know one, and I am the lead loser in the room.

Okay. I know that some are raising a brow by now, “What kind of teacher calls his kids losers?” I get it. My job is to build them up, not beat them down. It runs counter to the idea of creating a nurturing, safe environment for our young learners. So, then, Mr. Syrie, what gives? It’s a test. One I have used for years. I call it the “loser test.”

Nothing I do is more important than build relationships–real relationships–with my kids. Everything follows from there. And in that building, comes a fond familiarity, the same fond familiarity that exists in most real relationships. When I call my lifelong friend Josh a jackass, he knows I mean, “I love you, man.” When I tell my two grade-level collaborators Jenna and Maddie that “I have better things to do than sit around and talk to you two all day,” they know I mean, “I cannot do what I do without you.” And so, when I dismiss my kids with a “Later, Losers,” they know I mean, “I value you, I will miss you.” Ask them.

Here’s my thinking around this unconventional approach. If I can call my kids losers without their thinking they’re losers, then I have established a real relationship with them. Of course, I do not begin the year by calling my kids losers. I don’t know them, and they don’t know me. But in my concerted efforts to forge relationships with them, it doesn’t take me very long. And, too, there are some kids I would never call “loser” individually, for the depth is not there. And that’s the reality of it. Try as I might–and I try hard–there are some kids with whom I never achieve that fond familiarity. But there are many with whom I do, and I let them know, as I often as I can, how much I value our connection. And, thus, I pay them the highest of compliments. I call them losers.

Today, I will pay my last compliment to my seniors as they walk into the next stages of their lives. I had many of them as sophomores, so after two full years with them, the familiarity, the fondness flows deeply. They are losers to the “nth” degree. And so, with a heavy heart, a warm smile, and a handshake or a hug, I will do today what I have done for so long, I will call them losers–one last time.

Later, Losers.

Next week, my grade-10 team and I are going to pitch our unified grading approach to administrators and counselors. We are not seeking their permission. We are seeking to raise their awareness. We anticipate that over the course of the year they may have to field questions from parents, so we want them to be informed when that happens. But we also want them to be cognizant of the fact that there are teachers in the building who are innovating their practice to better meet the learning needs of kids. And so, when the perennial problems present themselves (Why are so many kids failing?), they have the opportunity to consider, if not point to, alternative approaches to age-old issues.

In education we have an affinity for the status quo. We cling to it. Desperately. But I believe that we embrace its comfort, not its wisdom. Change is messy. Change is work. Change is scary. So we avoid it, we stick to smooth sidewalks and see-the-bottom pools with shallow ends. To that end, we rarely point to problems of practice when it comes to understanding and addressing issues like too many F’s. Year after year, time after time, this problem persists, and year after year, time after time, we cast up the same excuses, all of which point fingers everywhere and anywhere but where the problem likely exists: traditional, it-has-to-be-done-this-way-because-it-has-always-been-done-this-way grading practices, practices that frequently perpetuate failing.

This has to change, and it can, but it requires approaching learning differently; it requires the willingness to step off the pave, to wade into the deep. It requires courage. I am pleased and proud that I have found two young ladies who are willing to go on a walkabout with me next year, braving new horizons and vast frontiers. No sidewalks. No shallow pools.

Happy Tuesday, all.

I hear voices. They haunt me. They inspire me. They weigh me down. They lift me up.  They hurt me. They help me. Their sound deafens. Their silence resonates. They get lost in the harmony. They emerge from the dissonance. They are there. Always there.

And at the end of things, their presence looms largest as they whisper screams in my ears, reminding me of the burden I carry on my shoulders, of the responsibility I bear for the young whom I serve. And so, it is at the end of things that I listen, but even when I listen, I do not always hear as the signal comes in stereo: left speaker doubt, right speaker certainty–or in my maddest moments, Dolby surround. And so I listen harder, but that does not always help either, for the messages mix, made no more clear through the filter of my reflection.  Of course, I could simply unplug the cord, silence the voices by avoiding feedback, but I will not, cannot. For when I reach that point, it is a sign that I will grow no more, and it will be time to retire, time to slip sadly into my cave. But for now, I am still ready to grow. I am still willing to bear the burden, to carry the ghosts of whispers dancing among my ears.

And now at the end of 180, I have new voices visiting me, muddling my mind, as I seek to process all that I have learned this year, as I seek to make better the learning experiences for all my kids moving forward. Last week I asked my kids for some feedback on their year with me.

Left Speaker:  “We haven’t learned anything useful or applicable this year.”

Right Speaker: “I personally feel like I learned and grew quite a bit this year, definitely more than I thought I would. At the beginning I wasn’t sure if I’d really learn as much as possible with your project; however, I feel like I learned more in this class than any prior LA class. I had an incredible experience in your class this year.”

What do I do with that? Though the vast majority of the feedback I received came blasting out of the right speaker boosting my confidence, I cannot ignore the lingering  uncertainty boomed by the deep bass of the left. Funny how despite its brief moment in the choir, the strength of its reverberating solo seeps deeply into my consciousness, stuck on eternal replay, more pronounced with each repeat. But with each repeat, something stirred, a vague familiarity, a visitor not new, an old acquaintance. Doubt. Hello, old friend. I know you. I need you. I am sorry that I forget that at times. Thank you for always being there. Thank you for keeping me grounded. Thank you for making me grow. Could not do this without you.

I have to remember this. But, alas, I am doomed to repeat my past. I will assuredly let your discord again disrupt the harmony, but then I will remember that you are ultimately necessary for harmony, that you, too, serve a purpose. I hear you. Please keep talking. I am listening. I always will. We are bound.

Happy Monday, all. Cannot believe we are down to 10 days. Crazy.

Here are a few of the cartoons my kids presented yesterday. Again, the primary goal here was to have some creative fun. We will wrap up our week with the final few cartoons today and a round of Community Circle. Not a bad way to spend a Friday in June.

Happy Friday, all.

Hard to believe it’s June. But, make no mistake, it’s definitely June. And though today marks the first official day of June, it has been “June” for a few weeks now. Oh, my fellow educators know what I am talking about. They know that “June” is more a feeling than a month in the education realm. It’s that “the-end-is-near” buzz that begins each year, building with each passing day until the bubble bursts and they are  finally free at last. It’s nothing new. I, too, remember the “swell” in June, the growing anticipation of freedom, swelling until I felt I would bust if it didn’t end soon. And so, unable to change what’s always been and will be, I have had to come up with ways to keep students engaged during the final few weeks of the year, and to that end, I have turned to projects and presentations.

Next week the kids will begin presenting their Change-the-World projects, but today they will share their creative creations, their original cartoons. Designed with fun in mind first, I asked the kids to work individually or in teams to create original cartoons to present to the class. Of course, there is more going on than just fun; what with story elements, characterization, dialogue, illustration, collaboration, imagination, ideation, and presentation the kids are working and learning, even if they are not aware of it, even if it only feels like fun. Excited to see what the kids have come up with today. I will try to share some tomorrow.

Happy June, all. Almost there. Kinda glad it’s cloudy today. I find that the-end-is-near bubbles don’t expand as much when the sun is absent.

Yesterday, I offered a glimpse of our grading plan for next year, asking for feedback, and I was pleased to have fellow gradeless frontiersman and Washington State teacher Aaron Blackwelder pose a few questions about our work. Thank you, Aaron. I have attempted to address your questions below. I am not sure how well I did, and I probably wandered a bit, but it was a great opportunity to walk through our thinking. Sorry it’s so long.

As I working through this lengthy explanation, I was struck by how much thought we frontiersmen and frontierswomen put into our work in an attempt to improve teaching and learning in our classrooms. And I also thought about those critical of the movement, and I wondered how frequently those folks post their work and seek feedback. When is the last time a traditional grader made public his policies for scrutiny? Ever? But, I guess if he were to do so,  he’d have to join us out here on the frontier, where things are hard won. But that’s why we are here out on the frontier. We believe that nothing worthwhile is easy. We believe that there exists a better way. And we embrace the hard work necessary to build a better world for those we serve. We are frontiersmen.

Happy Wednesday, all. Big shout out to all my fellow frontier men and women. We can do this. We are doing this.

Q1: At what point do you determine if a student can simply make up/revise work to meet proficiency to earn credit or require him repeat the class? My colleagues and I are currently wrestling with this concept now.

Great question. We, too, grappled with how to address this issue in our approach. Here is our present thinking around using SBA results for students to demonstrate proficiency and earn credit when they have not done so within a grading period.

Our Must-Meet standards will closely align with the high frequency, emphasized targets found on the SBA. For instance, CCSS.ELA-LITERACY.RI.9-10.1, “Cite strong and thorough textual evidence to support analysis of what the text says explicitly as well as inferences drawn from the text,” is central to the SBA. It is also central to our classrooms. Focus Standard #4: “I can integrate cited text evidence into my writing to support my thinking.” With that in mind, when a student passes the SBA, we will have measure of confidence that he/she has satisfied our requirement for the Must-Meet standard. At present, SBA scores are still linked to graduation, so we feel this is a fair trade. Of course, if the SBA scores are delinked from graduation, we will have to rethink this.

Must-Meet “proficiency” must be demonstrated on Performance Opportunities, formal opportunities designed to demonstrate proficiency with the standards. While kids may always make-up/revise Practice as a means to make progress, this will not be considered for Must-Meet proficiency. Of course, this means that we will have to recreate some Performances so kids have continued opportunities to demonstrate proficiency.

Our district does not allow students to retake classes. If students fail a class, then they have an opportunity to retrieve credit in our after-school or summer-school credit-retrieval programs. However, the other grade 10 teachers and I do not necessarily have a lot of faith in this being a fair trade, which is another reason for why we settled with the SBA. Since kids will not have an opportunity to be with us again the following year, we were forced to find an acceptable alternative for them to earn credit once they have left us.

We anticipate very few students being in this boat. Must-Meet means high expectations. And this is as true for us as it is for our kids. So, just as we set must-meet expectations for them, we will also set high-support expectations for ourselves, which requires a concerted effort to provide the necessary supports and opportunities for the kids to achieve proficiency. Our goal for each term is that every kid demonstrates proficiency with the Must-Meet standards. For the few who do not, we, again, think passing the SBA is a fair trade.

 But, that said, and this is not something that we will necessarily advertise, we did discuss that there might be some situations where we can and will make some exceptions. For instance, if a kid has met 3 of the 4 Must-Meet standards and is really close with the fourth, then we imagine personalizing a plan for them to demonstrate proficiency either the next semester if they are still with us, or the next year as long as we are able to create the right conditions with the next year’s teacher. But this is where we felt like we were beginning to wade into the mud, which is why we settled with the SBA plan. We wondered here, too, if we would then let the kid self-select a grade or if he would just get a “Satisfactory.” And again, it started to feel muddy, so we settled with the latter. What’s more, we figured that the few who do actually find themselves in this boat will  be more worried about earning credit than selecting a grade.

Q2: Why differentiate between “Near Miss” and “Far Miss” if either is going to require a student to make up/redo/revise work? Do you have clear descriptors of the two levels?

Another good question. Couple of things going on here with our thinking. I’ll do my best.

We have found “Near Miss” and “Far Miss” to be student and parent friendly. But we have also found it to be teacher friendly, allowing our professional judgment to come into play with each individual performance, more fluidly addressing the things that don’t always fit neatly into rubric cells. Really, we only provide clear, descriptive criteria for the target. From there, with each attempt,  we want kids to know how close they are to the target if they don’t hit it. The articulation of this through feedback calls attention not only to the target but also to what needs to happen to help move them closer to the target. The distinction between “near’ and “far” relies on professional judgment, which is supported by the language in the target descriptors. Again, the goal here is to help kids see where they are in relation to the target.

Skyward, our online grading system, is our most consistent, continuous form of communication with parents. Because there will be no “grades” to report all semester, we want a consistent way to meaningfully communicate progress to parents. Regardless of whether the “redo” is required or optional, we want to communicate to kids and parents where the attempt landed.

For Practice, we want parents to know the level of completion. Our hope, here, is that parents and kids begin to see a connection between practice and performance. And while we would never penalize a kid for incomplete practice, we do hold that practice is generally consequential to one’s performance. Thus, by keeping record of completed practice, we believe we help provide a piece of history of sorts for kids to reflect on as they analyze their learning journeys over the term, hopefully making a connection between practice and performance.

For Performance, we want parents to know how kids are performing relative to the standards. Our hope, here, is that parents utilize performance scores as a catalyst for either making contact with us and/or encouraging their child to actively seek retake opportunities. We really need parents to be partners, so our hope is that we provide a simple but meaningful way to communicate progress.

We are striving for consistency. Admittedly, “near” and “far” fit Performance better than Practice.  Certainly, “near miss” and “far miss” more clearly connect with the idea of hitting a target, but as for Practice and completion, the connection is less clear. Still, we believe it works, and we ultimately settled for consistency over clarity. We are gambling that parents and kids will “get” that, for completion, a near miss indicates “mostly complete” and a far miss indicates “mostly incomplete.” It’s not perfect. But it’s what we’re going with for now. If it doesn’t work, we will change it.

“Ironically, neither this narrower grade distribution nor a century of research and experience in scoring students’ writing seems to have improved the reliability of the percentage grades assigned by teachers. Recently, Hunter Brimi (2011) replicated Starch and Elliott’s 1912 study and attained almost identical results. Brimi asked 90 high school teachers²who had received nearly 20 hours of training in a writing 3 assessment program²to grade the same student paper on a 100-point percentage scale. Among the 73 teachers who responded, scores ranged from 50 to 96. And that’s among teachers who received specific professional development in writing assessment!

So even if one accepts the idea that there are truly 100 discernible levels of student writing performance, it’s clear that even well-trained teachers cannot distinguish among those different levels with much accuracy or consistency.”

–Thomas Guskey

As I begin to look ahead, I must look back. And as I look back, I begin to recall the myriad reasons I began Project 180 in the first place. And so, as the year continues to wind down and the Project prepares to pause, I will begin to reexamine some of the “why’s”of 180. I will present them in no particular order.

I Reject This #1: There exists no-real evidence to support traditional, percentage-based grading practices.

The Case Against Percentage Grades

It is what I have called education’s dirty little secret. And what’s sad is that it’s a lie that most educators unwittingly perpetuate because no one taught us differently. In truth, traditional percentage grades have been in play so long that few ever really question their effectiveness, and what’s more, in most cases, we simply use them because they were used on us.

Most outside of education, I believe, assume that there exists a standard uniformity to grading practices in our public schools, that there is a tried-and-true system in place to ensure accuracy, objectivity, and reliability when it comes to grading. It’s a lie. For the most part, teachers grade how they want to grade, enjoying an incredible amount of autonomy. Most of us only took a 3-credit course on assessment in college, which only–if it all–presented a broad stroke of the grading landscape across a sparse canvas, a canvas that we were then forced to fill on our own to survive, which resulted in our necessarily reverting back to how we were graded, leading us to make things up along the way. That, in a nutshell, is the expanse of teachers’ grading expertise.

Deep down I think I knew this a long time ago, but in the absence of any real answers or help, I conformed to the system because it was there. And I am not alone. I know others, many others, who, too, have struggled with traditional grading, wondering, really, if it was helping or hurting learning in their classrooms. And finally, after stumbling across standards-based grading, the 15 Fixes, and other alternative views of grading practices, I started to shed my traditional robes, seeking to make changes in my classroom that made better sense when it came to responding to student work and reporting student achievement. Last year, I reached my breaking point, and decided to wholly reject the status quo, seeking to call attention to the lie.

I gave every kid an “A” at the beginning of the year. I did it to take grading off the table, completely off the table, so the focus would have to be learning. I did it on a hunch that kids will work without grades, that kids can learn without grades. I did it to call attention to and raise the alarm over the BS in traditional grading practices. I did it to swing the pendulum too far the other way, so perhaps we could eventually come to a balanced rest in the middle. I did it to reject traditional grading practices. I did it because I was tired of looking at the absurd grotesqueness of a naked emperor. I did it because I believe we can and have to do better.

And to that end, the pendulum has already begun to swing back the other direction, as I seek to refine my grading practices from what I have learned this year. But I will never go back. Never. And though this year’s journey with 180 is near its end, my crusade has just begun.

Happy Friday, all.