“John will have an opportunity to select and support his final grade.”

Though the name changed each time, the words were basically the same as I met with parents last Thursday and Friday to discuss their children’s learning experiences in my class. They do get to select their grades. And though parents nodded and smiled, seeming to understand–and even appreciate–such an approach, I wonder what they were really thinking as I shared my many “different’s” from the 180 classroom.

“I don’t grade practice.”

“I have a commitment-based approach to practice, so, really, it’s optional.”

“I want John to find relevance and value in our daily work. That’s the point.”

“Skyward is not my grade book. It is a tool for recording and reporting learning.”

“I haven’t really taught and they haven’t really learned until we engage in the feedback/response process.”

“John’s grade doesn’t exist until the end of the term when he and I bring it to life.”

“I expect everyone to get an A. That is the goal. Where else would I want them to arrive?”

“A .7 in Skyward is an invitation to revise and resubmit. There’s still learning on the table.”

“A 0 in Skyward is an invitation to submit as soon as you can.”

“No one knows John’s learning better than John. It’s his learning, his story, so I invite him to make sense of the mess where learning and grading meet.”

“For too long in my career, I felt like grading was something that I was doing to kids. So, I changed it. I want it to feel like it’s something I am doing with them.”

Can he do this? Why aren’t other teachers doing this? Where did he come up with this? Does the principal know?

He is. I don’t know. Years of doing, reflecting, and doing better. Yes, the principal knows. And the superintendent. And the school board.

Of course, this is just what I imagine they might think. In truth, I don’t really know. Nor do I really know what they think of the various approaches their children’s other teachers use for teaching and learning. I imagine they at times feel like they are comparing apples to apples (it’s all generally the same). Or maybe they feel like they are comparing apples to oranges (why does one teacher do this and the other that?).

Who knows? In my room, I hope they feel like it’s a whole new fruit, for when I set out to find better with Project 180 five years ago, I wasn’t looking for a different apple. I wasn’t even looking for an orange. I was looking for an entirely different fruit. I didn’t expect to “change education,” by simply trading one thing for another, or changing the color of the fruit’s skin. I expected to dare different and brave better for the sake of finding something new. And though I am not suggesting that everything I am doing is unique to room 206 (lots of us looking for better), I am suggesting that it is different from the norm that I set out to escape when my journey began.

And now, as I share the fruits of my labor, I hope to plant a seed in parents’ and students’ minds about the possibilities of consuming a different diet. There’s more out there than apples and oranges.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.