Morning, all. Headed down a new path today. I have the honor of leading professional development on connections and culture in the classroom in another district, the same district where I began my career 25 years ago. I am super excited and nervous. A bit of a believer in fate, I feel like the universe placed me in this moment, and I really want to deliver. I really want to give back as things come full circle. Wish me luck. See ya next week.

Have a great weekend.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Help. This word’s been much on my mind lately. Seems it should be an oft spoken word in the classroom, for what is our work if not to help. But if measured as such, it would seem–maybe–that our work is something else. Oh, I don’t think it’s that we don’t want to help–we do, but I do think that kids don’t/won’t ask for it. So does that, then, mean they don’t need help? Seems they should need help. So, why don’t they seek it?

Independence? Fear? If it’s independence, then that’s one thing. But if it’s fear, then that’s quite another. Fear of what? Fear there is no help? Fear of peers’ perception? Fear of teacher’s reaction? All of the above, and maybe more? I don’t know, and whether it’s fear or reluctance, kids don’t readily ask for help?

But shouldn’t they? If the work is worthy, then it should necessitate help. And maybe it does, but if it really does, then why aren’t kids asking for it? When and why did “help” become a bad word in our classrooms? I don’t know. But I do know that I want to change that. I want to create a better learning experience for kids by giving “help” its rightful place in the room.

Here’s one way that I am doing that.

And they are asking more. And as they ask, I find hope in help. I find my worth in help. I am a teacher. It’s my honor to help. So, I am trying to honor help. Help is hope.

Happy Thursday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

“Let’s continue.”

In the 180 classroom, choice is key because commitment is key. So, I try to provide choice as much as I can by making learning an invitation. Here, I am inviting kids to continue the feedback/response process with me on their personal essays. I want them to commit to the process of writing and learning, not to the completion of product.

Of course, that takes a bit of a different approach to writing. As I have shared here in the past, I have been moving away from the finished essay, and moving towards the developing essay. Really, it’s a move towards developing writers. And this is just the latest experience.

They are in the process of responding to one of the Common App prompts, a process I wrote about recently in the “Kick-Ass Writers” post (http://www.letschangeeducation.com/kick-ass-writers-project-180-day-99/), where I talked about process and the power of choice.

And that is where we currently are, a place where kids get to choose. I have invited them to continue, and they may accept or decline. If they have gotten the invitation, it’s because they have completed one round in the feedback/response process with me, which means they have revised and resubmitted–which means, as far as I am concerned, they have grown as writers. And that is my concern.

What about the finished product? I don’t know–yet. We are not to the end. Still much ahead in the process. Still many rounds of feedback. Still many invitations. And the product isn’t real, anyway. Oh, I tried to make it authentic as I discussed in the kick-ass post, but even so, they will not be sending these off to college. They will not be framing them and hanging them in their rooms. They are just templates for work, places for process, places for progress. And that’s all writing is.

Are kids accepting the invitation to continue? Yes and no. A handful have responded with “Let’s continue,” but many have decided to be done after round one. And while I would like more to RSVP to the party, I am not interested in their attending if they don’t want to. Commitment, not compliance. Of course, I do not take their declines to my offer personally. They are kids. They are human. And, frankly, they have been conditioned to be done. It has been the whole of their experience. They are used to transactions of completion, not invitations to commitment.

Regardless what kids choose, the work continues. And as we continue, we will learn. So, let’s continue.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

“Please submit this as soon as you can.”

Reported the first numerical indicators in the learning record yesterday.

Translation. I put the first scores in the grade book yesterday.

I am trying to make the latter a long-lost language in my classroom, words that will eventually need translation, but for now it is still the language that my students and parents speak. Scores. Grades.

Seems it might not be worth the effort. I only have them for a year. Every other class speaks fluent grading. And the system seems steadfast on sticking with “Grade Speak,” so what’s the point?

Better. Always. Only. Ever. Better.

But is it better? I don’t know. Better’s a way not an end. And on my current path, I am trying to find a better way to see and communicate learning in my room.

0 = Missing. This is true. And I even say as much. But yesterday, as I plugged this particular numerical indicator into the record, I felt compelled to comment, “Please submit this as soon as you can.”

Of course, when kids and parents see it, they likely won’t see beyond the 0 and the corresponding percentage (0’s have long been triggers), but I want to believe that adding the comment, which is an invitation, might begin to change the frame a bit if I say it enough.

It’s missing. It’s not cause for undue alarm. It won’t stay a zero. It’s just communication. And I want that message to be translated as, “Please submit this as soon as you can.” Less formally, and to my kids, I will simply ask them to put some learning in their learning tanks.

Semantics? Silly words? Maybe. But I believe better has to be different, which means it has to sound different, too. Learning is too often lost in language. Just ask a learner.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

“We can’t stop the learning for a month.”

It’s not No Learn November. It’s No Grade November.

No one said anything about stopping learning. Ever. Learning won’t be taking a back seat. It will be front and center. The whole idea is to take off the training wheels, to remove the strings, and to take away the crutches.

Learning without the hindrance of grading. Learning about learning.

So what does that look like? Well, it starts in the same place as it would with grades: our priority or focus standards–or whatever language we use to identify the standards at the center of our work. And I think this is a key point to make with those who may have misgivings (principals, department chairs, parents) about the No Grade November campaign. The learning will still be centered, will still be focused upon the same standards. That much will be the same. It has to be. But I think from there, the sameness stops (to a degree). It has to. Taking grades away for a month will create a different dynamic in the room, a reality that will be both liberating and frightening. The wheels are off. The vehicle will change, so we have to drive it differently. And that will require some planning, beginning with, “How do I want it to look? How do I want it to feel–for me and the kids?” Many have dreamed of a reality where they were unencumbered by grading. Here we have a chance to imagine–and create–what that will look like. Exhilarating. Intimidating.

And it is the latter that will keep some from venturing down the path. They will convince themselves that they don’t have the ideas, the time, or the energy to plan for such an occasion. And so, with that in mind, I will seek to support folks in the coming weeks and months with ideas for planning and rolling out the learning during No Grade November.

The learning will not stop; in fact, it may well finally begin.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Had an unsettling experience at the end of the day yesterday. Have had similar before–many times before, but yesterday’s felt different. And maybe it was so because of my reaction. Enough.

At the end of my last Zoom meeting yesterday, one of my kids stayed behind.

“Sy, I am going to be completely honest with you. I have not started my essay. I have been really depressed. There are things going on at home. All my other classes (begins to cry), and…”

“Kiddo, stop. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s just an essay. We have plenty of time ahead of us. I didn’t think you were slacking. I just figured there were other things going on. Take care of your other–take care you–and your other classes, and do what you can, when you can for mine.”

As soon as she “Zoomed out,” I tweeted this.

It felt like a confessional. Her screen was off. Her anxiety was up. Her voice was faltering. She started crying. And I felt like I had to free her from sin. It was unsettling, terribly unsettling. I am still unsettled by it this morning. Kids are carrying the guilt not of their but our sins. We never should have put them in this place to begin with. And though it has been amplified during this strange time, it has been a longstanding, enduring tragedy in ed–this guilt we’ve built.

It’s just school. They’re just kids. We’re just teachers. And this is just life.

That is not a short sell. That is not an “undermine” of us or them. Our work and experience with them is greatly important. We are helping them through perhaps one of the toughest times of their lives as they learn about themselves and the world around them. But it should also be one of the most exhilarating times of their lives–there is an existence to explore, a world to watch, mistakes to make, connections to create, truths to tell, lessons to learn, and the list goes on.

School does not need to suck. Kids don’t need to be overly anxious or burdened with guilt–for late work. It’s late work. It’s not a deadly sin. It’s a construct on someone else’s timeline. I am not suggesting that kids avoid responsibility. They can’t. Responsibility is life’s lesson to teach, not ours. And when we have caused kids to feel excessive anxiety and guilt for a late assignment, we have crossed a line. It’s an assignment. It’s just school. They’re just kids.

And we’re all just trying to make our way. It’s just life.

Sorry for the rant this morning. I will get back to No Grade November next week.

Happy Friday, all. Have a great weekend.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Kids won’t do anything.

These were once my “impossible” words. I, too, believed–rather earnestly, I suppose–that without grades attached to work, kids wouldn’t do the work. I remember, back when I was finishing up my master’s, sharing this conclusion in my ed psych class during my presentation on grading.

We had to complete a small, independent action-research project, and I decided to dig into grading a bit. And in my digging, though I have now forgotten the names, I came across a number of “measurement specialists'” works claiming that grades were inadequate measures of learning, that grades were a hodgepodge collection of arbitrary approaches, lacking any objectivity (blah, blah, blah--how I heard it at the time). And I dismissed it as, “They don’t understand the reality of the classroom. If we don’t hold them accountable with points (ick, compliance), then they won’t do anything. We have to have points and grades.” Who was I?

Now, looking back, though I did not know it at the time, this, I believe, is when I started distancing myself from grading. Turns out, the “blah, blah, blah” continued to echo long after I dismissed it, a telltale heart of sorts that continued to reverberate as I wondered and worried about grading’s impact on my teaching and their learning.

Such a memory now makes me cringe. As you know, I loathe practices of compliance, seeking instead kids’ commitment to their learning. And though it is cringey, it’s a part of the journey that led me to here. And from here, when I hear, “The kids won’t do anything,” I get it. I was once there, and I, too, once believed this the reality in the classroom. But as my journey continued from there to here, I now know differently. Kids will do. Kids will learn. The last five years of Project 180 have taught me that. Three weeks in to the new semester and not a single point has entered into the experience, and nearly all of my kids are doing everything that I have asked them to do. Of course, my approach is significantly different than it was years ago when I still relied on the carrot-and-stick of compliance, and it didn’t happen overnight (it took years), but kids are choosing, kids are committing. They have revised my reality.

Even so, I am not sure, back then, that my current self could have convinced my former self that such an approach would work. I would have told my current self that he simply did not understand the reality of the classroom.

“Kids won’t do anything” will present a hill for us to climb come November, but from the climb we may learn that reality isn’t always as real as we imagine it. In truth, we don’t know. We don’t know if the kids will or won’t. And in our not knowing, we should give the kids the benefit of the doubt. They might just surprise us. It is their learning after all, and maybe when we give them the room to own and explore what’s theirs, they may be better stewards than we ever imagined. #NoGradeNovember21

Happy Thursday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Dear (Blank),

I recently came across an idea on Twitter called No Grade November. It got my attention because in my work with students, I have always wondered–and worried–about grading’s impact on learning in my classroom. And so, when I came across the idea, it called to me, and I became intrigued and inspired to try something new, even if it meant taking a big scary step away from the norm. And that is why I am writing to you. I want to take that step. I want to temporarily take grading off the table so I can learn more about learning. I want to participate in No Grade November.

Here’s what it will look like…

Sincerely,

A Teacher

Yesterday, the first “won’t” I presented called attention to those who wouldn’t support No Grade November. And to be honest, they’ve been much on my mind in my efforts to anticipate and answer the impossibles with possibles. There will be a number of folks at all levels who won’t support it–understandably. It is a “big scary step.” It seeks to call into question all that we have come to accept as sacred in education.

But maybe it’s only that they won’t support it initially. Maybe we can, if not get them to support it, get them to not obstruct it, get them to give us an opportunity to learn. It’s a big ask. But we can ask. Asking is sometimes the first step towards turning impossible to possible.

So, I am planning to help people ask. Above is just a draft for how we might approach it. It can be tweaked to fit different contexts. It can be from a principal to her superintendent. It can be from a department chair to his principal, etc. My goal is to provide a template that helps people ask by addressing the what, why, and how. And it will all come from a place of learning–learning about learning.

More to come. Please know it was a little awkward to write the letter draft this morning. I know it sounds a little sensational “intrigued and inspired,” but I suppose I do hope that’s how some will feel about this. And I guess if they aren’t feeling this way, it would be hard to sell.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

I have begun to anticipate the reasons people will offer for why we can’t do something like No Grade November, why it’s not possible to take such a big step, and why it just won’t work. Here is my developing list of can’ts, won’ts, and impossibles.

Parents won’t support it.

Teachers won’t support it.

Principals won’t support it.

Superintendents won’t support it.

School boards won’t support it.

People won’t get on board. We have to have everybody on board.

We can’t stop the learning.

We can’t just stop grading for a month. We have to grade. It is part of our professional/contractual responsibility.

Kid won’t do anything.

We can’t take the time away from curriculum and instruction. Calendars are set. Scope and sequence are set. We have priority standards to assess.

We can’t waste the valuable time we need to prepare for the state test.

Kids won’t pass the state test, and our scores will drop.

We won’t know if kids are learning.

We won’t know if teachers are teaching.

Kids and teachers won’t take it seriously.

It’s not possible to do something as radical as giving up grades for a month.

We can’t disrupt the learning process.

Kids won’t be ready for the next class in the sequence.

We can’t damage the integrity of our institutional practices.

It’s impossible at the high school level: kids have to earn credits, their GPA will be affected, and it will impact their chances at college and scholarships. And what about the valedictorians and salutatorians?

We won’t get back to normal after such a disruption.

We can’t fight the system. It’s a waste of time and energy.

It’s not possible to change education.

I am sure there are more, but for now, these are some of the objections that come to mind. Tomorrow I will provide my developing responses–my possibles to the impossibles.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

A daily blog. An original My Room Message and Sappy Sy Rhyme each day. A book to publish in August. My first for-pay professional development on relationships to plan for March 5th. You’d think I’d be wise enough not to take something else on. But there in the dark on Saturday morning as I was finishing cup of coffee number two, it appeared, and I couldn’t ignore it. I had to follow the fork.

Though I try–mostly–not to take myself too seriously, I do take seriously my journey for better in education. I took it seriously when I started Project 180 five years ago, and I take it no less seriously today. I didn’t start out on a whim. I didn’t chance upon the name of my website letschangeeducation.com. I wanted–earnestly–to change education. It has been the path; it is the path, and it will continue to be the path. And this past weekend, I came upon another fork, another bend that I did not expect. And as I took the first few tentative steps down the trail, I discovered a new better to chase.

A challenge to all. But mostly to myself. Can you impact change, Sy? I don’t know. But I am going to find out. I think when I first posted this on Twitter, many thought it a one-time tweet, a passing fancy. But, for me this is no passing fancy. I am already too far down the trail. And I will use the time ahead to promote and support #NoGradeNovember21.

I have to do this. I believe I can do this. And so here I go, following another fork.

More to come. Lots more to come.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.