See it. Hear it. Say it. Believe it. 

Well, at least that’s the hope. Yesterday, in an attempt to add a bit of novelty to our Passion Paper publishing party, I made name placards for my kids. I simply placed the word “writer” where it would sit beneath their names, signifying their role for the day, signifying a role I have asked them to play since first we came into contact back at the beginning of our journey in August. At that time, it was just an idea; it was just words. They did not know me. I did not know them, but I knew what I wanted from them, for them. As such, I presented the “roles” (see below) that I expected them to play via my “Roles, Routines, Rights, and Responsibilities” document that I handed out with my syllabus. Of course, at the time, it was merely teacher talk to them–just another teacher talking about his class. Wonk, wonk, wonk. But I wasn’t just talking; I was setting the stage, the stage on which we would rehearse our roles in the weeks to come. In particular, one important role occupied much of our rehearsal time. Beyond the work of the role, the writing, we also practiced getting into character with our daily Mindset Mantra.

We are valued members of this community.

We are readers.

We are writers.

We are learners.

We are awesome.

We ended each period, each day with this. It began with “You” (hear it). For the first two weeks I said to them, “You are valued….” Then, it was “I” (say it). For the next two weeks, they said, “I am valued….” Finally, for the rest of the semester, it became “We” (say it). “We are valued….” They saw it, they heard it, they said it, and I hope they now believe it.

Today is the second to the last day of our first semester. We are on two-hour blocks for finals. Today, periods 1, 3, and 5 will meet. Tomorrow, 2, 4, and 6 will meet. And while the kids will be taking final exams in their other classes over the next days, in room 211 they will be performing their final acts, living into the roles in which they were cast, roles in which they have rehearsed, roles in which they have shined. Yesterday, ten performers delivered their final acts. As an audience, we laughed, we cried, we shrieked, we marveled, we admired, we squirmed, we learned, we cheered, we applauded. And we lived–together, in a moment. A final beautiful act. Today, more will perform, more will deliver. And today we will live again, roused to life by the words of writers. And as the curtain closes, we will remember. We will speak one last time as we take our bows.

We are valued members of this community.

We are readers.

We are writers.

We are learners.

We are awesome.

Roles

Here are the various roles that I will need you to play over the course of the year. Sometimes, our day’s path will require you play one specific role; most times, our path will require that you play many simultaneously. Either way, I promise I will not ask you to stretch yourself beyond your limits. You got this.

Role #1: Yourself. This is your most important role. I need you to be who you are. I realize that the setting in which we find ourselves sometimes impacts our ability to be ourselves, but my hope is that the classroom community and culture we create during our time together will give each of us the comfort and confidence to be who we are. This is the role that matters most to me as I join you in your journey this year. I am excited to know YOU.

Role #2: Valued Community Member. This is your second most important role. At present, many of us are not well-acquainted, but we are in this together either way. And as we will spend a lot of time together both struggling and celebrating over the days to come, my hope is that we establish a community that is rich in relationships and in excess of empathy. We are a community.

Role #3: Reader. This will be one of your worker roles. Lots to read as we explore various texts along numerous paths, discovering the power in others’ words. I need you to be a reader. I need you to believe you are a reader. We are readers.

Role #4: Writer. This is also a worker role. My hope is that you write more this year than you have in all your other years combined. I believe this is perhaps one of the most important skills you can develop for life now and later. I need you to be a writer. I want you to believe you are a writer. We are writers.

Role #5: Mistake Maker. Another worker role. By now, you know there are no penalties for mistakes in our room. In fact, mistakes are enthusiastically encouraged as they are launching points into learning. Mistakes lead to learning. We will travel down many mistake paths this year, which means we’ll find lots of learning. We are mistake makers.

Role #6: Reflector. Last role but no less an important one. By now you also know that I will expect you to add to your learning story each day in your Journey Journal. Each day we will end our time together, reflecting on and sharing from our day’s experiences. Reflection is such an important part of learning. I really need you to become reflectors.

Many roles. Many rehearsals. Many successes.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…Finish the Final Act.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all. I will have a bit of heavy heart today as the curtain closes. But I am so damn proud of my kids. I hear rumor of a sequel coming out next semester.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

“Can I redo my poster? I didn’t know it was going up in front of the room. And mine sucks.”

“Okay, Sy. So, I completely started over and wrote something different.”

“Is this MLA format?”

“Can I write instead of type?”

“Sy, I am not feeling it with my paper. Can I start over?”

“I’m having a hard time picking out the passage I am going to share.”

“My story is kinda gory. Is that okay?”

“Sy, my Passion Paper is good. Really good.”

“I’m nervous about tomorrow, Sy.”

“Anything? We can write about anything?”

“I’m so excited to share my Passion Paper.”

“I get to share my Passion Paper tomorrow.”

 

“Yes, Amelia, you get to share, you don’t have to share. Love that. And I get to listen to you share tomorrow.” This was my response to Amelia’s smile during Smiles and Frowns yesterday. As well, above are some of the myriad questions and comments that landed on me yesterday as kids were making final preparations for their Passion Paper publishing opportunities today. And I am beyond excited–giddy in fact–to witness kids in their moments as they share their creations with the world. I live for kids’ moments. For the rest of the week I will ride high on these moments, buoyed by their brilliance, dazzled by their dedication. Here are the kids’ promotional posters.

No stranger to “doing different,” I certainly sought different with the Passion Paper. Fueled by my desire to change their attitudes about writing and learning, I presented the Passion Paper to my kids as an opportunity to step away from traditional, school-writing experiences. They have had, are still having, and will continue to have those experiences, experiences which I believe have contributed to their negative and fixed mindsets towards writing. So, in designing the Passion Paper experience, I wanted to set loose parameters that invited freedom, choice, ownership, responsibility, creativity, and accountability. Here’s the link to a post explaining the Passion Paper  .

“Loose” equals accountability? There is no grade. There is no rubric. There is no “completion” expectation. There is no prescribed process. And yet you claim there is accountability? Yes. Yes, I do. If there were no accountability, would kids redo? Would kids start over? Would kids pore over their work, looking for the “perfect” passage to share? I think accountability, true accountability lies in ownership, rests in commitment, not compliance. So I, then, have to create the context of ownership. I have to give the kids freedom. And in that, there’s risk. Well, at least it feels risky, for it runs counter to convention. It’s different. By design.

Look, my kids will have plenty of conventional writing experiences with me this year, though I will try to make those “different,” too. Their writing will be measured against standards; I will prescribe processes; I will set and hold them to completion expectations; I will give them loads of feedback; I will give them scores that become evidence for grades. All this and more will fill their writing experiences in 211 this year. But they will also have the freedom to be writers, thinkers, creators, owners.

Will they learn, though? Will the Passion Paper contribute to their growth? How will you measure it? How will you know? I think I already do. No, I will neither objectively nor numerically judge and sort their writing, but I will be sitting in the audience. I will be witness to their work. I never intended to judge their writing here. I wasn’t considering their writing at all. I was considering them. I was considering the writer when I designed the Passion Paper. And so in the end–in truth–I do not care about the writing. I care about the writer. And I believe that through this experience my writers will grow. This I believe. This I know.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns (always and forever, even when we are pressed for time).

…begin publishing our Passion Papers.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

We should wrap up our grading conversations today. I gave a number of kids “to-be-continued passes” last week. Where and when we came to places that one or both of us did not feel completely comfortable or confident in the proposed grading mark, we agreed to a deal where he or she could take advantage of opportunities to demonstrate his or her learning through optional Performances. Learning does not end. Time just runs out. I had a bit more time to give (still do), so I gave kids more opportunities to secure evidence of learning.

For many, the extra opportunity produced the necessary, additional evidence to create the desired degree of confidence I sought. For some, it did not. For none, did it have a negative impact. That is, I told the kids that the scores could only help, not hurt. That said, I mean not to suggest that this is an exact science; one additional performance does not definitively determine everything (one way or the other), but I like to think that my giving kids paths of possibility means much as we seek to arrive at a place of shared agreement, a place of mutual respect. As such, it is likely that some conversations will remain unfinished, some grades will remain undetermined today. In reality there is still time, so I will grant it, especially if it perpetuates possibility. Too flexible? Maybe. But in an existence with too much inflexibility and “impossibility” (by a teachers’ choices), my kids could use some flexibility, some possibility. That’s my choice.

Overall, the conferences have gone very well. As I shared last week, there is a certain feeling of doing the right thing, a certain sense of nobility from meeting kids where they are, from honoring kids as the “best knowers” of their learning experiences, from making meaning together. In the coming days, I will share more specific details as I reflect on my first go at “select-and-support” grading. But for now, I will simply intimate that in my twenty-two years in the classroom, never have I felt so good about end-of-term grading. Never. And though it’s not perfect, for now, it’s really not a bad “better.” Not too bad at all. We are better together.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…finish conferences (hopefully).

…complete final preparations for tomorrow’s round of our Passion Paper Publishing Party.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

“Broken hearts are necessary life experiences.” Over the years, this token wisdom has generally made it into my conversations with my kiddos when they have had the misfortune of experiencing the sting of “a thing over.” Of course, as they say, wisdom comes from experience, and so I come to the table with no small amount wisdom, remembering the sting and subsequent, enduring pain of a relationship that has come to an end. And, so it is with earnest empathy that I attempt to comfort my “wisdom earners” whose are eyes are filled with tears and whose are hearts are heavy with empty. I try to tell them that it will be okay. I try to tell them that it will get better. I try to tell them it will someday serve as a moment of strength as they reflect back on these formative years and how it helped them discover themselves. I try.

A thing over. In our lives we encounter many things that end, things that become “over.” And while for most of us that will involve the end of a romantic relationship, there are many other events that will break our hearts as well. I have experienced and continue to experience many such overs in my adult life. It started with high school graduation. I was sad it was over. School was my haven, my happy place (maybe that’s why I never really left). It happened when I had to move back home in college, realizing I could not live with my best friend. I sat on my bed, crying as I shared the news. He comforted me, accepting my lame reason, but we both knew that we had learned an unspoken truth: life is not the same after high school. It still stings. It happened when I quit racing mountain bikes. We become our hobbies, and I left a dear, old friend when I had to hang it up. I was lost for sometime after that (I have since reconnected. I am racing again, but I know we will have to say goodbye once more as the days get on). It has happened and continues to happen as my own kids make their ways through the various stages of growing up. Old pictures of times past are the worst. There is one picture in particular of my son Finn making a wish on his fourth birthday that just kills me. Kills me. Anyway, “it” has happened. A lot. Many ends. Many overs. And “it” is happening again.

There’s an end around the bend, an over that’s starting to fill my heart with heavy. The semester is coming to an end. What is, will no longer be, and that is hard for me. And the fact that my kids are feeling it, too, makes it no easier. In fact, it makes it all the harder. And it’s my fault. As my regular readers know, relationships are my first priority. They occupy my “talk.” And they occupy my “walk.” From Smiles and Frowns to Community Circle to Sappy Sy Rhymes, I work intentionally to create a classroom community built on the strength of the relationships amongs those in the room. Relationships matter. Every day. And they will certainly matter next Friday, when the semester ends and we say goodbye.

Oh, I will still have all my kids next semester, but in the shuffle, five families are being split up. Over the past few weeks during Smiles and Frowns, All five periods have begun to remark that they don’t want it to end, that they want it to stay the same, that they are a community, that they are a family. And it breaks my heart because I think on some level it breaks theirs, too. Oh, in the grand scheme and on the heartbreak scale of life, it will not register too high among the more significant ends in their lives, but the fact that it matters to them matters to me. And though no doubt it will be a heavy moment for me next Friday, it will also be a proud moment, proud not because I broke their hearts–never. No. Proud because I was able to put something there that mattered, something I hope they remember. I certainly won’t soon forget what they have put in mine. Ends. Bitter. Sweet. Necessary.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…(hopefully) wrap up conferences.

…prepare for our Passion Paper publishing party.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Friday, all. Sorry for the different post this morning. Hope it wasn’t too personal.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

With two days behind and two days ahead, I find myself both exhilarated and exhausted. The conferences have been supremely satisfying, but they have also been decidedly demanding. Conferences are not without cost. Attention must be paid, and attention is…well, exhausting. I am not complaining. It’s a price I willingly pay. But just because one is willing, it does not mean that the effort does not take its toll. And each carries a different cost. No two conferences are the same despite the fact that all kids have prepared in exactly the same way.

Some are short. Some are long. Some are serious. Some are funny. Some cut straight to the point. Some wander and meander along, venturing here, pausing there. Some are awkward and anxious. Some are familiar and comfortable. But all, despite the variances among them, fit each kid, and that requires that I adapt. And while I am readily willing and generally able, adapting to each situation, each kid is no easy task. That, in addition to keeping twenty-some other kids engaged and moving along, leaves me wiped out by day’s end. It leaves me tired, but it’s a good tired.

And so, today we continue. We will continue to come together in an effort to put a mark on learning, a task far from perfect, for learning is hard to definitively put a finger on, but it is a task that, above all, honors the learners inasmuch as they are holding the pen. No one knows better their stories. They just need a chance to tell them. I can do that. I can give them that chance. And so I do, for if I didn’t, I would miss out on much, for their stories are lovely, imperfect, unique, beautiful, real. All I have to do is listen.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…continue conferences.

…have an opportunity to take Sentence Performance (some needed/wanted another chance).

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

There’s something deeply satisfying, something eternally rewarding about looking kids in the eyes and sharing moments of truth. And that is what yesterday’s select-and-support grading conferences felt like to me. Moments of truth.

We sat across from each other, desk to desk, out in the hall so we could have a “private” conversation (high school hallways are rarely private, but it’s the best I could do). I was perched purposefully where I could keep my right eye and ear on the twenty-some other souls in the classroom as they worked, but I was soon blind and deaf, transfixed by the voice and face in front of me, watching closely and listening intently as I was carried away into each kid’s moment, each kid’s truth. And as I watched and listened, I measured, looking for signs, listening for sounds of authenticity as we merged into the moment, doing our best to capture the essence of the experience we call learning. I shared in twenty-two moments of truth yesterday, each different, each profound in its own sense, in its own right. I have never felt more noble in my profession. Well, noble may not be the precise word, but it is as close as anything I can manage at this early hour.

Of course, I believe that this feeling of nobility exceeds my approach to grading. It, in the end, is simply a mechanism, a tool we use to arrive at a mark. And while that mark will carry the weight of our institution as I place it on the kids’ transcripts, it is merely the cover. It is not the story. Only two people know the true story of each mark. And that truth exists in the moments we shared yesterday, moments during which I believe my kids felt empowered, challenged, connected, supported, valued, respected, and safe. Therein, I believe, lies the story, lies the truth. And that makes me feel proud, that makes me feel noble–if I am allowed such feelings, feelings which I hope are not perceived as arrogance. You see, I, too, was measured yesterday; my “truth” was considered and weighed by each of my kids as they were no doubt anxious to discover if I was going to uphold my end of the deal, if my deeds would match my words, if my walk would match my talk. I met them where and how I said I would; I walked along the path I had been describing all along. I passed the test. And I am proud of that.

Today, I will share in more moments, hear more stories, learn more truths. I can’t wait. Lucky man, I.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…start with Smiles and Frowns.

…continue grading conferences.

…have an opportunity to take an optional theme performance for the end of Night or “Catch the Moon.” Some wanted/needed another opportunity to demonstrate proficiency.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all. Man, I love kids.

Do. Reflect. Do Better. 

In a few hours, I am going to venture down a new path, a path that I have thought a lot about, a path that I have prepared for, but a path that I have not traveled before. Fortunately, I will not go it alone. I will have twenty-four young souls along with me–they, too, new to this particular path. Today, we will take a tour along the select-and-support trail. Today, we will begin our grading conferences. Today, I will listen. Today, I will learn. Today, I will live in a world that I have created to make my kids feel empowered, challenged, connected, supported, valued, respected, and safe. For that, today is the test.

Over the weekend, thinking about this “world,” I, on a whim, started a # movement on Twitter, #myroom. Movement may be too strong a word, but I wanted to challenge my Tweeps to think about their own rooms, their own worlds. And so I threw it out there into the Twitterverse, and though the response has been modest, it has gained some ground, and my teacher friends are chiming in. Of course, I felt obligated to jump into the challenge as well, sharing my own list for how I want kids to feel in my room. My goal here, really, is to create both an opportunity for reflection and accountability for myself. Before making public my purpose, I had to reflect deeply on what it is that I really want kids to feel while they experience life and learning with me fifty-five minutes a day. By making public my purpose, I am compelled to hold myself to account, to make sure my walk is matching my talk.

And so, today, I walk. I will walk the path with whom I hope are twenty-four kids who feel empowered. They get to put their finger on their learning. They get to select and support a mark that they believe best reflects their learning journey in my class this semester. And I created that opportunity. I say that not to brag. I say that to advance my notion that we are creators of worlds, for we have the power of choice, and those choices that we make in our rooms become the worlds in which kids dwell, worlds in which they shine, or worlds in which they suffer. And that is the responsibility that comes with our choices. We wield a great and terrible power, a power that is brought to bear every moment of every day in our classrooms. And that is why I believe it is vital that we continuously reflect on our choices in light of the simple question, “How do I want kids to feel in my classroom?” My own reflections, thus, cast light on both my successes and my failures. Kids shine in my class. But kids suffer, too. And , for that, all that I can do is do my best to do better. Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Today, I do. It will not be perfect. I will need to no doubt make changes. But it will be real–a mix of wins and fails. And as I reflect on the twenty-four conversations today, and the hundred-some to follow, I will find ways to get better. In these moments, I want my kids to feel empowered. But that does not mean I simply acquiesce to their selections. Power is not merely measured in freedom. Power is truly measured against resistance. As I wrote last week in my Do I Like My Kids Too Much post, I have to check my feelings a bit for I am vulnerable to them, and I have to provide the necessary “professional resistance” so that we arrive at a place of meaning. Today, that is our path. And to be honest, I am nearly giddy with anticipation. I know–though there will be some disappointment–that the kids are going to blow me away today. They will shine, and I will bask proudly in their light. I am inclined to record a few, but I always worry that the camera will diminish the authenticity I seek. We’ll see. Either way, it’s going to be thrilling. Never have I been excited for “grading.” Never.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…conduct grading conferences (goal is 6 per period, 5-7 minutes)

…have work options (table talks, finish Night, Passion Papers)

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

“In the end we have to come to an agreement. If it so happens that I disagree with your selection and support of your grade, it does not mean that the conversation is over. I am not seeking to broker the power of my position in a way that subjugates the power I have given you as a partner in determining what grade best reflects your learning in my class this semester. I am not going to have sold you the idea of select and support all along only to withdraw it at the end. If I disagree, it simply means that you may have to come at it from a different angle. The conversation is over only after we arrive at a place in which we are both comfortable. More, if I disagree, please know that it is coming from my feeling that I have a professional responsibility to make sure that the grade and evidence you provide as support match up. It is not personal. I would hope by now that you all know that I like and care about each of you. In fact, I probably like you too much, and if I am not careful that factor could cloud my professional judgment. It is my earnest goal to agree with you. That is my desired default, but in the event that I find myself unable to accept your grade selection, I will steer from that desire and fulfill my professional obligation. Have to, kiddos.”

I shared various versions of this with each of my classes yesterday, but this captures the gist of my sentiments as I discussed the end game with my kids. Upon reflection this morning, I am struck by and stuck with the wonder–worry–of whether my relationships with my kids have led me to a place that clouds my judgment, that affects my objectivity. Do I like my kids too much? Am I able, will I be able to set aside this fondness, this affection, this adoration as we enter into our grade negotiations? My mind says that I am, that I will be able to hold the line when necessary, and I really do believe that, for my kids’ learning truly does matter to me as much as their persons, but my heart sends signals that give me pause, that cause me doubt. But the disconnect between heart and head is a familiar face, a comfortable countenance as I gaze into my mirror, as I reflect upon my person and my practice. In the end, I suppose I will just have to trust that whatever I do, I will do with my kids’ best interests in my mind—and in my heart. I will do right by them in the best way I can. Care about them too much? Like them too much? Maybe. Possibly. Okay, undeniably. Sorry. It’s who I am.

Today’s Trail

We have a two-hour late start today, so the trail is significantly shorter, especially since we have an hour-long pep-con at the end of the day. 25 minute periods. Ugh.

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…have time to organize portfolios and prepare for conferences on Tuesday.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Friday, all. Have a great weekend.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

It began with a simple question. “What is learning?” It continued as a period-long discussion about grading. I didn’t intend for it to take the entire hour, but the hands never stopped going up and the kids never quit talking. There was momentum in our moment, and I would have been a fool to stop it. So, I let the kids talk; I let the kids speak their truths. And why wouldn’t I? After all, it was their learning, their grades that we were talking about. Why I wouldn’t I let them speak? Why wouldn’t I listen?

They had two minutes to answer the what-is-learning question in their Journey Journals, and then I asked them to share near and far. Basically, the kids share with someone sitting close to them (near), and then they get up and share with someone not sitting close to them (far). It’s something I do to ensure that they are hearing different views. When all kids have returned to their seats, I then ask them what they heard. This is another thing that I do to ensure that kids are actually listening. After sharing, first, what they heard, I then let them add what they shared.

In general, most of their answers were predictable, “acquiring knowledge,” “learning from mistakes,” “having experiences,” etc. But some of their answers revealed other, less-predictable responses, “learning is living,” “it’s not memorizing something for a test,” “it’s different for each person,” “it’s not limited to school.” At the end, though we could identify some aspects of what learning is, we agreed that there was no one, simple answer. It’s complicated. Indeed.

I then asked them about the purpose of grades. Here, too, they offered some pat responses, ranging from “show what we learned” to “motivate us.” Amelia, offered, “to stress us out,” which was verified with a chorus of “uh-huh’s” and “knowing nods,” but that’s a post for another day. I want to share a different story.

Somewhere in the midst of our discussing “grades as motivation” in second period, Alyssa jumped onto the stage and shared a stirring sentiment, a simple truth full of wisdom. And I will share it in a moment, but first some context.

Alyssa is that kiddo who “bubbles.” She gushes enthusiasm and energy, and though she did not literally jump on the stage, when she speaks, it’s as if–always, as if. Beyond her animated gestures, she speaks in dashes, inserting stream-of-consciousness commentary whenever she shares, creating an engaging but dizzying experience for her audience. Earlier, during Smiles and Frowns at the beginning of the period, she had put on a one-girl, one-act play about her bad hair day, entertaining us, all her adoring fans. And whether she was inspired by our earlier appreciation of her performance or it just popped into her head (as things do), Alyssa decided to give us an encore. It was in regards to the role/impact of grades.

“Okay (purposeful pause), this is probably gonna sound stupid (we nodded and smiled in anticipation, remembering the bad-hair-day performance), but…”

“You know that scene in Wonder Woman where the guy puts on his watch and she asks him it is, and he tells her it’s a watch, that it tells time, that it tells him when to do things. And she replies. ‘So you let that little thing control you and what you do?'”

“Just like a watch, we let our grades define us and tell us what we can and can’t do, and when we can and can’t do them. We give such a little thing so much value when it really doesn’t have much at all. Sometimes, we need our grades, just like we need that watch. But sometimes we need to just put it under our sleeve and live in the moment.”

Encore, indeed. After a brief applause, I immediately asked Alyssa to capture what she had just said in her Journey Journal, for I knew I would want to share it this morning. And that’s how my day went yesterday. No, no one quite stole the show as our own little resident Wonder Woman, Alyssa, but all day long, kids moved me with their voices, their truths, their wisdom, a symphony for which I had the best seat in the house.

Today, we will finish the conversation, a conversation in which I, too, revealed a truth. Near the end, I asked kids to ask me what learning was. I humbly offered, “I am not sure.” But, I told them, I want to know. I want to know, so that when we come to the institutional intersections such as these (end of semester grades), I can do a better job of putting my finger on learning.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…finish grading conversation.

…begin our last “table talk” for the end of Night.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Thursday, all. May you have some moments to hide your watch and just live today.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

It’s that time. Time for grades. Time for us to try to put a finger on learning. Of course, on some level, I believe to truly do that for each kid is beyond any imaginable grading approach. Learning does not readily fit into a cell on a spreadsheet. But the system says we must, so we will comply. But we will comply in our own way. We will push the edges and stretch the boundaries in a manner that best fits our classroom culture. As such, we do not claim to have discovered the best way to grade kids. To be sure, we have only discovered the best way to grade our kids. A best that is simply in wait of a “next better.”

That said, I am not sharing our policies as a “replicate-this-and-you-too-will-have-a-more-effective-grading-policy.” I am sharing our policies to encourage others to push the boundaries within their own systems, to find a way that best fits them and their kids, especially–especially–those who, too, are unsettled and dissatisfied with traditional grading practices. But, I believe there’s room here, also, for those who are already in the gradeless realm. As many of us know, there exists neither one nor “right” way to be gradeless. I have discovered as I have made contact with numerous others here in the gradeless realm that there are many varieties of gradelessness. And though I think some come here to be handed “the way,” they will not find it. But what they will find are several who have sought better ways to put their own fingers on what learning is in their own classroom cultures, several who are willing to share their practices and policies to help swing the pendulum away from toxic, traditional grading practices. And that is why I am sharing this today. I am simply sharing our latest attempt to create and utilize a grading policy that ensures a more healthy practice within the culture of our classrooms.

Thank you Jenna Tamura and Madeline Alderete for doing the hard, constant work with me to find our way, to find our next better. Couldn’t do it without you.

Below is what we will share with our kids today as we prepare for our grading conferences next week. I will share more specifics in the coming days.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

...begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…discuss and begin preparing for grading conferences.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.