What would we find? What would we learn? If we stepped into our students’ shadows for a single day, how would that change the way we see the world? How would it change the way we teach the world? I suspect it would change it in ways beyond our current capacity of comprehension, for we would be stepping away from our narrow views of learning and learners, both on which we believe we have shed and shone sufficient light, claiming to know the right and the way, but what if that light is merely exposing that which we have sought, that which we have named? What if the “right and the way” lies beyond the light? What if it exists not in the lights we shine, but in the shadows they cast? And what if we stepped into the shadows? What would we find? What would we learn?

I don’t know, but the idea of the discovery is fascinating to me. Yesterday, I came across the article Shadowing a Student: Reinventing the School Experience in the Twitterverse, and it caught my attention, and it hasn’t let go. The article is a quick and worthwhile read. Apparently there is a global “Shadow a Student Challenge” right around the corner (see below). I am going to try to find a way to make this happen for myself, even if I have to take a personal day. But bigger, I want to find a way to make it happen on a grander scale. I think it should be something that all educators (teachers, principals, superintendents) do. More, I think it should be something we are required to do once a year.

The global Shadow a Student Challenge (designed by School Retool, IDEO, and Stanford’s d.school) can be particularly helpful and enlightening as it provides methods (including a free toolkit) and a network. The Shadow a Student Challenge is a journey that starts with seeing school through a student’s eyes, identifying opportunities to improve the school experience for students, and then taking action to create change. The Shadow a Student website provides resources that help to ensure that the shadowing experience will be meaningful, including email templates and permission slips. There are tips for creating learning goals for the shadow day, choosing a student, and coordinating with the student, parents, and staff.

The challenge is open to all school leaders – at any school, anywhere in the world. In 2016, 1765 education leaders signed up from 15 countries. In 2017, 2098 education leaders signed up from 67 countries. At my school, we have modified the challenge by asking classroom teachers to shadow a student for two lessons, including contact before school and during recess and lunch, and then coming together to reflect, debrief and plan next steps.

There is an open invitation to join the 2018 challenge, which will run from February 19th to March 2nd. Spread the word to your networks, and remember to share about your experience on Twitter and Instagram with #shadowastudent!

In my district, we are working on a number of initiatives to improve our kids’ learning experiences, and in that work we are shedding light, but that, too, means we are creating shadows. What if we found not only the courage but the means to step into those shadows? In education, we talk a lot about the necessity of keeping students at the center of our decision making, and while I think we make concerted efforts in that regard, I think that our efforts fall short because we never really put them at the center. This it seems is a way to truly make that happen. I am going to email this post to all the administrators in my district. I am going to challenge them to consider the possibilities that this opportunity could have on our work. Unconventional? Yes. Many logistics? Too many. Possibility of a profound impact on the lives of our kids? Beyond measure. Difficult? Absolutely. But that’s why we should do it. We can stay in the light where we find comfort and familiarity, or we can step into the shadows where we may find what truly matters. Never know if we never try. Let’s, together, find what’s hiding in their shadows.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…Finish Life is Beautiful and share what we found through our lenses.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Wednesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

There’s a stranger in my room today. She does not know me, and I do not know her. She does not know my kids, and they do not know her. She is there. Has to be. Gotta have someone in the room in my absence. So, she is there. But she is not a part. Nothing against her. She seems a nice lady. But she is a stranger in our world, and to her, I imagine, our world will seem strange, too. If she did not have to be there, I would ask her not to be there. The kids do not need her. Half the time, I don’t think they need me. And though it is against the rules, I believe, I trust that my kids would do just fine without a sub today. I believe, I trust that learning would happen, that chaos would not ensue. I believe, I trust that they could more readily steer the ship without her. I believe. I trust.

Recently, Aussie teacher extraordinaire and friend Down Under Abe Moore shared a post about the necessity of trust in the classroom, emphasizing the power that comes from our trusting the kids (Trust).

“Trust is a powerful but underutilized tool in schools. In my experience, showing genuine trust in students is almost always rewarded. Maybe not immediately, but wait long enough, trust long enough, it will happen. I used to tell students to “trust me”, that I knew what was best for them and their learning. But I had it backwards, I needed to trust them, I needed to let go of the controls and let them fly for a while. I am a helicopter teacher no longer.”

As Abe sagely suggests, I am letting my kids fly today. They are not alone; there is an adult in the room–to keep them tethered, lest they fly too close to the sun, but I trust, I believe that the tether is unnecessary. They are able flyers. And they will live into the trust that I have placed in them. And the sun cannot melt that which shines brighter.

Of course, to trust, we have to let go. So, yesterday, as I was sharing that I would be absent today, I floated the question about having Smiles and Frowns in my absence. One might have thought that I suggested they not breathe while I was gone.

“Not an option, Sy. We have to have Smiles and Frowns.”

“What? How could we start without Smiles and Frowns.”

“No. We ARE having Smiles and Frowns tomorrow. Period.”

“Okay,” I replied. “But somebody will have to…”

“Sy, we got this.”

“Yes. Yes, I suppose you do,” I smiled. And I left it at that. In my sub notes I simply put that the kids would lead the first five minutes with Smiles and Frowns. I trust, I believe they will. They “got this.”

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…proudly begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…continue “reading” the movie Life is Beautiful (Italian with English subtitles)

…sadly, not end with a Sappy Sy Ryhme (unless, the kids “got that” too)

Happy Tuesday, all. Wonder what my sub will think today?

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Cannot believe we moved into triple digits today. 100 days. In August, 180 seemed so many. But now, in February, it seems so little. Time is indeed illusory, a tease, a mirage, a ghost. And in such times as this, it confounds, for one worries about his use of the fleeting moment he has been given with this year’s charges. Has he done enough, covered enough? And he is beset by haunts from his past lives and classrooms where such a thing as “coverage of content” sang its siren song, luring him away from his course, teasing and taunting, exploiting and empowering the doubt atop his left shoulder. Time was he would succumb to such sound, such noise, giving into doubt, forsaking conviction. But that time has passed. Oh, the noise still threatens, but he has secured himself to the mast of his mission, facing the noise from without with his voice from within, and he is resolute in his quest to follow his horizon, secure in his knowledge that he is singing a better song; the song of his students. They are the star he follows in the vastness of of his sea to find a better place for those with whom he has set sail. That is his song. That is my song. And as each day passes, I try out different tunes, looking for harmony in a sea cast with doubt and discord out here in the expanse of the unexplored.

Today, my tune finds company in my gradeless, grade-ten peeps. Today, we offer a chorus to our students as we seek to help them sing their own songs about their learning. Below is a draft of a message template that kids will send home as part of their learning stories each week to their parents via email. A bit of tweaking and revising will occur as we seek harmony, but this is the gist of what our message will be.

All year, 100 days so far, I have asked kids to learn a new tune. It is not an easy tune, for it is unfamiliar, but with each passing day their voices become more resonant. Yes, I worry from time to time as the days pass if I should not bring back some of the familiar tunes of the past, but then I see and hear my kids’ earnest attempts to sing, no longer caged birds, free and unfettered, and I am mesmerized, held captive by the promise of their voices, their beautiful voices. And I see my horizon.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…view Life is Beautiful, seeking more truths about the human experience.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Monday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Today is our first “Do” of the new semester. The kids will do their first performance today. For two weeks now, we have been warming up to and practicing our new “Chasing-Better Chant.” We have been talking the Do-Reflect-Do Better game (the kids and I say this every day), but today we will walk the game. Today, we will do, so we can reflect and then do better.

As I recently explained in two posts about our changes this semester (Business, Pt. 1 and Business, Pt. 2), we are taking a “learning-by-performing” approach this term. We learned, and we believe, that our kids’ best learning came from their performance opportunities last semester. It was the space and place where we gave them feedback; it is the space and place where they grew, so we are providing a steady diet this semester. Our goal is to put a performance on the table each week, an assessment (we call them performances) that asks them to take aim at one or more of our focus standards. From that aim and subsequent “shot,” we judge our kids’ performances: 3=hit the target, 2=near miss, 1=far miss. For our 2’s and 1’s we then give the necessary feedback for them to take better aim next time. I know some look at this metaphor with disfavor for its violent undertones, but our goal here is not to create such a “graphic” space; it is simply an approach that makes sense to us and our kids. Sorry if it offends.

So, today, I will put the first performance in front of my kids. We talked about it yesterday. In fact, I handed it to them. You let the kids see the assessment before they took it? Of course, I did. Why wouldn’t I? Why wouldn’t I want them to know what they are being asked to do? There needs to be no mystery in it. There needs to be no secret for them to uncover, no “gotcha” to get them. That is not how I conduct business. It is not how I develop trust among my kids. I want them to feel supported, so I can challenge them. If I am telling kids that their learning will be judged solely on their performances, then I have to create an experience where they not only trust me  but also themselves to make  and learn from mistakes. And I believe that begins with my being transparent. So, I am.

Of course, it also requires an approach that allows them to re-engage the learning experience. So, we create similar experiences around the same standard(s), enabling kids to apply what they have learned from their missteps. But we also, allow multiple retakes, as many as requested by the kid. If a kid wants to prove his learning, we will not stand in the way. If there is a will, there is way in our classrooms. Always a way.

After the kids do today. I will score their performances and give them feedback. They will then reflect and have an opportunity to do better. That’s our growth mindset.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns (even on performance days).

…perform. 

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Friday, all. Have a great weekend.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Somewhere there’s a line. It divides. It defines. It draws. It repels. It compels. It impedes. It is there. But I cannot find the line.

Somewhere there’s a line. “Sy, I have a drive today, so I am not gonna be in class,” reported Kat yesterday before school, letting me know that she would be missing class due to her scheduled drive for Driver’s Ed. I chided in response, “Taking advantage of my flexibility, eh?” “No, no…I just. I can’t miss any of my other classes,” she stammered. Can’t. Seems like a line. Maybe I need that line.

I teach sophomores, sixteens, which means, driver’s license. Gone are the old days when kids took Driver’s Ed as a class in school, paying fifty bucks, driving before and after. Now they take the class after school, paying nearly five-hundred dollars, driving during school. It’s a pain. It’s a struggle. It’s a reality. Oh, I can refuse to let kids drive. They have to get my “permission” to miss class. And if I do not excuse it, and they do it anyway, then I can choose the consequences for their absence. Just so happens– guess–that my consequences pale in comparison to my colleagues, so kids miss my class. “Sorry, Sy. Do you want me to schedule my upcoming drives during another class?” “No. I just want you to do what’s best for you. Of course, I want you here. But I don’t want you stressin’ either. Do what you gotta do, kiddo.” Do what’s best for you. If there’s a “can’t,” there must be a line. But I cannot find the line.

Somewhere there’s a line. “Sy, I missed my math test yesterday. And I have to take it today. Any chance…” Have to. Seems like a line. Maybe I need that line.

Annika was out sick the day before. She is a rock-star student whose status brings a great deal of self-induced stress. So, when she came to me yesterday, I knew she was stressing, and before she even finished her request I said, “Yes.” She would no doubt make up what she missed in my class; she was facing a “have-to” in another class, so I granted her request. Apparently, *math tests can only be taken in one sitting. One cannot start during lunch and finish after school. Apparently, one cannot take the test during her math class because she will miss that day’s section and fall farther behind. Apparently, math tests must be completed by all kids as quickly as possible because knowledge of the problems is out there. If there’s a “have-to,” there must be a line. But I cannot find the line.

Somewhere there’s a line. “Sy, can I go to the bathroom?” “Sy, can I eat in here?” “Sy, can I drink in here.” “Sy, can I call my mom?” Yes. Yes. Yes. And yes. People have to pee. People have to eat. People have to drink. And people even have to call mom. Apparently, for some, the answers are no, no, no, and no. No. Seems like a line. Maybe I need that line.

But when I look out on my class, I see people. People. As a person, I understand people’s needs. I go to the bathroom during class (I have a fellow teacher cover). I eat during class. I drink during class. Sometimes, I even call my mom during class. If I can say yes, why would I say no? But if there’s a “no,” there must be a line. But I cannot find that line.

Somewhere there’s a line. “To get credit for this course, you have to complete all performances with an honest effort.” This is what I share with kids when explaining my grading approach. It is not a high hurdle, and for the vast majority of my kids, earning credit for the course is not difficult. But in every situation, despite the line, even the ones we set and can see, there are exceptions. A self-set have-to. I have that line. Maybe I need to follow that line.

Remember Jack? A month ago today I shared a letter I wrote to him, seeking to understand him and compel him to cross the line, the “have-to” I impose in my classroom (Dear Jack). In the letter I mention a line, “…it’s not too late for us to get across that line.”  At the time, I had not this particular post in mind about lines, but now a month later it haunts. We did not cross that line. Jack did not “complete all performances with an honest effort.” But he did write me back, and I had intended to share his response with you, but it was deeply personal, so I chose to keep it between Jack and me. So, then, what happened? Well, apparently I cannot even find my own lines, for I passed Jack. He got credit for the course. His letter affected my gut. And when one lacks lines, he finds his gut, he trusts his gut. On this one, I went with my gut. Jack did not cross the line. But perhaps I did. I gave credit where credit wasn’t earned, and though such a transgression may well land me in teacher hell, it’s too late now. There was a “have-to,” so there must have been a line. But, even then, I could not find the line.

Somewhere there’s a line. It divides. It defines. It draws. It repels. It compels. It impedes. It is there. But I cannot find the line.

For I am more lost than found. And as I move ever-deeper into creating a student-centered world, my identity fades in and out. And the lines that once existed blur as I seek to find myself through my kids. And that, I think, has become my new have-to, my new line. I become re-imagined, re-cast with each attempt to discover my next “better.” And that lies down a different path, that follows a new line.

Somewhere there is a line. But it is not here among tradition or convention. It is out there. And I will not find it. Never. But I will seek it. Ever. And maybe that’s the best line of all.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns. 

…Finish up our Book Thief analysis and prepare for tomorrow’s performance.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme

Happy Thursday, all. Sorry for the odd post this morning. Trying to find myself a bit. *No offense intended to my math peeps with the example up above. I know there are a great many of you who do more than cover and test content. I hope no one took it the wrong way.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.  

We did it. We made it through the first semester of our new grading approach. One thing that I am guilty of is always waiting for a new start, just like the kids. So, even though I enjoyed the semester, I really couldn’t wait for it to end. When I started off the semester I was so hesitant on how this new way of grading was going to be for our students, toward the middle I started feeling more confident, and now that the first semester is done I know that this was the best decision I could’ve made this school year. I was ready for first semester to end only because I believe change helps us to continue to grow.

Our end of semester grading conferences were set up in a way that seemed pretty simple and to the point, but I almost immediately found out that the results were anything but simple. Each conference forced kids to take the lead and talk about what they have done in class and show how they have grown. Each and every conference was different. Each and every conversation was so important for the kids to speak and important for me to listen to.

By the end of the first day of conferences I came to the realization that I am part of something much bigger than I expected. I knew what we had begun last spring was going to be different than what I had previously done grading wise, but seeing how kids were truly able to articulate where they were at with the standards we put in front of them and how their evidence from their portfolios showed that had floored me. I felt like it was too good to be true, but the next conference day came and kids were continuing to show me that they are able to talk about their own learning in a way I never expected.

In addition to their being able to do this, we also gave them an opportunity to tell us about any suggestions that they had for our grading policy in the end that we could take into consideration. In about ninety percent of my conferences the kids ended with telling me how they were so unsure about it in the beginning, but they are now understanding so to leave it the way it is. The other ten percent of kids who had suggestions brought up very thought out recommendations that in truth we had already started considering for the next semester which just validated more that continuing to reflect and change is a good thing and having the kids help us do so is even better.

So, as one semester has ended and a new semester has begun I’m feeling energized about the changes we have made and the work we are continuing. So energized that I have decided to take on a challenge myself in taking this grading approach with all of my classes next year, not just the sophomore class. We have made changes going into second semester just as I imagine we will continue to do from week to week, semester to semester, and year to year.

Grading this way has changed how I look at every lesson, every performance, every set of notes that I put in front of my students. The work to make change is sometimes time-consuming, hard, and out of our comfort zone, but as only a third year teacher, I feel as though the change I have made this year has been for kids and makes their learning the center of my classroom. I’m so excited to continue my work with helping kids have a voice and see possibilities in their learning. Change is good.

On a whim yesterday, I came up with an idea for kids to honor each other as we continue to build our new-semester communities. I had already planned on buying some candy bars from some of my choir kids who are raising money for their trip to Disneyland at the end of April. So, I bought five candy bars, and decided to give one away each period, but I attached a string. I would give the candy bar to the one who was selected by his/her/their peers as a champion of community.

I placed the paper in the image above on the classroom floor to generate some curiosity as kids entered the room.

After Smiles and Frowns, I asked the kids to nominate one of their peers for our first Community Champ award. They wrote the name and reason on a sticky note. I collected and tallied. And, at the end of the period, I announced the champion . Below are the nominations from third period. JT was our champion. I also handed the sticky-note nominations out to the kids who had been nominated, so they could read what their peers had to say about them. We will do this every Wednesday from here on. Kids can only win the title once, so each week we will have a brand new champ.

In the end, this is nothing too sophisticated or special. It is simply an intentional effort to add some novelty to our community-building experiences here in 211. The chocolate was a nice bonus for the champs, but the sweetest deal was kids’ honoring each other.

Today’s Trail

Bit of a cluster today. Sophomores are doing registration orientation this morning, so I will have a number of kids gone each period. As well, many of my kiddos will be gone for an FBLA competition all day. We will just go with the flow.

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns

…make progress with our Book Thief analysis. 

…end with a Sappy Sy Ryhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all. Short and sweet post this morning.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

Time. Time was I read this to my high school kids (and my middle school kids before that). Did for years. They loved it. I loved it. It was a shared, valued experience. And then, I stopped.

It takes time to read a book aloud. And time is precious. It seems we have all the time in the world when we first venture down the path in September with months ahead on the horizon, but, in truth, we don’t, and as the days fill with work and as state testing looms large, time fades quickly and what once started off as a pleasant walk soon becomes a panicked march toward the end. And so, we have to make decisions about the time we have, and often, those decisions require us to bend to the will of external factors (state testing, etc.), forcing us to let otherwise less test-like things fall to the side. In Freak, I let an old friend fall to the side.

That was years ago, but recent events have reawakened my memory and longing for my old friend. First, World Read Aloud Day day caught my attention.

Unfortunately, I learned about it too late and was caught unprepared (won’t happen again), but it brought back fond memories, and I reminisced about Freak.

Second, just yesterday, a Twitter peep Scott Hazeu tagged me in a tweet that challenged me to tweet out my own great book recommendation, and of course, immediately, Freak the Mighty came to mind. So, I tweeted it out, which then gave me a chance to respond to another Twitter peep Marian Dingle, setting the stage for me to defend my old, abandoned friend.

“Read Aloud. Change the World!” urges the World Read Aloud Day promotion up above. Change the world. Can something so simple change the world? And how would one know? Not sure if there is empirical evidence for such things. That seems reserved for things found in a standardized world. But where one fails to find or follow the empirical emperor, there is always another measure to consider. One’s gut. I have no data to defend my decision to read aloud to my kids. I cannot say with certainty that it changes the world. But I can say it touches the world, it connects the world. When I read Freak to my kids, we connected. We laughed. We dreamed. We cried. We wondered. And though those things will not find a place in the standardized world, there is always a place for them in the humanized world. My gut knows that. My gut also knows that I miss my old friend. May well be I’ll have to pay a visit. Always been hard for me not to listen to my gut.

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns.

…finish and begin our analysis of The Book Thief.

…reflect in our Journey Journals.

…end with a Sappy Sy Rhyme.

Happy Tuesday, all.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

When we sit at the table, we have a chance to listen, we have a chance to speak. We engage in the power of story. With this in play, we open the door for understanding; we create a space for empathy. We create connections. We create an opportunity for community. I had a chance to sit at two tables last Friday. I had a chance to speak. I had a chance to listen. I had a chance to connect.

At the first table, there were no kids. They were either still sleeping or just getting up. Fridays are late-start days in our district, and so, for that first, without-kids hour, we collaborate. It began as a normal, grade-level collaboration opportunity, Jenna, Maddie, and I were talking Performance design when our first guest showed up. Anna, one of our assistant principals, a regular guest, joined us, and we set to work, reviewing and discussing next steps in our journey. But there were more guests to follow. Unexpectedly, our district superintendent and building principal also showed up. Our principal joined the grade 9 team, and our superintendent joined our grade 10 team. The big boss was at our table.

Currently in the Cheney School District, we are working on establishing professional learning communities (PLC’s). The work has just begun, and our Superintendent, Rob Roettger, is leading the charge as we make our way through this important but challenging transition. As a leader, he is present in the work. And so, though unexpected, we were not surprised to find him at our table. In fact, we were quite pleased. The push for PLC’s was welcomed by our grade 10 team. In many respects, we were already there, so this direction, this work was largely just a continuation of what we had already been doing: coming together around student work to drive our decisions about teaching and learning. With Rob at the table, we were eager to share our work. We are proud of what we’re doing. And while we did touch upon and highlight what matched up with our district mandates, the conversation wandered down a different path. We got to talk about grades.

It was our assistant principal Anna’s fault. She pointed out the path, urging us to share our select-and-support grading journey. And so we did. Well, I did. Those who know me best, know I like to talk. Professionally, no one perhaps knows me better than Jenna and Maddie, my  gradeless peeps. And while they did on occasion, get a word or two in, I ran with the ball while I had it in my hand. I have been wanting to have this conversation for two years, so I seized the opportunity. I think I even remembered to breathe, for during my run-of-the-mouth marathon, I did not pass out, and I only stopped because Maddie finally suggested maybe we take the mic away, and so, nearly forty minutes later, I stopped.

Of course, though it may have seemed, I did not talk the entire time. It was on some level a conversation. And at the end of that conversation, I would like to think that we had a chance to share our crazy journey, we had chance to make our case for why grading practices need to change. Of course, too, we offered that we have not arrived, that we have not found the answer, that we are simply chasing better, and it was a fulfilling moment for me when Rob said that he was stealing, “chasing better.” We spoke. He listened. We connected. Because…because we were at the table.

At the second table, there were kids. Many kids. And at that second table, we made our first formal efforts to create community with a new mix of members after the semester shuffle. Here are the things we discussed at our table during our first monthly Community Circle.

“Share a superstition.”

“How do you deal with stress?”

“I envy people who…”

“What is something that you could teach us?”

“What is the best/worst part about being a teenager?”

“What are you looking/not looking forward to as an adult?”

We had such a rich opportunity to share our stories on Friday. And while some of the kids still long for their semester-one families, many of them fell in comfortably with their new families on Friday. At the table. 

Today’s Trail

Along today’s trail we will…

…begin with Smiles and Frowns (our daily at-the-table talk).

…continue viewing The Book Thief.

…end with a Sappy Sy Ryhme.

Happy Monday, all. May you find yourself at your respective tables today.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.

One student desk.  One teacher chair.  One brightly-lit hallway.  For five days this was my set-up.  A set-up that was new, different, and nontraditional to the random students and teachers that walked by each day.  But this was the set-up that not only worked best for us but was promised to our students before their grading conferences began.  A promise of privacy.  And it was through this privacy that I was able to have 127 experiences that I’ve never had in my nine years of teaching: an individualized conversation in which each student was able to select a letter grade, explain why he/she deserved that grade, and offer suggestions/recommendations to our grading policies for next semester.  

Now, I’ve posted term grades numerous times over the years.  And while I’ve made tweaks and changes to my grading system over the years, it’s always been a mere “going-through-the-motions” part of my job.  Yes, I believed in those tweaks and changes, but if someone had asked me, “Why did John get a C in your class?” I’m not sure what my answer would have been.  I’m not even confident I would have been able to give a “good” answer.  Sure, I could have talked about what he did and didn’t do throughout the semester, but that is really more about behavior rather than learning.  This semester, however, I knew what my answers would be.  Even after those 5 days, I am confident that I could communicate why a specific student received a specific grade.  Why?  How?  Because in room 220 it’s now about learning, growth, and progress.  These conferences provided me with the opportunity to understand more about each of my 127 students.  I know what they learned.  I know how they did.  I know how hard they worked.  I know the progress and growth they’ve made.  But I also learned how students feel about our grading policies.

We prefaced their input with statements such as, “Our grading policy is not going away.” and “We, as teachers, have already made additional changes for next semester.” but we still wanted to hear their thoughts.  After all, it’s all about them.  They are our customers.  Admittedly, I was a little nervous about what students would say.  I was pleasantly surprised.  My kids love what we’re doing.  Many said they didn’t have any suggestions or recommendation because of that.  Some, when I asked specifically what they like about their grading policies, were able to provide answers.  Below are some of the highlights:  

“I really like this grading system because it allows me to show I really have tried.  LA has always been difficult, but I never had my work acknowledged.”

 

“I like the fact that it has to do with how much I have improved and not how well I did on each assignment.”

 

“I love your grading system, and I like getting to choose the grade that best fits me!”

 

“I just want to say you have made my LA class feeling go way up so just keep doing what you are doing.”

Customer reviews are powerful.  So powerful that they are talking to their other teachers about our grading policies.  So powerful that some of those teachers have expressed interest in learning more about what we’re doing.  So powerful that I am beyond excited to journey through the next 88 days with my 132 students.

Do. Reflect. Do Better.