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Educational Fantasy #1: The Gradeless Classroom


This spring I have the good fortune of having a competent and enthusiastic teacher intern who is taking responsibility for a number of my classes. It has afforded me some time: some time to do especially good work for the students that remain solely my responsibility, some time to write a poem or two or thirty, some time to get my student growth goals done nearly a month before they are officially due, and some time to THINK, reflect, cogitate. This morning, for example, I thought to myself, as I remembered how many blog entries I have written about the things that are not right about public education, why don’t I, instead, write a series of entries describing fantasies I have regarding education in its best pie in the sky kind of light. In other words, why don’t I do a thought experiment: if things were perfect in the land of public education, how would things look, according to me, that is, and some of my friends? I don’t promise that this series will be especially academic or super serious or practical, but I hope at the very least it will be honest.

It is likely that much of what I propose will seem impossible to some. That’s okay. That would not surprise me. We are all creatures of habit and habits in the realm of educational practice and policy, as we have seen, die hard. But what would have become of us if people did not dream the impossible? See? Some of that shit actually got done. So here we go with Educational Fantasy #1.

I’ve written about this before at length, but it’s worth repeating in the super short formGrades suck. Despite the fact that I have graded students my entire career and continue to do so and even sometimes argue with myself and others about the validity of such antics, I still believe in my heart and soul that grades suck. So my first wish for an educational utopia is the gradeless classroom.

Again, don’t take my word for it. Read about it. Look it up. The research will tell you (at least some of it), (at least the research that I prefer), that grades create anxiety, that grades do not accurately measure, and that grades do not motivate.

What should motivate? Learning. Okay, how do you motivate kids to learn for learning’s sake and not for a grade? Well, if you eliminate grades, what’s left? Learning. Or no school. Most of us would prefer the former to the latter for our young people. Young people may have a different opinion.

I have had several experiences in my life as a student in a gradeless classroom, and you have probably had some as well, and maybe your kids have had some, even now. Let me tell you about a few of these.

Elementary School.  That’s right, at least in my experience as a little tike, I do not remember bringing home letter grades. My son, in his first 6 years of public schooling, has never brought home a letter grade. Don’t get me wrong, elementary school kids are measured, but they are not graded. Instead, teachers report progress toward certain standards or expectations for which kids are something like “in progress,” “meeting,” or “exceeding.” Did we learn stuff in grade school? I think we did. Were we, for the most part, motivated and relatively happy with school? I remember that we were. My son, except for a moment now and again where he complains about a “mean” adult or some level of grade school ennui, is, generally speaking, a pretty happy camper. And he’s learning gobs.

As far as I can tell, grades are introduced to young people in Middle School and continue onward forever and ever. Something wicked this way comes, but I don’t want to talk about that now. Pie in the sky, remember?

My second experience in a gradeless classroom was as an undergraduate at Lewis and Clark College. I took Modern English Literature from the late, great Vern Rutsala. The course was offered pass/no pass, an unusual move for a professor to take during that time, I think. I worked hard. I learned a lot. I read and discussed great books. I passed! It made no difference to me whatsoever that I did not receive a grade. It had no bearing on my perceptions of the value of the class or the rigor of the work, and it had no effect on the level of energy I exerted or invested in studying.

Most profoundly, perhaps, I was accepted, I enrolled, and I completed a Masters of Fine Arts in Creative Writing at Warren Wilson College, the most significant educational experience of my life-time thus far, without ever reporting or receiving a single grade.

And continuing through adulthood and professional life, I have taken countless courses and workshops and attended conferences taught or presented by all sorts of people and institutions, none of which attempted to give me a letter.

In a perfect world, middle school and high school and college students would not be graded in their classes. They would pass or not pass based on evidence of their learning, learning that is individually appropriate and growth oriented. Did the student learn? Did the little cherub grow? Can he move to the next phase or level of difficulty?

And if he didn’t or can’t? Educational Fantasy #2: Real and Effective Interventions and Alternatives for Students Who Do Not Function Well in School.



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Why I Am Totally Bugged By This Video


The video making the rounds Thursday on facebook was of a young man who stands up in the middle of his classroom and goes on a little tirade against his teacher, accusing her, essentially, of malpractice, of making no effort to teach, of handing the kids packet after packet, worksheet after worksheet.  He implores her to actually teach, to give up the busy-work in favor of something that will really reach her students, something that will “touch their frickin’ hearts”–I think those are his words.  Meanwhile, his teacher is heard (and seen very briefly sitting behind her desk) repeatedly asking him to leave the room and telling him that he is wasting her time.  When he has had his say, finally, he does leave. There seems to be very little reaction, in support or no, from his classmates.  One girl sitting by the door where he makes his final exit appears not to even acknowledge what is happening. The video ends before any reaction from the class as a whole can be recorded.  Some words are spoken right before the video ends that are difficult to make out.

I have several issues with this video–not with the video itself, but with the way it is being used on the internet in social network forums to say “something about the state of our educational system.”  This video actually says very little about the state of our system.  What does it actually speak about?  Well, for starters, because the video gives us absolutely no context for the rant, it mostly tells us about how this particular kid feels about this particular classroom.  That’s mostly it.  And maybe it tells us how this particular teacher handles such a disruption: not very well, poorly, in fact.  To draw blanket conclusions about schools in our nation based on this one and a half minute worth of angry student rant is blatant misrepresentation and tom-foolery. It’s not a serious criticism of what it (or the person sharing it on the web) purports to be criticizing.

First of all, the video cannot validate the kid’s criticism of his teacher.  It provides no evidence that she is guilty of that which he accuses her. Now, if what this kid says is true, that this is a classroom in which students are handed packet after packet for mostly seat work independent of any real instruction, coaching, or interaction, then his rant and his sense of outrage is totally understandable and his behavior justified and admirable.  But again, this is an indictment then of the teacher in this classroom and of the administration that hired her and then allowed her to keep teaching. It’s an indictment of absolutely nothing else.

The publisher of the video, a website that I find often to be inspiring and thoughtful, http://www.upworthy.com, posts this puzzling commentary from contributer Adam Mordecai after the video clip:  “This was not an indictment of his teacher; to me, this was an indictment of the entire teach-to-the-test standardization that has been forced on our teachers and has broken our country’s education system.” Well, amen to that anti-standardization sentiment–but I don’t know, in my personal experience as a high school English teacher for the last 24 years, a single teacher who has bastardized his or her teaching wisdom to this extent because he or she has been forced to “teach-to-the-test.” Additionally, this short video gives us NO indication that these poor classroom practices have anything whatsoever to do with standardized tests and curriculum.  And the dangerous implication is that the standardized movement has somehow reduced all of our classrooms to this kind of practice.  It’s fundamentally untrue.

The standardized testing movement has not forced teachers to engage in poor classroom practices. It has simply stolen class time away from both teachers and students.  Kids and their teachers are giving up  the benefits of maybe two weeks of instruction or classroom experience in a testing year in their English classes alone.  And when students don’t pass the reading test, for example, they’re asked to take it again, and again, and again, which pulls them out of the classroom for another week of class time for each retest when they could be in a classroom learning about and practicing the skills the reading test is purportedly measuring!

Good teachers, despite the pressures to raise test scores on standardized tests, will continue to do their best work to engage and challenge students.  Bad teachers, as they have and always will do if given the freedom to do so, will provide students with packets and worksheets and seat work.  Don’t allow video clips like this one to make you believe, first of all, that the kid, no matter how articulate he is (not extremely in this case), is always in the right, but secondly, and more importantly, that this is in any way indicative of the whole.

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#18: Let’s Pretend The Schoolhouse Is Broken

old-school-house-1_235578Let’s Pretend The Schoolhouse Is Broken

I know! I have an idea:
Let’s pretend the schoolhouse is broken
even though we know it’s not
so that a tiny number of thinkers and bureaucrats,
of which I am one,
can invent and impose new rigorous standards
on educators and students (because certainly
those educators and students can’t possibly
know for themselves what’s good for them)
and after we’ve imposed these rigorous standards,
let’s hire for top dollar some corporation to design
a whole bunch of lessons and a whole bunch of tests
for educators and students (because, obviously,
it is as plain as the nose on your face,
educators cannot be expected to create
their own lessons, or god forbid, write their own
assessments). What chaos would it be
if the individuals who spend 180 days a year
with our young people, who kind of know them
and who appear often to care deeply for their welfare
were actually planning lessons and trying to measure learning
with all of that subjective, touchy-feely, caring and sharing
crap in the way? Pure chaos!
No, what our students need is the cold, calculating, objective
and for-profit touch of drill and skill and standardized
testing over and over and over again.
Yes, they will resent it and hate it
and their teachers will resent it and hate it
and because no one who is hateful or resentful
can do an effective job at anything,
public education will explode under the pressure
so that we can do what we really wanted to do
and that is to create a bunch of charters
and private schools for the families
who can afford them so they’ll get a good education
for their kids and we’ll get rich
and everybody else and public schools can just go to hell
along with the democracy they help to promote.


Filed under Education, Poetry, Teaching

Of a Long Teacher Work Day on which Only a Third of the Work Gets Done

Today we were given a teacher work day on this last day before spring break. Awesome for students because they get an extra day off. Awesome for teachers, at least in our district, because the work day didn’t even fall at the end of a grading period, but rather, a couple of weeks before. So maybe, if a teacher played her or his cards right, one might even expect a little time, potentially eight hours, for something called “planning,” or for what some circles of educators call “creating curriculum,” or for a still more unusual animal identified as “collaborating with colleagues.” Sounds like absolute teacher nirvana. Sign me up!

I spent eight hours today looking at student work.  Don’t get me wrong, I was happy to have the time to do it.  But, at the risk of sounding like a broken record, there was just so much of it, that at the end of an eight and a half hour day, I found myself finished with about a third of the student work that had piled up. What I did not do:  I did not, at the end of that eight and a half hours, put it all in boxes to cart home with me over spring break.  No.  I left the unfinished business in my classroom.  It will be there when I get back.  The only way in which I will be “doing work” during spring break might be in a moment like this one–where I am reflecting on my work life because I want to, because it might be valuable for me to do so, personally valuable, or valuable to others who share the same kind of experience or who are interested in the day-to-day lives of teaching professionals.

My work day, while productive, was disappointing.  I feel bad–insofar as I got through one mountain of stuff and left another larger mountain of stuff to come back to a week and some days later.  Yes, I could have avoided the whole problem by not assigning the work in the first place, but then I’d feel bad for not asking my students to do what I think they really ought to be doing to make strides as readers and writers and thinkers.  Teaching in this day of the underfunded public school so often seems to be about choosing what to feel bad about.  You can’t feel good about everything; in this climate and in these conditions, it’s simply impossible unless you are a mindless Pollyanna.  I can feel good about a lot of things.  I think I have a positive relationship with most of my students.  I like my school.  I love my subject matter.  I love the craft and art of good teaching.  I really respect and enjoy my colleagues. But our situation in public schools is dire. Skeleton crews in buildings.  Programs cut.  Schools closing.  Overcrowded classrooms next door to empty classrooms.  No new hires.  Billions of dollars in budget shortfall.  Head start cut. School days cut.  Expectations higher than ever. Amidst all of this horrible news, today’s work day was a blessing–a blessing for which I could not take full advantage because I was so inundated.  Input favorite expletive here.

Here’s another thing to feel bad about.  I’m six years away from being able to retire and it will be a sad day to leave the profession in a shambles.  I try to think about how things may get better.  I am hard pressed to imagine a scenario that would positively turn things around in the short term.  I try to imagine the state of public education getting any worse than it is now, and I shudder.  In my bleakest moments, I think of the end of public schooling and what a disaster that would be for our democracy.  I think of the hundreds of kids who cannot be reached and cannot be helped simply because our system is so strained and resources are simply just not available to them.  It’s ugly, friends.  It’s ugly.  And yet, there is still, for me, so much joy in this work.

So, this is, ultimately, what I choose to feel bad about.  I feel bad about not getting as much done today as I would have liked.  I don’t feel bad about not taking the work home with me.  I feel good about that. I cannot change the current state of affairs, so I can’t feel bad about that either, about what I can’t control–but because I’m writing here in this blog about my experiences as an educator, I hope that this might go a very small way toward raising awareness and adding to the other voices of educators who are kind of tired of being picked on, and of parents who are frightened about the educational prospects for their children.  I can feel good about using my voice in this way, shouting the barbaric yawp, so to speak.  Meanwhile, I’ve got nine days to rejuvenate my soul and my brain, to prepare myself for the final stretch, the relatively break-less run toward summer break, the days of which I am not counting.  I can feel good about that.


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Of Neighborhood Schools and the Threat of Losing One

No decision has been made yet, but a couple of weeks ago now a letter went out from the North Clackamas School District leadership that the closure and consolidation of my son’s elementary school, my elementary school 40 some years ago, is on the table for next fall.  Half of the kids at his school would go to other schools down the road, but the other half, the students enrolled in the Spanish Bi-lingual Immersion Program, would bus 10 minutes further down the road to the only other school in the district offering a similar program. Enrollment is down, they say, and my son’s school, in terms of its student population, is running far short of its capacity.  It’s expensive, apparently, to keep the building itself, the physical plant, running at less than its full capacity.  We are to understand that this makes fiscal and logistical sense, that it’s the least disruptive and most efficient choice, that the program won’t expire or be compromised.  At first I thought, well, IF they can keep the same kids together, preserve teacher jobs and avoid class sizes from getting any larger than they already are, about 32 first graders, what harm could there be in a move like this?

I’m afraid on further reflection I see all kinds of harm.

The program in which my son is enrolled is what we call a magnet; district kids from outside the neighborhood and some kids out of the district can apply for acceptance into the Spanish Immersion Bi-lingual Program–but my wife and I deliberately moved into the attendance area of the school even before our boy was officially offered a spot–because we wanted to live close to the school. There was something important, we thought, not just about the convenience of living close by, and not just about the quality of the program, but about the concept of the neighborhood school itself.

Beyond a purely sentimental attachment, neighborhood schools are meaningful places; they can bring communities together, create cohesion and unity, foster a sense of home as being not just the place where children live, but where children learn and engage with their environment. Neighborhood schools have a history, a tradition, and a cultural identity all their own–all tending toward giving young people a sense of stability and belonging.  Especially in a suburban environment like ours where homes are spread out and the business district is full of big box stores and strip malls, a neighborhood school becomes the very center and heart of the community–no other such place exists close by.  It just seems to me like folly to close a successful and effective elementary school, separating kids who have begun this educational journey together into three different far flung buildings, in the name of efficiency.

Our superintendent and other folks in the district leadership held a community meeting at the school and the board of directors held another one in a different location the next evening.  We are told that the closure of the school is not a foregone conclusion.  But a half a million dollars must be saved.  Actually, six million dollars must be saved–and the closure of our elementary school is 1/12th of the potential solution to the problem.  I can’t help but think there must be other ways to find the money, and I worry that a move toward efficiency now may have some far reaching consequences for our community down the road, that we may never get our school back, and that my son and his classmates will miss out on something that seems to me almost the equivalent of a good program taught by effective teachers: a sense of ownership and belonging and continuity that only a neighborhood school can provide.


Filed under Education, Parenting

No Grades? No Carrots or Sticks? Then What?

Not cookies and pokes in the ribs, I presume.  No, we can’t just replace one set of rewards and punishments for a different set, although, most people would rather have a cookie than a carrot and would like even less to be poked in the ribs than slapped with a stick.  I don’t know about that one.  Pokes and slaps seem equally unpleasant to me.  How about cookies or ten minutes on the rack?  Yeah, that’s better.  It’s better on the one end and worse at the other, but still really really bad no matter which way you go, because, as I’ve already established, rewards and punishments are bad in education–as they are bad in most other arenas: child-rearing, workplace motivation, innovative thinking, creativity, and relationships.  And, please, for crying out loud, don’t take my word for it; do some reading, look at the data, visit a school, or talk to some kids.  This is all a long preamble to answer the question, if no carrots and sticks, no grades, then what?

Full disclosure:  this is a thought experiment.  I cannot claim to have solved this issue in actual practice–only to have come to a conclusion philosophically, long ago, that grades, high ones as carrots, low ones as sticks, do not work, are, in fact, detrimental. I award grades because it’s part of my job expectation–and I suppose, although I have not tried it, that if I refused to award them I might be disciplined somehow–ten minutes on the rack, maybe, or worse.  So, my goal might be to come up with an alternative that would satisfy me philosophically and satisfy administrators, parents, and students that they weren’t somehow being short-changed because the carrots and sticks disappeared, but rather, felt like they had been finally presented with something like the way education ought to go, forever and ever, amen.

There was a comment to my last blog entry from another blogger named momshieb, and it was brilliant.  Here’s what she said about grade schoolers, but I believe it applies to all schoolers: “In a school with no grades, kids would recognize and measure their own progress because they would take pride in what they are achieving. They would NOT do the “bare minimum” because they wouldn’t know what that is. When children are studying or thinking or creating because they are curious or interested, they keep going until they are satisfied. When children are not being presented with external judgements about everything that they do, they stop trying to do just enough to please the judges.”  So this is just more strong argument against grades and what might happen in their absence–which seems to me obviously and infinitely better than the hoop-jumping and grade-grubbing that goes on when kids and their parents are addicted to external motivators.  And parents are often the most culpable parties.  I can count on maybe one hand how many parents have called me over the course of my entire career to ask what their children are actually learning in my classroom and not about what they’re getting.

One of the things teachers can do immediately, even if they have to award grades in order to avoid the rack, is to do everything they can to deemphasize grades.  They shouldn’t talk about them.  They shouldn’t  dangle them.  They shouldn’t use them as a threat or as a treat. They should avoid putting point values  on assignment sheets.  After awhile students will stop asking.  They start thinking instead about what they’re doing and why, about the learning, and ultimately, they will do the work because it is meaningful work.  And if they can’t find meaning in the work, teachers can help them as long as they are looking. If they want to “pretend” to find meaning and fake their way through, they might be successful, but are nevertheless TOOLS, and this behavior will some day catch up with them.  No skin off their educator’s nose.  Another group of students will refuse to look for meaning, will be unmotivated no matter what kind of dancing monkey you place in front of them, will not do anything that is asked of them.  And these are the ONLY kids, without serious intervention that is beyond what a classroom teacher can do, who will either FAIL or be forever IN PROGRESS. Our public schools do not serve these kids well and something should be done about it–but that’s another topic and another blog. But here’s another possible perspective on those kids who will not play.  Perhaps, they find no meaning in what they’re being asked to do because there is, after all, no meaning to to be found there.  I suspect that classes in which grades and points are heavily emphasized are classes for which meaning and purpose might not be clear or even existent for students and their teachers.  Recalcitrance in these situations is likely a kind of silent protest against a dumb curriculum.

I know my colleagues often worry about rigor, they are loath to think that students might think their class is “easy.” If grades go away, and a whole range of work then becomes acceptable for a PASS, from the mediocre to the truly brilliant, why should students at the top end work hard, and why wouldn’t kids doing mediocre work just become satisfied with their own status quo? First of all, we have to accept as a given the inherent differences between individuals, differences in interest level and in readiness for particular kinds of academic work.  Kids who truly love and excel in a particular discipline will continue to do so whether grades are given to them or not, and kids who hate a  particular discipline may warm up to it or at least feel less threatened by it if the fear of failing is removed and they are allowed to work towards excellence in their own way.  We never let them off the hook and we don’t poke them in the ribs.

So would it be possible, though, Mr. School Smarty Pants, to eliminate grades altogether?  In short, yes.  Read Alfie Kohn’s Punished by Rewards or The Schools Our Children Deserve.  He’s done his homework in a big way, and he can give you names of schools that are doing it and he can tell you that it has had no adverse effect on the futures of children–that colleges accept them, businesses hire them, and people love them. No negative effects.  What are the positives? The ultimate goal is that they become intrinsically motivated, curious, healthy, balanced, joyful, critical thinking, independent, interdependent, fearless young humans.  They’re not afraid to fail because they know that’s where the learning happens and that they won’t be punished for it. Can you see it?  I think I can.

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Are Grades The Devil?

Here’s a provocative thesis for you: grades are the devil. They’re evil. They’re evil because they’re oppressive and overvalued. And they’re dumb, not stupid-dumb (although, that’s kind of true), but rather mute-dumb. They don’t tell us anything. They don’t tell us what we need to know about what’s been taught or how, what’s been learned, the qualitative nature of that learning, or the progress the learning represents. They’re arbitrary and unreliable. And they don’t motivate—and if they do motivate, they do so for the wrong reasons.

Are you fired up? Here’s a true confession: I grade students. In part, because I have to, because parents, students, and administrators expect me to, and because it’s part of the job description, I give grades—although I’m fond of the adage, and I use it hypocritically from time to time on my students, that teachers don’t give grades—students earn them. I give grades in the guise of points for things done or accomplished. These points add up over time. And then, at the end of each quarter, and then again at the end of a semester when the thing sticks like stink on something stinky forever, I translate these points into a letter grade. You earned 90% of the possible points possible in this semester. You have earned the letter A. A is for awesome. A is for axcellent. A is for advanced. A is for abracadabra. A is mostly nonsense. And if you earned anywhere between 0% and 59.999%, you’ve earned the letter F. F is for failure. F is for f***k-up. And, in part, because there is no distinction made between 0% and 59.999%, F is also mostly nonsense, pure foolishness.

Do I believe what I’m saying, actually? Let’s try it out. This is what I believe about students who earn an A in one of my English classes: They completed all of their work thoroughly, thoughtfully, punctually. They followed instructions. They did what they were asked to do in good faith. They were leaders in the classroom. They demonstrated mastery over the skills and core knowledge represented by the curriculum, I hope. And, they worked hard, I think. What’s wrong with ANY of that, you might ask. Aren’t these admirable qualities, all of them? Certainly, they are. But perhaps you’re reading a tone of uncertainty about some of these things. I hope they mastered all of the objectives? I think they worked hard? Don’t I have foolproof assessments that tell me they’ve mastered this stuff and worked hard toward that goal? Does it matter? Is it just, more than anything else, that an A student is a very compliant student and an F student is not? And what’s wrong with that?  Well, to begin with, I don’t want compliant students.  I want students who are engaged.

Here’s another confession: I wish I did not have to give grades. I think the world of education and the world at large would be a better place without them. Let me back up first, and try to clarify some of the accusations I have leveled at the grading process in that opening paragraph.

Oppressive? I sometimes fear that the chief purpose behind the time-honored grading process is simply to sort human beings. It’s a kind of sorting that is distasteful and oppressive, because it essentially mirrors and possibly promotes a social and class structure prevalent in our society at large. It gives kids labels and then sorts them by these labels. It separates the smart from the dumb, the successes from the failures, the beautiful from the ugly, mostly, the rich from the poor. It determines, in large part (but not completely), who’s going to college, who’s finishing a degree, who’s going to be gainfully employed, whose earning potential will reach 70,000 dollars a year, which is, I’ve recently read, how much money a person needs to be “happy.” I find this sorting process to be oppressive. It’s ugly. It seems to me somehow that schools might be, or could be, a sanctuary from such sorting—that, in a perfect world, if we really want the same thing for all kids, and that is, to bring them to their fullest potential while we have them, grades seem counter to this. Let adulthood sort people. Let the job market sort people. Let advertising and corporate interests do that—but if I have done my job creating a classroom that represents the dignity of the individual and the principles of democracy and a place to learn and grow without fear—let adulthood, the job market, advertising, and corporate interests try to sort my students. Maybe they will fail.

Overvalued? Yes, because there are actually colleges out there in the world that don’t care about them. Yes, because they don’t necessarily speak to potential success at anything in the future. Yes, because they are dumb—mute-dumb—as mentioned above. Do you want to know what the student studied? Grades don’t tell you that. Do you want to know what the student learned, grappled with, explored, discovered, loved, hated, found useful or relevant? Grades are silent on that point. Do you want to know if the student made leaps and/or bounds over a period of time? Grades can’t say. All grades can say is that a student accomplished 90%, 80%, 70%, 60% or a lower % of some mysterious thing about equally mysterious subject matter. But A’s are inherently good, aren’t they? They give us a warm, fuzzy feeling. We want them on our transcripts and on our children’s transcripts.

Arbitrary and unreliable? Sure. A student may get a C from one teacher and an A from another in the same subject. A student may earn an F in a class for which he or she has already mastered the core knowledge and skills. A student might earn an A in class for working really hard but not mastering the objectives of the course. In one class a teacher grades participation and it’s worth a certain % of a total grade. Another teacher believes you shouldn’t grade behavior at all, and while participation is important to this teacher, it’s a behavior, and a student could have her hand raised for 18 weeks to chime in to the discussion and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference in her overall performance.

Grades don’t motivate? Listen to Dan Pink. Read or listen to (but try not to watch) Alfie Kohn talk about the studies that have been done on motivation. The jury is in: the higher the reward in terms of money or grades, the less a person is motivated. And this is borne out in my experience as a classroom teacher in almost every conceivable way. The students who fail are not worried. They’re not afraid. The threat, and that is exactly what it is, of an F, forever on their report card and transcripts, does absolutely NADA to motivate them. And most of my A students do what they do because they find value in doing it and would do the same thing if all they got at the end of the semester was a polished stone—or maybe even a lump of coal. Now, with the latter category, the A student category, there are students who ask me about  what they’re “getting” on a regular basis, (but now they don’t have to ask me because they can go on the interwebs and check their own progress, in which case they don’t have to ask me what they’re “getting”, but instead, how they can “get” something better), who are motivated by the actual LETTER “A”, or who are fearful of unrealistic parent expectations, or who are working hard for some other external goody, like a driver’s license, insurance money, extra-curricular activities, an x-box, an iPod—but what we know from the research is that these motivators are short-lived—they do not result in lasting, intrinsic motivation toward life-long learning or toward quality work. So for some people, money and grades work in the short-term. No one who is serious about the education of a child wants any of their efforts toward this end to be short-term.

In conclusion, then, grades are the devil and I wish I did not have to give them.

So, you might be asking, what’s in place of grades, Mr. Smarty-Pants? Another day, another blog.


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