What's in a grade?

At my previous school, we started talking about grading a long time ago--several years in fact.  So I guess I have been pondering the idea and necessity of grades for a bit.  To be honest, I was still undecided throughout that debate.  I held a solid anti-process grades position, but past that, I honestly didn't know how I felt about it.  Grades have seemed kind subjective to me as a teacher, though as a student I was obsessed with them.  I mean when I say obsessed I mean I cried when I got my first (of three) Bs in school.  Ridiculous, right?  But that number was so important to me.  And in retrospect, all I can think of is "why?"  At the time it felt that it was my measure of success.

Funny thing is, my success in high school did not transfer over in the same way to college.  Only three Bs in college would have been astonishing.  The set up was different, the rigor was substantial (as it should be), and it was just plain hard.  And I wasn't prepared, not really, even with all my prior success.

Over the summer I read Shift This by Joy Kirr, which I've mentioned several times before.  One of the most memorable chapters in the book was on grading, because it helped me solidify my stance.  Basically, with Joy's help, I realized that numeric grades are completely arbitrary.  What do they even mean?  For some they signify several processes completed successfully mixed with a couple assessments here or there.  For others they may be a quotient of correct responses to available questions that may be related strongly or weakly to curriculum standards.


The point is, the numbers provided aren't standardized in any way, so how can we use that to compare two students in two schools who have received the same grade?

We can't.  We have been and are continuing to use this model, but when we think about it, though it "works," it really doesn't.  Not for everyone.  And our flawed assumption that successful people will just fall in line with our grading arrangement has kept some incredibly bright and gifted people from reaching potentials beyond what we can imagine.  I wonder how many people got Cs and thought they were just ordinary, and so when some inspiration struck them, they just dismissed it because, what could they do about it?


I understand that it's an incredibly hard idea to just stop using numeric grades.  Not only would it involve a ton of new changes that would take planning, preparation and adjustment, but it also has us go against everything we've ever thought about grading in schools.  It's not an easy discussion or decision.  Even those who agree with me on numeric grades disagree with me on how we would implement something more meaningful.  But just because it is hard doesn't mean it's not worth an attempt, or at least a conversation.

When talking to others about this, I've gotten a lot of different protests.  One that comes up repeatedly is what happens to those high school students who use grades to determine class rank, grade point average, and scholarship potential if we do away with numeric grades?  Without those numbers, how can students prove their success or potential worth to universities?  It's another genuinely good question, and it makes me think again back to my experience as a successful high school senior.  What did those numbers provide me?  It helped me get into UNC Chapel Hill, which is awesome.  It did not help me get a vast amount of financial aid, even though I applied for many merit-based scholarships.  It made me feel good because I could do well and get those high numbers.  But looking back on it I feel like in spite of those benefits from numeric grades, I could have shown my worth to my teachers and universities in other ways that didn't require that type of system.  And I also feel like if that system had changed, others may have been able to show their potential too.

To me it boils down to this... numeric grades are not as helpful and necessary as we (myself included) have always felt they are.  What's better?  Not sure yet, but I do know that we don't need to be afraid of the possibility of something that could be better.

Dog-tired

I had a conversation with a teacher this past week, who experienced a fairly sad epiphany.  This teacher is a truly wonderful and compassionate educator.  She had started working with some developing readers (developing is the word I like to use to replace "struggling"--thank you Donalyn Miller), and she was overwhelmed with what she saw in this small group.  Once she was able to narrow her focus to one student, she really saw the extent of their difficulty, and it really made an impact on her.

If you have never worked with developing readers in a small group or one-on-one situation in your class as an educator, you really, really need to at least once.  We often make assumptions about our students when they come to us, and we do not frequently enough actually seek to know if those assumptions are correct.  Primarily we believe that our students, for the most part, have come to us with a base knowledge built on from their previous years, so they are ready for our content and instruction.

We know that some students may have "gaps" or "holes," which are basically little pockets of content that they may have missed for some reason or another along the way.  And we often can tell which students that we see daily that really experience some significant difficulties, though we don't really know the depth of it.  It's time to strap on some scuba gear though, because we can't continue to make assumptions that are routinely false.

Now I know that teachers have a bazillion things to do, and already don't have enough time to do it in.  So we prioritize based on how we can reach "the most" students, and do our best to help the others in some way, usually by calling in another professional to assist with the ones who need the most help.  We tell ourselves things like "there's just not enough time" or "there will still be a plan for them to be successful in high school," or my least favorite phrase--"they are just going to be passed on anyway."  I absolutely understand that, and have even uttered those phrases myself before.  But saying those things doesn't absolve us from doing everything we can for our students.  Reading is important.  It is the most important.  The ability to read, or lack thereof, can make an extraordinary difference in a child's life and future, and then in their own children's future.  It's not just a skillset.  It's a measure of confidence and real-world savvy.  And hopefully, for most, it's a pleasure.  So when you cannot read at a level comparable to those around you, it can be tough.

Have you ever tried to do something that was new or difficult for you, and when you finished you were just so tired?  I recently taught myself how to type some code into google sheets to get the cells to do things I wanted them to do.  It took a while, and when I finished my eyes and brain and self were just so tired.  We expend so much mental energy learning about challenging or unfamiliar things that we are often unusually fatigued, maybe even exhausted.

We need to think about this idea in terms of students who are developing readers.  If you are unable to read words with more than one syllable, how do you get through a day where you are expected to know and understand a host of them?  If I, as an intelligent, grown educator, get fatigued by reading things when I can actually read them, how does a thirteen-year-old feel who reads on an approximate second grade level?  They are frustrated, exhausted, drained, dog-tired, and not nearly as successful as they, or we, want them to be.

So here are my pleas:

1) Take some time and listen to one of your students read aloud, especially if they are a developing reader.  It is more than worth the time it takes out of your class.  You may even find a way to help them understand your content better.

2) Remember that your developing readers have more obstacles on the path towards comprehension than others, and an entire day fighting what they struggle with is hard.  If you get frustrated in class trying to help them, imagine how they feel.