Note: Intended for the beginning of a school year (the tagged “opening salvo”). Each subheading links to an Atmosphere song, which is unrelated to anything but how good Atmosphere is.
The focuses of this instructional post are in-class focus and feedback. The impetus is that it is never too early to warn you against straying from the path. We shouldn’t wait until the spring to discuss poor decisions; we should talk about it now, at the beginning of things, before any bad habits metastasize. The worst habits, like wasting class time and ignoring instruction, will slowly end you.
There’s something in that warning that should scare you, and I’ll tell you what it is. First, here’s what it is not.
It’s not what happens when you ignore instruction. That decision is insubordinate and disrespectful and breaking pretty specific rules of the whole school, and our classroom can only tolerate that for so long. Then you face some kind of punishment. Parents are called, Guidance meetings are arranged, infantilizing behavioral plans maybe get drawn up, etc. But that should embarrass you, not scare you.
It’s not your grade. As many posts explain, GAP scores suffer most when there isn’t evidence of in-class focus and feedback. The margin for error is less as you get older, too, but that’s obvious. That shouldn’t scare you, except to the extent that you are scared of the traditional Skinner-box shocks to your system.
It’s not even what bad decisions truly do to you. You are, right now, becoming a permanent version of yourself, and that self, for some of you, is going to be uninteresting, unskilled, and undisciplined. Believing otherwise is the “grain through the body of a bird” error explained many years ago in the first guide to this stuff, which puts it this way:
The ugly parts of us don’t operate on a switch. Apathy, disrespect, entitlement—these aren’t sweaters or jackets you can shrug off and cast aside when you’re tired of wearing them. That stuff will stick to you, stay with you, for a long time. When you choose not to work, you are breeding future selves, developing right now the habits that will poison or empower you in every aspect of your life. Your daily life is inculcation in its purest form: the linking together of a chain of decisions that will protect you or drag you down.
But that is more depressing than it is scary.
What you ought to fear is missing out1. Everyone who invests in this course and its philosophy, who works hard and pays careful attention, unlocks something special, and that is no longer a wild claim:
In essence, there are two courses taught in a Humanities makerspace. The first one exists to improve how you do your work, pay attention, and develop basic skills and traits. It attempts to make you a half-decent citizen of the world. It’ll cover ELA staples, get you ready for exams and graduation, and help you feel less stressed about grades.
The second course exists to transform you. Its students are smarter, more interesting, and more engaged. On their worst days, they have a space that understands and supports them. On their best days, they find real freedom and true inspiration.
Yes, you should be afraid of low grades, making disrespect a habit, upsetting the teacher enough that he decapitates you in the middle of class2. But much more existentially terrifying should be the risk of wasting such an opportunity.
To be in a room with people who have unlocked that deeper level is a constant reminder that you could have done it, too. You have the freedom to become a better person, to study many of the things you want, to do many of the things you want — and instead you’ve wasted it all to scroll through Instagram or play a video game3.
The purpose of a GAP score is to tell the story of your learning. The number unpacks to a profile, which unpacks to the work you’ve done in the course over (in our case) three weeks or so. To figure out that GAP score, you might want the complete guide next to you; you can get away, however, with just the following:
Every 15 days or so, you will be given a Google Form through which you indicate which GAP score you believe fits you. The data we gather through that form help us assess your struggles with the Dunning-Kruger effect and/or the imposter syndrome. Two of the self-assessments ask you to consider your in-class focus and use of feedback. That’s because those really are perhaps the two most important contributors to your success, even before you get to the logic of the profiles themselves.
Here is a document that explains further:
Starting at the top of that handout, you see again these two most basic requirements of this course, which are also the two keys that unlock upper-tier success:
- You must make the most of the class period.
- You must invest in feedback.
Feedback is also the focus of this instructional post, which links to an updated Medium essay on feedback here. These counter a lot of long-standing rumors while reiterating the importance of our time together during the school day — see this essay or this one for more on working face-to-face and during the period. Here is another post on the concept, too.
Back to focus and feedback: Part 1 of the handout (“The Keys”) asks you to self-assess your in-class focus and the level of feedback you’ve generated. Again, it’s an iteration of what you see in the Google Form you complete every three weeks or so. It is a color-coded, subjective self-assessment.
What may help to clarify how a self-assessment is useful is a look at what the old version of this handout looked like. Instead of circles, there was a line of emojis:
When viewed through some browsers, the faces looked like this:
This will seem unimportant, but there was a reason to use faces instead of numbers, at least originally. It is all about relative self-assessment.
In our case, there are two perspectives. The first is the imagined perspective of an objective observer. What would someone notice about your in-class focus and feedback over the course of several weeks? That observer doesn’t care about why you were playing video games or mindlessly reloading Snapchat; he just makes a note that you were.
The second perspective is relative, and it’s inspired a bit by the Wong-Baker pain scale:
There is a lot of subjectivity in this sort of self-assessment. What you consider to be a 10 — the worst pain you’ve ever experienced — might be only a 4 or 6 for a much less fortunate person. It’s still a 10 for you, though, because you can only base it on your experience. That’s the second perspective in our classroom: To a small extent, your best version of focusing might be different from that of others, and we might adjust — to a small extent — the standards to which you are held. You might be capable only of a certain level of feedback. That’s okay, if it’s true.
Again, the first perspective on your body of work is ultimately more important:
What would an objective observer write down, if he was asked to describe your habits and behavioral patterns?
We aren’t always after the reasons you were compelled to play on your phone for 35 minutes while your required reading gathered dust in front of you. We can’t always take into consideration why you were playing video games instead of workshopping an essay. And, in fact, advocacy is such an integral part of the course that if you did need to space out for 35 minutes, you could probably ask for that, reflect on it later, and end up learning quite a bit about yourself4.
Part 2 of the handout (“The Engine”) clarifies these two perspectives through some close reading. The selections you see come from grade abatement profiles of 2, 4, 6, and 8, which give us final scores of 60, 70, 85, and 95, respectively. By any heuristic, these are the profiles that serve as benchmarks for failure and success. These small excerpts should help you arrive at a more accurate and helpful GAP score.
GAP 2 | A 2 {may indicate} [a deliberate and systemic disengagement]…
This is a question of repeated, conscious choice. How many times does a student need to disengage, miss work, lose focus, etc, before it is “deliberate and systemic”? How many mistakes are permissible? No one expects perfection, even at the level of a 9, but we have to start the discussion with some sort of threshold. You have agency and self-control, and very few students goof off out of malice. You do it without thinking. At a certain point, however, a lack of adjustment or a lack of thinking is a choice.
GAP 4 | These students {do not meet} [the basic requirements of the course]…
The GAP 2 has modal language, which is language suggesting possibility. The student “may” meet those criteria, but there are other ways to slip to that tier. For a GAP 4 and its surrounding scores, the language is direct: If you do not meet the basic requirements of the course, you really shouldn’t be scored any higher than a 4 (70).
The question, then, is what the course defines as its basic requirements. Right now, as always, the course values in-class focus and student-driven feedback more than anything else. This new handout also lists the obvious stuff, like getting work in on time and being amenable to redirection, as basic requirements. As the handout says, it’s about doing the job on the days you would rather be watching Netflix, instead of, you know, actually watching Netflix in class5.
So the question is, again, how lenient we ought to be. Where is the line between human error and apathy or indulgence? It isn’t a hypothetical question. To illustrate what I mean, here are data from a normal classroom at 9:00 AM on 5/17/17:
Those are self-reported GAP scores from about a dozen students for a three-week assessment period. See how high the scores are? Maybe you can spot the issue when you read the original directions from the Google Classroom assignment:
That clearly states that completing the form before May 19 would lower a student’s profile score. So about a dozen students, some of them otherwise excellent, didn’t read the directions before jumping in. They also didn’t read the calendar, and they seem to have forgotten what we discussed in class. Yet they self-reported scores in Tier 4. Should those students have received lower GAP scores? Should we have shrugged away their mistake, even though it was mid-May? Where do we draw the line?
And that’s an innocuous example. The point might be that these are complicated problems, and we need to talk early and often about them.
GAP 6 | Students earning a 6 {are consistent and reliable} [in performance]…
My theory is that you consider “performance” to be only a particular set of things you do in school. Tests are performances. Essays are performances. Exams are definitely performances. The formative steps aren’t performative in the same way, so you cut corners and cheat the system if/when you need to. That’s not a finger-wagging accusation: Over the years, hundreds of students have admitted to copying homework, using Schmoop before a class discussion, zoning out during lectures, etc.
This course rests on the opposite principle: The process is what matters, and the products should never be the primary focus of our learning. That means that “consistent and reliable” work happens every day. I encourage you to read about that philosophy in this article about preschool crafts, and then to skim this:
View at Medium.com
GAP 8 | An 8 {reflects} [a systemic investment in the course]…
In many of the notes on earning a GAP 8, you’ll see “galvanize” identified as the key verb. That’s true, but another important verb is “reflects,” in no small part because of what it does for us metaphorically.
Most of your self-assessment looks at quantifiable stuff. You could, for instance, count the number of minutes you’re off-task when determining that a GAP 4 is your fate. If you believe you’ve been “consistent and reliable,” you can add up the assignments you’ve handed in, collate the formative and process-based work you did, and stack up your feedback-driven metacognition. It’s sortable, stackable, quantifiable data.
When you invest in the entire system, however, your evidence moves beyond the quantifiable and into something more reflective. Which is not to get too existential6. Think about how else we can use “reflect” in a classroom: It’s the other part of the self-monitoring you do, alongside metacognitive writing and discussion. You reflect your investment through self-monitoring. Once you observe the true purpose of the work, you can set the course accordingly. You’re in control of the learning, because you are involved in all parts of the system — not just the daily class periods and formal writing assignments, but everything.
Which is why Part 3 of this new handout, “The Vehicle,” is a list of the universal skills and traits we value. They are streamlined and edited a bit, but they aren’t changed fundamentally from the other guides to grade abatement, collaboration, and so on. Every iteration helps a bit. When you are invested enough, in fact, and when your focus becomes honing these skills, you will see them reflected in everything you do.
That’s why it matters less which books we read, which essays you write, and which discussions we have. It’s more important for you to memorize our list of skills and traits, and then for us to work together to determine what you need to do to hone your strengths and eliminate your weaknesses. This becomes the blueprint for your growth:
At this point, your brain should be churning as it begins to process this. You may need to write down your understanding for me to read and comment on. You may want to write about your previous experiences with grades. You may need to ask questions in the comment section below7. Regardless, you absolutely must write something in response to all this feedback — not just because that is a formal assignment, but because it’s the whole point.
First, I want to add that I still believe that it is nearly impossible to fake in-class focus and feedback. You can fake a certain level of curiosity and empathy, but it’s nearly impossible to reframe a period spent off-task as anything but what it was. You can rush through a few pages of perfunctory reflection, but it’s nearly impossible to turn a real lack of feedback and investment into something else.
Since “nearly” impossible is not the same as “totally” impossible, I usually try to pitch faking it in here as a good idea, theoretically speaking. That was the theory as early on as the tenth section of this essay:
If you force yourself through the motions in here, those motions will inculcate the skills and traits we want. A misanthrope who forces himself to take collegial and galvanizing actions will incrementally learn empathy. A narcissist who forces herself to reflect and metacogitate every week will incrementally find new self-awareness and insight. An apathetic student who grinds through assignments just to get them done will incrementally gain a real appreciation for the value of the work.
That’s idealistic, but it seems to be true for most students: If you fake it, at least you’re doing some good. Learning doesn’t have to be a zero-sum game.
I think there’s something else to add, though: If you decided that this “nearly impossible” claim was a challenge, you might figure out how to fake it. You might fool me. Or you might just slip through the cracks, earning credit when credit is definitely not due. Then the hard-working students become frustrated, seeing a kind of injustice. No one wants to feel cheated, to have a peer succeed dishonestly, or to see a good system subverted.
So here’s the thing: Did that person succeed? Did he really? When a student “cheats” in here, all he’s done is get worse at everything that the world actually values. That vehicle for learning — the list of universal skills and traits — might as well be a car rusting on cinder blocks in the front yard. The student, having gotten away with wasting class time and ignoring feedback, has made himself more distracted and more disrespectful. He knows less now and can do less with the little he knows than his peers. He’s grown dishonest and cynical and selfish.
That’s… not really a victory. How do you imagine you would celebrate that? “Boy, I tricked him! I’m a terrible student! My life is going to be much harder now!”
I mean, yes, I’m upset about that, but not in a mustache-twirling kind of way8. I would like the world to be filled with respectful, creative people who take advantage of extraordinary opportunities to learn about themselves and the world around them. I hope you will make that world a better place through your intelligence and compassion. I believe in your potential, and I hate to see it wasted.
That’s all.
