Data, teaching, and education

"I love teaching, but I hate education."

-A veteran teacher

I heard a teacher say this today. I think she was referring to the new teacher evaluation system, which requires us to set quantifiable goals for student performance and then rates us according to whether we meet them or not.


While I think the current system is a bit misguided in it's emphasis on accountability as a driver for improving education, I doubt improvement is possible without a data-driven approach. Looking at the numbers, the "brutal facts" as they are called by Collins, is difficult, but it's the only way to know if we need to change. And we do.

This week I looked over the results of my latest chemistry test and realized that 25% of my students failed it. I also realized it was my fault. It was my failure. But we conducted what Collins calls an autopsy on that failure, and that opened the door to improvement. Next time, we'll do things differently.

I understand why many teachers recoil from the new system. But I think their fear (and that's what it is) may come from too narrow a focus. I think a focus on what I get out of teaching is the wrong focus. The right one is a focus on whether kids are learning (and whether they are all learning). That is, after all, my job. And that's education.

A better driver than accountability

Today I had planned a test on Chapter 3. It was supposed to be all about osmosis, the cell membrane, and all the parts of the cell--endoplasmic reticulum, golgi apparatus, lysosomes, and all that stuff. But I could tell yesterday that they were not ready. So I had two options:

1. Tell myself it was their fault. They had not been working hard enough. They hadn't studied. They were not serious enough about this. Etc. Etc. And give them the test anyway. Let the chips fall...
2. Acknowledge that maybe I had not provided enough time or the right experiences to help them learn the material, and postpone the test.

But there was another consideration. Some of my students had been less motivated lately. I'd noticed a bit more off-topic conversation and iPhone activity than normal. And part of me wanted to use the test to try to motivate them to try harder and use accountability as a driver. (If you've been following my blog, you can see where this is going here.)

That's when the third option occurred to me.

Give a short version of the test--a quiz, as a formative assessment, one that they would be able to retake for a better grade. I had noticed that they seemed to think they knew it all already, because they had studied the cell in middle school. This way, they could see where they stood.

So they came in today and I said all this, that I didn't think they were ready, so we'd put the test off until next week and just take a quiz today, and that they would have multiple attempts, and that they could get back to work on their cell projects when they were done.


Boom. They took the quiz, were surprised by how much they didn't know, and got right to work on their projects with renewed vigor.

When I returned a couple of projects to those students whose motivation had been waning and told them they had to revise them, they were all ears. After I clarified what I need them to do, they went right to it.

Amazing what happens when I stop worrying about holding some artificial line, stop trying to motivate with accountability, and start focusing on my students and what they need to master the subject.  

They want to master it.

Zebra envy

It's not uncommon to see teachers  huddled like zebras under attack, passionately attacking CT's new teacher evaluation system. I've been one of them. But it makes me think about the the way that fear hinders us--how it stops us from growing.

Zebras don't get ulcers, at least according to Robert Sapolsky, and here's why: Because they don't fear the lion until they scent her, hear her or see her.

People get ulcers--they experience chronic stress, because our big frontal lobes extend our sight into the distant future, and we see countless lions-that-could be lurking in the grass of the future.

And it's worse than that. There are no lions. The disapproval of our peers turns into a life threatening predator in our subconscious, and failure at work or school is a lion in our minds. The possibility of a bad rating on a teacher evaluation rubric taps into our primal fight-or-flight response, and we respond as if a cheetah were on our tail.

I've been in a few potentially life-threatening circumstances, but none of them had to do with rubrics. I've displeased some people, and failed lots of times, and it's never really warranted the stress it caused me.

Fear is usually a sham--a glitch in the system caused by this combination of the threat-detection system we inherited from our pre-primate ancestors. Unfortunately this is a big glitch, because fear makes us huddle, hide, tense up, shrink back, and bare our teeth, when we should open up and move forward. We end up with missed opportunities, stagnant lives, organizations, and relationships, hostility of all kinds, and who knows what else.

Sometimes I wish I were a zebra. Then I could just enjoy the grass and the breeze and the sunshine until there really was a lion. Of course, then I wouldn't be able to write this blog post or contemplate the mystery of existence either. I guess I'll stick with the cerebral cortex and just learn to see fear for what it usually is: a figment of my imagination, and watch it float by like a dark cloud on the sky of my mind. Then I'll allow myself to be open to new perspectives, open to criticism and improvement, open to change and challenge, open to whatever life has in store.

The Goal: Level 5

When he analyzed great companies for his book Good to Great, Collins and his team were caught off guard by the common characteristics of the companies' leaders. They weren't the stereotypical charismatic superhero types we associate with CEOs of extraordinary firms. Instead, they were characterized by a quiet humility and a "intense professional will." This is cool, but challenging.

“Level 5 leaders channel their ego needs away from themselves and into the larger goal of building a great company. It’s not that Level 5 leaders have no ego or self-interest. Indeed, they are incredibly ambitious–but their ambition is first and foremost for the institution, not themselves.”

I'm not sure where I am on the leadership pyramid, but this is my goal, and it resonates with my recent thinking-blogging. There more I can keep my eyes off myself--become disinterested in myself, the more successful I will be.

Conversation with my former self on grading

Bill (2014): Bill, I noticed your test averages are usually around 75%. Do you scale them up to that average?

Bill (2010): I do. I guess I figure the performance of the students should roughly follow a normal distribution with an average of 75.

Bill (2014): Why did you pick 75?

Bill (2010): I don't know. Isn't that the historical concept of average? And if it's normally distributed, then that would put the high at 100 and the low at 50, so I'm ensuring that the best students are challenged.

Bill (2014): OK, so the best students set the standard, and you are measuring the others relative to that. So you're really using the grade as a measure of their relative ability. Is that what you intend?

Bill (2010): Not really. I guess I'm trying to measure their mastery of chemistry, but also trying to ensure that I am setting the standard for mastery high enough.

Bill (2014): Why not decide what skills and concepts they really need to master, and then measure their mastery of them?

Bill (2010): Hmm... that would make sense.

Bill (2014): And why not shoot for 100% of your students mastering them. Why does it matter how they compare to each other?

Bill (2010): I see your point. But how do I ensure they are all challenged?

Bill (2014): Why not ditch the whole percentage grade thing and use a different sort of scale--one with "Mastery" at one level (and that's your goal) and something like "Extraordinary" at a higher level.

Bill (2010): So some students will just shoot for Extraordinary just for the sake of being Extraordinary?

Bill (2014): Sure. Wouldn't you?