I’m spending time grading this weekend, as usual, and that has me thinking about grading in general.

I’m also thinking about a question I was asked recently by a colleague regarding “authentic learning,” a key district initiative this year, and for the past few years.

I’m not going to say anything about district initiatives here.  I like this one.  I think it has brought about some really useful reflection, collaboration, and productive change.  I’m happy about that.

But that forces me to think about the authenticity of other things we do.

I think you can probably see where I’m going with this.  Are grades authentic?

Isn’t it obvious that they aren’t?

Where else in our lives, as adults, do we get “graded”?

Sure, we get evaluated all the time.  And I think it tends to go in one of two ways.  Either it is more specific and based on a complex, often multi-faceted system of overlapping qualities, or it is even more simplified (down to “yes,” “no,” or some shade of “maybe”).

As an adult, at almost any job (I hope), we have a chance to sit down with our supervisor and reflect on our job performance.  We can talk about our strengths and weaknesses, and we can determine areas that need improvement and areas of strength, where we might seek even higher levels of performance or opportunities for leadership.  We aren’t one single thing – usually.

Pick any human endeavor, and you start to notice how it really amounts to a set of skills and a body of knowledge, and how all of us have strengths and weaknesses in that area.  I like the basketball analogy (as a re-inspired Cavs fan).  Basketball is a complicated sport, especially to someone trying to learn the nuances of the professional game.  Some players excel at defense.  Some players are good “in the paint.”  Some are good outside shooters, passers, etc.  Some are great “above the rim.”  Then there are strong “bench players,” especially when you consider that no player stays in the game the entire 60 minutes.

In short, you can’t boil a basketball player’s skill down to A, B, C, D or F.  That’s too reductive.  You might be able to say that a player is an A-level outside shooter or passer, but you can’t reduce the whole game to a letter.  It doesn’t work – it doesn’t communicate anything specific or useful to the player.

In other words, it’s a useless thought experiment.  It’s “inauthentic.”

There’s more to it than this, though.  We are often faced with yes/no/maybe situations as well.  Ask any salesperson.  Or anyone who’s asked someone out on a date.  Here we have the opposite extreme.

I suppose the point of bringing up these two situations is a way of pointing out that grades seem to be trying to find a middle ground between useful specificity and quick-and-easy intelligibility.

Think about these two ways of answering the question, “Am I doing well at writing?”:

• “When it comes to narrative writing, you show a clear understanding of story structure, and you are able to create narratives that have a beginning, middle, and end.  Your characters confront conflict and are changed as a result.  However, you struggle with setting and with continuity.  Some of your characters don’t seem to play any real part in your story.  You struggle with creating a complex whole.  As far as expository writing goes, . . . “
• No

I feel like grades were invented to say just a little bit more than “yes” or “no.”  And sometimes I feel like grades are just about easy hierarchies – separating “smart” and “not-smart” kids.  (Please note: I don’t subscribe to this belief at all.  I’m familiar with the book Mindsets, and I’ve struggled through my own fixed mindset for years.)

If I ever start my own school, I think grades are going to be one of the things that get tossed out.  Kids need to be evaluated, and they need to know what they’re doing well and what they need to improve on, but it needs to be done differently.

I should definitely add, at this point, that I also believe very strongly in helping kids evaluate their own strengths and weaknesses, and that these things can be taught within the confines of a tiered letter-grade system.  I’m not abandoning hope – I’m just trying to nudge the “authentic learning” conversation in a different, hopefully productive and helpful direction.