Several years ago, during a one-on-one conversation with an art teacher at the middle school where I was principal, I came to an unsettling realization.
We were wrestling with the fact that our traditional way of grading was doing our children a disservice. As the school leader, I had spoken with many alumni who told me just how different the expectations were in high school.
When I reflected on one graduate who had recently returned to visit, I realized that we had set her up to fail.
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The recent graduate had been a wonderful student. She showed up every day, worked hard, and supported her peers. She was delightful. She was also behind academically.
She had come to us from an elementary school that was underperforming and could often feel chaotic. At home, she was living a life that more closely resembled adulthood than childhood, often minding younger children and taking care of a mom who needed help.
With support from her teachers, she was earning A’s and B’s on her report card. However, her grades were not an accurate reflection of her independent mastery of standards. Our A’s and B’s represented that she completed classwork, turned in her homework, and participated in class. None of that meant that she grasped the content and skills—but in our district, it did mean she was eligible for one of the “top” high schools.
When she graduated from our school, she attended one of those selective high schools only to transfer out in less than a year. When she came back to visit, she shared that the new environment was simply too much for her. Classes were bigger, and teachers had less capacity to individualize instruction.
Even though we wanted all our students to have access to the most prestigious schools, it wouldn’t mean much if they couldn’t be successful.
If we wanted to do a better job for students like her, then we had to adjust the way we graded—which would mean changing the way we instructed.
I set out to learn more about standards-based grading, an approach to learning that evaluates student learning against a specific set of standards. Students have multiple opportunities to retake assessments, with their final grade reflecting their mastery of a skill or standard rather than the average of various assignments. If you got a 50% on the fraction test, for example, you could take it again. If you got a 75% the next time, that was your new grade.
This approach meant that children’s grades would reflect academic mastery and nothing else. Our team researched it, talked to staff, and discussed it with alumni.
Eventually, we shifted the school to standards-based grading. Our team tested things out, had honest debates, observed each other’s classrooms, and argued. We figured out how this approach would work for special education. We talked about all the different ways assessments could look. We hashed out how many times a student could reassess. We sat down with families and got their feedback.
When we stripped away the other pieces of traditional grading and solely focused on standard mastery, students’ grades dropped precipitously.
I would love to say that we met this challenge head-on. That we took it as an opportunity to be great. But that’s not true—not immediately.
For many of us, our initial response was despair. What were we doing here? What had we been doing?
I thought that standards-based grading would increase equity. Traditional school consistently rewards children whose families have more resources. However, there are always the kids who can handle the material but don’t have the time and support to complete their homework each night. Now, that they wouldn’t be penalized for incomplete homework, their grades should have increased.
Instead, students were confused, turned in their homework at lower rates, and demonstrated a reluctance to reassess on material that they hadn’t mastered. Instead of taking advantage of the chance to raise their scores, they appeared content to accept the initial grade.
After coping with our grief, my staff and I talked about what we could do. Teachers made adjustments. We increased formative assessments. We added reassessment windows. We delineated between assignments that could be retaken and ones that couldn’t.
Slowly, things began to change. We heard the students using the language that we were using. Families were reaching out with questions about reassessments. Teachers began to settle into a rhythm.
We codified our work. We redesigned grading criteria, held meetings where teachers shared what was working and what wasn’t, and showed videos of students walking through their assignments to current and prospective families.
Eventually, standards-based instruction became part of who we were. Families and kids entered the community knowing that we would work hard to build relationships and that students’ grades would be a reflection of the skill they had mastered—not how competent they were at following the rules. At our school, you would know which standards your child had mastered and which ones they were still working to develop.
We were never looking to penalize the kids who had figured out how to play the game of school; we were simply trying to create a fairer and more accurate system of assessment. One that encouraged students to have a sense of ownership of their learning.
Under our new system, I don’t believe that the graduate who prompted my revelation would have earned the same A’s and B’s that got her into the high school she wasn’t prepared for—at least not right away. I like to imagine that she would have risen to meet the challenge and that we would have been more attuned to her skill gaps.
Of course, even if we had transitioned to standards-based instruction sooner, our system would still be imperfect. All grading systems are.
Authentic learning happens over time and looks different for each of us. We master skills at our own pace. We comprehend when we’re ready, not because of an imaginary end point in time. Grading doesn’t naturally reflect learning; it highlights comparisons, averaging, and sorting.
While my teachers and I knew that we could not upend the paradigm of grading in education, we knew we could try to find the most authentic way of playing that game—for every other kid who came through our doors.
