Grading In The Schools

Our hall monitor and I are talking about school. Kids are done with classes, so we are here on our own, grading, putting things in order, the usual. I've confided that this is my time to look busy. I'm not busy at all, but I need to look busy because most everyone else is terribly busy and will ask me to do some of their work. I'm not into that. 

Maybe this makes me seem like a bad colleague. 

Teaching is a good job, but grading sucks. I don't know anyone who enjoys grading or all the time it involves. One guy said he enjoyed reading student writing, and maybe he did, but I only enjoy reading as they're writing and working through the process. Once the piece is done, grading is mostly a bother. I write comments but they don't teach. They are to justify the grade which is usually lower than the kid wanted. 

Grading is something I work to avoid. I've found ways around most grading and, no surprise, seen no ill effects on learning. When I do have to grade stuff such as the final exam, I suck it up and grade the damn thing. 

But that doesn't mean it has to take much time. 

A teacher here is lamenting the time it will take him to grade the finals. "I'll be at it all week." I nodded and shrugged hoping he wouldn't ask what he then asked. "They take forever, don't they?" I nodded and shrugged some more. I hate to lie, but if I tell him I've finished grading, he won't believe me but word might get out that I'm done, and I can't have that. 

I am ordered to give a final and grade it. I don't want to run afoul of my admins (I prefer they forget I exist). I want to do my job well. I'm not looking for shortcuts around the directive. I actually like giving final exams. It's four days during which kids have incentive to work hard and be quiet. This year, to make things more peaceful and like real testing, I barred phones and headphones during the test. It went great. 

The other teacher imagines I have a huge stack of finals to grade, but I don't. 

Kids finished the final in dribs and drabs. As they finished the final, I graded it. The multiple choice is cake. Takes a minute. The essay has a strict rubric (from the state exams), and I've graded enough of them that I can do one in three minutes. Then there's a piece of free-writing graded largely on how much they wrote and how well they thought. That takes two minutes but only because I like reading them. Each final takes no more than six minutes to grade and I finished them as they came in. 

Don't tell, but all my finals are graded and recorded. 

Years ago I watched a teacher calculating grades from a paper gradebook with calculator. She was frustrated. It was taking forever. I asked, why not use a spreadsheet? She said she didn't want to take the time to learn how. I nodded and shrugged, bowing out of the room. She looked flustered and rushed. She had a lot of work to do. I went back to my room and probably read a book after closing my door. 

This year, my spreadsheet has calculated the grades. I haven't entered them into the school's system yet. Better to do that closer to the due date. Until then, I've got my computer out to do this writing. Around the computer I have paper printouts of grades, a thick folder full of final exams, and a binder full of plans for next year. In a tab I have my spreadsheet and I click into it whenever anyone comes in to talk with me. I look busy as hell, so they don't stay long. And I am busy. I'm writing this. So don't bother me.

Rules Of The Game In The Schools

Let me tell you a sad story.

Frank, a student who has been out of school for months, came to see me. At first, I had no idea why. He asked for "anything that can get me at least an 80 in this class." Then I understood. Sadness came over me as it always does when this happens. And this always happens. 

My school, like almost every school I know, is primarily focused on kids passing classes and graduating. The lowest grade we are allowed to give for the first three quarters is a fifty. Thus Frank, when he misses an entire quarter, still receives a fifty. There’s also a mandatory final exam in each class weighted as a kind of fifth quarter. This is all designed so the Franks can pass. I know of no requirement for seat time in New York State. I will gather the work for the past quarter, give it to him, grade what he returns, and likely put a passing grade on his report card. This is the sad part of the story.

Frank is a good enough kid for someone whose home life is completely fucked. When he's bad, he's bad, but mostly he's more of a houseplant taking up some space, head down, phone out, waiting for the bell. Today, he was energetic, saying, "I can do this, I can do this." He probably can. 

The sad part is what he’s being asked to do which doesn’t have much to do with learning. It turns out that learning doesn’t have that much to do with grading. Grades, honest teachers will tell you, are mostly about work completed. (Really honest teachers admit that grades also have to do with race, gender, parents, and economics.) Frank is required to do the work but not to learn. 

In the past I would have blamed my school, but it's not my school’s fault. To quote Pacino in And Justice For All, "The whole system's out of order!" But it's largely okay. Kids who play the game do well either by learning or just doing the work. Kids who don't play, usually fail, but some like Frank wise up near the end and take a bus to the marathon's finish line because there’s no rule saying they can’t.  

To be honest, when Frank came to me today I rolled my eyes and felt myself getting upset. But I remembered the game we’re playing, gave him some work, and when he hands that in I’ll give him more. After Frank left, a kid asked, "doesn't it piss you off when a kid can blow off the whole year and you have to pass him?" I smiled and recited a line I have taped beside my desk: 

"I have no thoughts about that which I care to express at this time." 

This is the game we play in schools. It's a sad story for students, schools, and society, but that’s how schools are. As for me, I'm reminded of the scene in Bull Durham when they are going over cliches: "I'm just happy to be here, hope I can help the ball club." I don't make the rules; I just play the game. Sad story, but it's all true.