All was mostly well during those six weeks, and I found my students to be incredibly engaged. At one point, we spent three days on a single thesis statement alone—students writing their claims, discussing them without fear of negative retribution in the form of a grade, and then redoing them happily. Before, such a lengthy lesson would have been met with endless questions about how many points it was worth, and if the teenage math didn’t add up for them—if the cost outweighed the benefits—I would have been forced to increase the points to improve motivation or move on more quickly than they needed. In this situation, however, everything was low risk for the students, so they approached assignments more positively. And because grades were irrelevant, the challenge of the assignment took precedence.

If a student wasn’t meeting expectations or turning in assignments, I discussed my concerns with them and their parents within a day. Many parents seemed to appreciate this quick, frequent contact, and several contacted me regularly for updates. I wasn’t overwhelmed with this level of contact, although I might have been in the past, because I didn’t have to worry about converting standards to point values and inputting them into the grade book. Typically, my assessment process takes anywhere from a week to a couple of months, and the pressure along the way from students, parents, and administrators often shifts my focus away from learning and toward frequent inputting of grades. But when grades were put on the back burner, I was freed up to focus on authentic communication of actual learning and growth. My sole focus became the learning of each student and sharing my observations of that learning in the moment. It felt like a revelation.

But then the time came to actually start grading. Parents who had been thrilled with consistent contact and specific feedback only weeks before suddenly seemed perplexed as to why their child’s grades were not 100 percent all the time. I was soon spending significant time on the phone, responding to emails, and sitting down to conference with parents who complained about a lack of communication. Ironically, my contact with parents was the most intensive it had ever been in 12 years of teaching.

Now, obviously, I am not perfect. With any of these interactions, I very possibly could have been more communicative. But it was so baffling to me to see that in the eyes of a parent, a numerical evaluation was more informative and meaningful than frequent written and spoken descriptions. As the dust settled and we moved further into the school year, it occurred to me that perhaps this was because the product of learning is often more comfortable and affirming than the process of it. Consider that having a degree is often validating regardless of actual skills, and a test score could never illustrate the hours spent studying to achieve it. A willingness to learn for its own sake represents intrinsic motivation, while grades and other accolades represent extrinsic. Research has shown time and again that intrinsic motivation leads to more profound learning. The truth is that the willingness to learn leads to achievement, but so often achievement is the only part that matters to others.