The Magic and Misery of Student Video Submissions

Allowing students to represent their learning through video creates exciting possibilities and serious challenges to our sanity at the same time.

Image Source: Apple

I’m a big believer in allowing our students to represent their learning in as many different ways as possible.

Writing is the conventional means for this, and don’t dump on it. Effective writing is as powerful and important as ever, says this English major.

The keyboard is still mightier than the sword, notwithstanding the trolls.

But students can also represent their learning through drawings, posters, brochures, magazines, slideshows, animations, group presentations, speeches, plays, audio recordings, and a host of other expressions.

They can also use video recordings.

The magic of video submissions

When I started teaching in 2001, there was no way for students to represent their learning through video and share it effectively.

We didn’t have iPads or Chromebooks back then. We didn’t even have wifi.

By comparison, students and teachers of today have an embarrassment of riches at our disposal. Using tools like Seesaw and Canva, students can record picture-in-picture videos or screencasts that include explanations and demonstrations of their learning.

There are probably hundreds of specific applications of video in the classroom, but here are three of my current favorites:

1. Writing piece read-alouds

Any time my English students complete a piece of writing of any significance, I ask them to read it aloud on Seesaw in the form of a screen recording. By zooming in on their text (usually a Google Doc) as they read, students allow their parents to follow along on their own devices while they listen to their child.

This practice is such a no-brainer for any middle school language classroom. It positions students to truly own their writing, refine and revise their texts (they always discover mistakes when they read them aloud), and strengthen their oral communication skills — another important curricular standard.

2. Video reflections after independent reading

Our students sometimes feel like every time they turn around, they’re writing another reflection. I think reflections are good practice for lots of reasons, but we can also mix it up a little bit. They don’t always need to be typed or written, and students generally appreciate the change-up.

Here’s an activity from my Seesaw library that I can re-post in a few clicks after any independent reading period. It meets curricular standards, requires critical thinking, strengthens oral communication skills, and provides some gentle accountability.

Wins all around.

3. Math solution demonstrations as screencasts

When I’m teaching Math, I like to ask students to demonstrate their solution to a problem as a narrated screen recording.

This gives me so much more information than simply “Did they find the right answer?” I can watch, listen, track their understanding and observe their whole process. Depth of proficiency is all right there.

The video becomes another helpful artifact in their learning journal. And the student’s parents can see precisely where their child’s learning is, too.

It’s a thing of beauty.

The misery of video submissions

Now it’s time to face the bitter truth about video submissions.

They take forever to fully review.

FOREVER.

I taught 160 unique middle school students each semester this year as part of my 60% teaching time. (We’ll stay focused today and ignore the fact that my 40% admin time took up about 80% of my energy.)

Let’s say that in the course of one week, I assigned each of my 160 students a learning activity that required submission of a video. (I know the UDL advocates will speak up to say that I should be offering more choices for means of representation, but work with me, folks.)

Let’s say that each of those 160 students submits a video that averages three minutes in length. That’s eight hours of viewing.

Now I know I don’t have to watch every single video in its entirety, but you see my point. When you put those hours beside all my other teaching and administrative duties, the time quickly becomes impossible. Absurd, even.

Some of my dear students sincerely expect me to watch every second of everything they post. Bless their hearts, but I can’t meet that demand and stay sane at the same time.

What are we to do?

Should we just give up and avoid video submissions altogether?

The good news about video activities

Thankfully, I bring you glad tidings of great joy, tired teacher. We don’t have to grade everything. We don’t have to offer feedback on everything, either.

I first encountered this word of hope from Dylan Wiliam and Siobhan Leahy in Embedding Formative Assessment:

“The most important takeaway from the research is that the shorter the time interval between eliciting the evidence and using it to improve instruction, the bigger the likely impact on learning.”

I draw three conclusions from this quote, and friend, they are important.

1. The feedback I offer my students in real time has the greatest impact of any feedback they receive.

This is as true on the basketball court or in the band room as it is in my English classroom. So I engage, interact, look over shoulders, sit with students, observe what they’re doing, ask questions, offer feedback, and support their learning whenever and wherever I can during class time.

2. The feedback I offer my students hours or days or even weeks after the fact isn’t too valuable.

You know those five hours you spent last Saturday posting feedback on student work? Not a great return on your investment, research suggests.

That’s not to say that we should never offer feedback or grade student work long after the time of completion. I do so when it seems important to, especially when I’m relying on particular pieces of evidence of learning to construct an accurate picture of a student’s progress.

But I weigh my investment of attention and energy against the time that has elapsed since the student completed the work. The greater the gap, the less impact my feedback or assessment is likely to have on their learning.

3. Learning activities can often support student learning, even without feedback or assessment from the teacher.

Look at the three examples of video submissions that I listed above. I would argue that each and every one is valuable for the student to complete, whether or not I offer feedback or assess the activity.

Yes, sometimes I will offer feedback during class or after it. But other times I can’t and won’t. And that’s okay, because the student is still winning.

They’re still thinking critically.

They’re still demonstrating their knowledge and understanding.

They’re still strengthening their oral communication skills.

They’re still reflecting on their learning.

My students don’t receive points or percentages for anything they do, so I hardly ever hear “Is this for marks?” or “Will this be graded?”

For the most part, they just do it. Because that’s the culture we’ve built.

And I sleep with the satisfaction of knowing they are moving their own learning forward.

Learning can happen without us, not to mention the possibilities afforded by peer- and self-assessment. Sometimes we need to drop the hero complex and remember that the children in our care have the capacity to learn and grow on their own.

Even if we don’t always see their finished product? (Gasp.)

Yes.

That’s not an abdication. It’s a recognition of student agency.

Dig it or ditch it? The final verdict on video representations of learning.

I’ve shown you the magic.

I’ve detailed the misery of the time it takes to actually review every video submission.

And I’ve assured you that by opening the door to these representations of learning, you’re not actually kissing your sanity goodbye.

So I say dig it.

Offer feedback and coaching in the moment. Offer likes and encouragement whenever you can. Grade work and provide assessment when you must.

Don’t drive yourself crazy, but take this tool out of the toolbox.

What happens next just might bring back some of your fire for learning.

And your community will be better for it.

Recovering My Fire for Education

When my creative voice lapses into silence, it’s both a symptom and a cause.

Friday’s paddleboarding trip was an important part of my summer recovery.

How are you doing, colleague?

Yesterday was officially my first freestyle day of summer.

By that, I mean that my last day of work was Friday, June 30th, and every day since has been spoken for. Not by work obligations – I’m talking about good stuff like a family vacation, appointments, and a paddleboard trip with colleagues. The last week has been life-giving in many ways, and I’m deeply grateful for the time I’ve enjoyed with family and friends.

But yesterday was wide open on the calendar. And the peace that I felt told me I freaking needed this. My spirit had been waiting for such a day for weeks, months even.

Which brought me back to this spot. Writing. Putting words together. Claiming the delicious luxury of unhurried quiet time to reflect, look back, take stock of myself, and think about how I want the next few weeks to unfold.

My last blog post was made on April 9th. Three months ago.

How am I doing now? Better.

How was I doing through May and June? Not awesome.

I’ve written many times about the ways that my MEdL degree (2017) and my creative work at Teachers on Fire (2018) breathed new fire into my work in education. Blog posts, podcast episodes, and YouTube videos have blessed me with more opportunities to reflect, learn, and engage with education thought leaders than I ever imagined.

When I’m doing well as a person, I’m doing well as a professional, but I’m also taking time each week to create. Profession and passion are both burning bright.

That means I’m writing. I’m speaking. I’m sharing ideas and engaging in education conversations that in turn pour fuel on my fire and help me be the education leader that I’m called to be. It’s a virtuous cycle.

I know that makes me a weirdo. I know that most teachers need a break from education reading, writing, and conversations on the weekends, and I get that. But for me, there’s a fire that is kindled when I’m engaged in those spaces.

The header on my Teachers on Fire YouTube channel reads “Warming your heart. Sparking your thinking. Igniting your practice.” That’s a mission born from personal experience.

So when my creative work lapses into silence, it’s both a symptom and a cause.

Creative silence as a symptom

On the one hand, my creative silence is a symptom, because when overwork and burnout encroach on my mental health, creative work becomes expendable. When I’m struggling just to keep my head above water professionally, I lose the bandwidth to write or record.

Even if I do find the scraps of emotional bandwidth to consider creating a piece of content on a weekend, I’m plagued by guilt and the optics of distraction. Should I really be writing for pleasure on a Saturday while work emails and tasks pile up unattended, family members deserve more of my time and attention, or home maintenance duties call?

My creative silence is a sign that I’m being stretched – sometimes badly so. It means that my mental, emotional, physical, and spiritual health is not what it should be. No margin.

Creative silence as a cause

My creative silence also becomes a cause of mental and emotional decline in itself. Just as restoring cars, fishing, or crocheting breathes life into some educators, producing and engaging with education is my catharsis. As an Adobe study recently found, creating content can be a deep source of joy and fulfillment for creators.

As I said, it’s been three months since I’ve felt the latitude to pick up the proverbial pen and write. Twelve weeks away from the written word.

A creative drought, if you will.

I know these are first-world problems. I know there’s a tremendous amount of privilege and entitlement involved when it comes to lamenting the absence of passion projects.

But I’m speaking to the space and place that I’m in, and I’m speaking from the conviction that every full-time educator owes it to their own mental health to engage in pursuits of passion outside of work time. We cannot be just our work.

By my ideals and values, 90 days between writing pieces is unacceptable.

Moving forward

In the days and weeks to come, I want to take some time, some rest, and further reflection to unpack the last term and sort through the mechanics of my decline in wellness and creative output. There’s some learning to be done here, and that will likely be worthy of its own post.

But for now, I’m going to enjoy this moment. Laundry is clean and sorted. The lawn has been mowed and the car has been washed. The family is safe, healthy, and happy. My office window is open and I’m enjoying the light breeze of a warm summer day.

I have nowhere to rush to and no tasks that require urgent attention. I’m back to writing, and I can feel my fire for learning coming back.

Have a great summer, colleague. Whenever you have the time or inclination, I’d love to connect on Twitter @MisterCavey. And if not – if your passions lead you elsewhere – know that I’m cheering you on.

Let’s get our fire back.

Take care,

Tim

Two Scary Phone Habits That Will Bring Back Your Fire for Teaching

You’re not a victim: empower yourself by controlling your phone.

You’re lying in bed, minutes away from going to sleep. You’re looking sleepily at your phone and notice a new email. It’s from a parent of one of your students, and the subject line sounds emotional.

Uh-oh.

Your blood pressure skyrockets as you scan the opening lines. You put the phone down beside your bed, but it’s too late. You’re already rehearsing responses and worrying about how much time and energy this issue will steal from you the next day.

Bye bye, sleep.

On another evening, you’re trying to focus on a complex task and your phone starts buzzing repeatedly. Who’s messaging me like a madman right now?

You try to recenter your focus on the project, but you can’t shake the question. After a minute or two, you pick up your phone. I’ll just see who it was.

Fatal mistake. The teacher chat is popping off with questions about a school event happening the next day, and someone’s asking for support. As one of the more experienced members of the team, you’re one of the few who can answer questions and share resources. You jump in, and now you’re living in the chat for the next 30 minutes.

The conventional wisdom says you’re a victim.

These are well-known problems in teacher land, and the fingers often get pointed angrily at the origins of the messaging.

Why do they need to send me an email so late in the evening?

How dare they message me on my weekend?

Why won’t they respect my time?

First: the practical problems with scheduled emails

One well-traveled admonishment that I’ve heard in the last few years is for teachers and administrators to schedule all emails. Never send in real time on an evening or on a weekend — always schedule it for the next school day morning, this thinking goes.

I tried to hold to that religiously for a while. But I’ve noticed some practical problems with the practice.

For one, scheduled emails can waste everyone’s time.

Let’s say that a teacher emails three colleagues for a solution to a problem they’re facing. It’s entirely possible for all three recipients to craft lengthy, thoughtful replies to the query and schedule them all for Monday morning.

When the three replies arrive, it turns out there’s a whole lot of overlap and redundancy between them — they’re all saying the same thing. It’s a maddening waste.

Scheduled emails can also create confusion.

Scheduled emails can lead to email threads with conflicting or old-news replies jumbled together out of chronological order.

The thoughtful reply that was crafted on Saturday morning has been made utterly irrelevant by a decision made on Sunday night.

Worst of all, scheduled emails can create more stress than ever.

Just put yourself in the shoes of any teacher who comes into school on a busy Monday with no scheduled prep blocks to be greeted by an avalanche of unread emails written since Friday at 3:30. I’m not convinced that’s such a blessing for teacher mental health.

Feeling some doubts around the scheduled email practice, I went to teachers to get a sense of their preference. I posted a poll on Twitter and 189 responded.

As I suspected, the majority of teachers would actually prefer the option (not mandate) of reading school-related communications on the weekend (if and when they want to) versus the Monday morning avalanche.

Two radical phone habits that will bring back your fire for teaching

If scheduled emails aren’t the answer, we’re still left with the phone anxiety I described at the top. How can we keep digital communication in its place and make sure that we are engaging on our terms and not someone else’s?

As Dave Ramsey likes to say, you have to be sick and tired of being sick and tired in order to make real and painful changes.

Perhaps you’re there with phone emails and notifications.

Wherever you are and whatever your lived experience, here are two radical moves that will transform your lived experience.

Buckle up.

Habit 1: Leave your phone out of the bedroom at night

What if I told you that there was one simple change that you could make to your life that would produce the following:

Less stress about work
Less blue light in your day
Less electronic activity near your body
More sex
More sleep
More reading
More pillow talk
More journaling and reflection

That’s right. Leaving your phone out of the bedroom at night will produce all of these benefits and more. Guaranteed.

I started this practice a few years ago and find it easily one of the most personally transformative changes that I’ve ever made. It’s one of those simple-but-hard moves that absolutely anyone can make that costs nothing.

Even beyond the bullet list of benefits above, there’s a quality of mind that’s hard to describe and impossible to quantify when your phone is not on the same floor as you. It’s like going off the grid, but better.

And you can do it. Of course, I’ve heard all the reasons why people can’t make a similar move to keep their phones away from their bedroom at night.

“I need my phone for an alarm clock.”
“I need to be available for my children.”
“I need to be available in case of emergencies at the school.”

Most of this amounts to “What if” and FOMO.

Relax.

You’ll be okay without your black mirror beside your head while you sleep, just like your parents were.

Scary habit 2: Keeping your phone permanently on Do Not Disturb

As Tristan Harris points out in The Social Dilemma, things that are actually tools don’t control us. They don’t call to us. They don’t insist on breaking our focus.

Tools do exactly what we want them to, when we want them to. They are humble servants.

It’s for that reason that I don’t want to hear from my phone. At all.

Turning my phone’s ringer off is a no-brainer place to start, but that isn’t enough for me.

I don’t want vibrations when my phone is sitting on a surface. I don’t want my phone waking up (lighting up) with notifications of any kind. Ever.

If I’m occupied with a task, I want radio silence and a screen that stays dark.

And that’s what I get. By leaving my phone on Do Not Disturb (look for the moon symbol) 24/7, my phone never lights up, vibrates, or rings.

My phone tells me that I’m receiving an average of 168 notifications per day, and the apps pictured below the graph show the number of notifications each one would generate on a weekly basis if I allowed them to.

*Some of the 168 notifications per day that I’m not receiving on my phone thanks to DND*

The iPhone exception: favorite contacts can reach me

I can’t speak to Androids, but iPhones allow a small loophole for the conditions I described above.

If I’ve tagged a contact as a Favorite, their calls and messages will come through. That means that my wife, kids, parents, and school administrators can still call and text me. As a husband, parent, and vice-principal, I’m realistic enough to acknowledge that some exceptions must be made.

For the rest of the world, including my colleagues, they are still free to message me on iMessage, Google Chat, WhatsApp, or whatever. I purposely leave badges on those apps, so the next time that I open my phone, I’ll see that I received a message.

But I’m coming to the message on my terms, when I want to. I’m not allowing others to barge in on my work whenever they please.

Why not just remove all school email and apps from your phone?

This discussion wouldn’t be complete without addressing the Scorched Earth method. I know at least one colleague who refuses to have school-related communication (email or Google Chat) on his phone. And I know there are others who believe in that level of compartmentalization.

I respect the intention there, but I’m not interested. To me, the ability to be able to read and respond to emails and DMs from my team when it’s convenient for me is far too valuable.

My logic is that if I can read, file, and respond to 30 emails while I’m standing in the Costco line-up or waiting for a family member in the car, that’s 15 minutes of relaxation time that I can spend with my wife instead of sitting down at the computer.

Or let me put it this way: if I remove all school email and apps from my phone, I’m giving up those micro-opportunities to fend off Email Mountain that a typical day provides. Instead, I’m choosing to either stay longer at the school or give up more of my home time for work.

Do you like those choices? Neither do I.

Instead, I keep all options open so that I can respond to them on my terms: when I want to, when I have the emotional energy, and when it’s convenient for me.

Boundaries create freedom and empowerment

I titled this piece Two Scary Phone Habits because that’s what they are: scary. Most readers will acknowledge some level of logic in my arguments but will likely ignore both suggestions.

And that’s okay. It’s not my intention to should on you.

But if I hear you complain about school messages and emails coming to you at all hours of night and weekend, I’m going to remind you of something: you’re not a victim of some angry parent or over-zealous administrator.

Take control of your phone.

Take back your sanity by giving these two phone habits a chance.

The results just may change your life.

Photo credit: Flo Maderebner on Pexels.com

Should Teachers Attend Student Performances Outside of School?

“Why didn’t you attend our daughter’s musical?” the parents asked.

Photo Credit: Kristijan Arsov on Unsplash.com

Teaching is an amazing and rewarding space to work in.

It can also be utterly exhausting. As Washington teacher Tyler Rablin reminded us, it’s emotionally, mentally, and physically demanding work.

In the third term of last year, I was asked to attend three different performances involving my students. These were personal events completely unrelated to school. They included gymnastics, a choir performance, and a musical. They were scheduled on evenings and weekends.

I declined all of them.

You know these students mean well. In fact, it’s touching — humbling, even — that they wanted me there at those events, in the seats, cheering them on and bearing witness to the product of their dedicated preparation.

So I don’t blame them or their parents for wanting me there.

But as a part-time vice-principal, I get a little feisty when teacher wellness is put at risk unnecessarily. School-sanctioned evening events are already a big ask and take a big toll on teachers: I’m thinking here of Meet the Teacher Night, parent conferences, band concerts, and the like.

Keep in mind that many teachers are also parents, meaning they’re pulling double or triple duty for these evening events.

One night they’re supervising a band concert at their own school, the next night they’re wearing their parent hat and attending their child’s concert at another school. One night they’re hosting parent conferences, the next night they’re attending them.

Been there.

This on top of all the other countless demands that teachers must stay on top of outside of class time: lesson planning, feedback, IEP communication, email, and endless administrivia.

The parent and partner guilt that most teachers live under

Speaking of family life, many teachers operate under a continuous cloud of guilt. They may not admit it on the surface, but talk to them for any length of time and you’ll get a sense of what I’m talking about.

They wish they could be more emotionally available for their partners.

They wish they could have more energy for their own children.

They wish they could have more time to cultivate real relationships outside of work.

Now take the weight of this guilt and imagine them sitting through a 2-hour musical on a Wednesday night. It’s not good.

They’re tired. Their partner or children are at home. Lessons are waiting to be planned. Assignments are waiting for feedback.

It would be a touching gesture on the part of a generous teacher to show such support, but in my mind it just doesn’t add up.

The problem of precedent that parents must keep in mind

There’s another important reason why teachers are wise to decline these kinds of out-of-school student performances, and well-meaning parents may not recognize it at first.

If Miss Robinson says yes and attends Jackie’s figure skating championship, that only raises the pressure on her to also attend Jenny’s violin recital, Eddie’s swim meet, and Twila’s musical.

Even worse, it raises the pressure on her colleagues to do the same. It becomes a lot harder for teachers to decline all student performances when a colleague is somehow out in the community attending one of these performances after another.

Why didn’t you attend our daughter’s performance?

Last year I sat (in my role as part-time vice-principal) with a teacher while her parents asked her point blank: “Can we just ask why you didn’t attend our daughter’s performance?”

The implication was clear. You should have been there.

I didn’t like the question at all, but I was silent and allowed my colleague to respond.

It was a difficult moment. In my 22 years as an educator, I don’t think I’ve ever heard that question before.

If put in that situation again, I’d like to jump in. “Because we encourage our teachers and colleagues to say no to student performances happening outside of school,” I’d say flatly.

Teacher health and wellness requires a recognition that our time and energy are limited. Limitations require careful budgeting, and budgeting requires discrimination based on priorities.

None of us are wealthy enough to distribute money indiscriminately. That’s just common sense.

The same goes for time and energy. These are finite resources. And in the teacher life, they’re incredibly valuable.

In defense of teachers: parents, please don’t ask this of them

Parents, we love you dearly. It is such an honor and a privilege — truly, it is an incredible joy — to serve your beautiful children each day.

Help us be our best selves.

Help us keep the joy in our work and the fire in our eyes.

Help us protect the emotional bandwidth we need for the dozens of little people we interact with each day.

When it comes to your child’s performances, you’re welcome to send teachers a YouTube link to their wonderful work. If we have time, we just may watch a minute or two and leave a comment.

But please don’t ask a teacher to attend your child’s performance in person.

It’s Time to Rethink Formal Teacher Evaluations

When it comes to our current observation processes, is anyone winning?

On November 29, 2019, a teacher from Ontario posted a heartfelt, transparent update about his experience with a formal observation, something he calls a teacher performance appraisal (2:50). It’s worth a watch.

What strikes me most about his story is the sheer relief he expresses. It’s visceral. The observations are over, the report has been written, and he was given a stamp of professional approval.

There’s some pride and satisfaction there, for sure. But what I sense most strongly is the relief. He celebrates the fact that he won’t have to endure this process again for another four years.

Sadly, most educators can relate to that feeling.

Similar processes of formal teacher evaluation have been in place in most North American school districts for decades. They usually involve administrators sitting in classrooms for a series of classes in order to observe the teacher’s every move: their instruction, their feedback, their classroom management, the ways they interact with students, and much more.

Checklists and clipboards are present, and long reports follow.

And despite vigorous efforts to spin it otherwise, formal observations of this nature feel like a giant magnifying glass has been focused squarely on the teacher. It’s gotcha at its worst, and most teachers dislike the whole ordeal immensely.

It brings out all the insecurities and imposter syndrome like few other experiences in education. And it creates a lot of sleepless nights.

Yes, the teacher receives written feedback on their performance in the form of formal reports once the observations are said and done.

But aren’t there better ways to support teacher growth?

The instructional coaching model packs powerful potential

Enter the instructional coaching model, which has been making incremental gains in schools across North America over the last decade. More and more districts are recognizing the fact that instructional coaching is far and away the most effective tool for professional development.

Conferences are great. Workshops can be transformative. Books, podcasts, online courses, and YouTube content can all be inspiring and helpful.

But nothing can touch the power of another education professional in a teacher’s classroom who shows up, encourages, asks questions, and offers constructive feedback day after day for a planned series or season of classes.

Image Source: https://readingraphics.com/book-summary-the-coaching-habit/

And the very best part for many teachers: an instructional coach is usually not a part of the school’s administrative team. Their records and observations aren’t included in professional evaluations and files, and they don’t report their experiences to the principal or board.

This is a game-changer. With time — and as trust accumulates — the teacher starts to see the instructional coach as an ally, a professional friend, and someone who is safe. The coach is in the room to help, back up, promote strengths, ask thoughtful questions, and even join in the instruction.

That’s all wins and no losses. It’s the professional learning dream.

The challenge schools face without instructional coaches

Unfortunately, the reality for many schools and districts is that no such person exists on staff. Perhaps the school isn’t large enough to support the added salary, or the district hasn’t made it a priority.

Whatever the story, an instructional coach isn’t always available. Which brings us back to administrators and their formidable formal assessments, or as the teacher from Ontario calls them, teacher performance appraisals.

Man, that just sounds terrifying.

More formative, less summative = more teacher growth

It’s been well-established that students don’t learn a lot from summative assessments, especially those which allow no opportunity for review, revision, or reflection. Perhaps the worst offender in this category is the standardized test, which is typically administered as an isolated event and offers little connection with learning that came before it.

It’s a snapshot, and it gives the evaluator some information. But left by itself, it doesn’t move student learning forward a single inch.

On the other hand, we know that students learn a whole lot from ongoing, conversational feedback. Like learning to ride a bike or play basketball with the help of a coach, it’s real-time feedback for real-time learning. Growth can be instantaneous and sustained.

As Dylan Wiliam and Siobhan Leahy write in Embedding Formative Assessment, “The biggest impact happens with ‘short-cycle’ formative assessment, which takes place not every six to ten weeks but every six to ten minutes, or even every six to ten seconds.”

No, principals and vice-principals don’t typically have the time to sit beside teachers with the kind of sustained frequency that full-time instructional coaches can. And the fact that principals are involved in the hiring and firing of teachers works against the kind of safety and trust that can be found in a coach.

But there’s still plenty of opportunity for administrators to move away from an evaluative mindset and into one of coaching:

Fewer checkboxes, more encouragement.

Fewer reports, more learning conversations.

Less written analysis, more curious questions.

Less critique of weaknesses, more identification of strengths.

Less catching the teacher in non-compliance, more celebrations of growth.

It’s a paradigm shift.

Can formal evaluations be scrapped altogether?

As I close, we have to acknowledge an uncomfortable fact: as things stand in K-12 today, formal evaluation processes are difficult to eliminate completely.

Formal observation reports can actually be quite valuable for teachers when they decide to apply to other schools and districts. Few things say “This teacher is a an exceptional educator and competent professional” with more authority than the kind of in-depth analysis and commentary that these reports provide.

By the same token, formal documentation is quite important when principals are faced with the unpleasant task of dismissing incompetent teachers. Teacher dismissal can be a formidable task at the best of times — so onerous that most public school teachers across North America are basically un-fireable short of egregious professional misconduct. But if and when dismissal or remediation is required, proper documentation is an essential part of the conversation.

That’s not to say that formal evaluations must stay.

Would teachers experience vastly better professional growth if all the time and energy spent on formal evaluation processes was spent on coaching in classrooms instead?