But we wanted to move away from depending on test scores or getting too excited by them.
How could we prove the grander and deeper learning we knew was going on, without reverting to a teacher-driven model that consisted of a teacher delivering information to be memorized and then regurgitated on a test that led to a grade?
In a student-driven environment, can the children prove their progress in a way that makes sense to parents and, ultimately, college admissions officers? Will parents accept proof of their child’s learning without needing to see a teacher’s final mark on it?
We were about to find out.
Exhibitions of learning: showing what you have learned
We began thinking about what we learned from Sam, Charlie, and Taite.
How did we know when they had learned to walk? They walked! How did we know they could add and subtract in their heads? We’d play the card game 21 with them. Or we’d go to the grocery store and they’d have to shop with a budget. For writing? We could see a comparison of the notes and stories they had written to us over time.
This is the kind of proof we wanted in our community—applying learning to real-world problems to show what the children could do. We’d visited High Tech High in San Diego and seen powerful public exhibitions of their students’ projects. We’d also seen how the Children’s Business Fair played out as the perfect prototype of assessment. Did you make a profit? Could you do the math in your head to give correct change? Were your customers satisfied? Did you create signs and advertisements that were legible and had meaning? What will you do differently next year?
We designed our Exhibitions of Learning to take place every five to six weeks as the Eagles’ chance to demonstrate what they had learned over that time period. We’d invite parents and friends to attend and participate in the evaluation of learning.
Examples of exhibitions we held in our first three years included—
A play written, marketed, produced, and performed on a famous historical stage in downtown Austin. Test? The students, ages six to ten years old, passed out a survey at the end and asked the audience members to share whether or not the play inspired them to find their own calling. They also sat on the edge of the stage after their performance to answer questions about the process and their learning.
A writers’ café with children arranging the room, creating a printed program, welcoming guests, serving lemonade, and then reading their poetry aloud to a community audience. Test? The Eagles had to pitch their piece to a group of peers. Their peers then voted. The winners read out loud. All the poems were included in a printed anthology.
An art exhibit. Test? A completed, matted, and framed self-portrait. Eagles stood by their works and explained the process of creating their self-portraits and what they had learned.
A physics competition of simple machines, with the winning team getting its design built into a life-size playground addition. Test? The teams had to pitch their machines to parents, who then voted on which was best designed to be added to the campus playground.
In addition to showing to parents by doing what they had learned, these exhibitions were designed to serve as incentives for the Eagles. Nothing like a deadline and an audience to get people cranking on their work!
But we still weren’t satisfied. Test scores and exhibitions couldn’t fully capture and celebrate the work and progress happening daily in the studios. More evidence was available and so more evidence could be provided—the work itself.
Portfolios: curating excellent work
We had more data at our fingertips about each Eagle’s daily work than I’d ever had when I was going to school. The online learning platforms gave rich details in user-friendly reports for parents and students to analyze. In math, for example, parents could see how much time their child spent on each problem and how many skills had been mastered in a particular topic.
We would give parents the passwords for their children’s programs so they could log on and see at any given time how their child was progressing in grammar, math, and reading. Though less familiar than being handed a report card, the data would be rich for any parent who would dig into it.
In addition to the data from their online work, Eagles would cull best samples of writing, art, and project documentation they’d curated over the weeks and put them into a portfolio for their parents to review. Sitting together with the guide in a “portfolio review meeting,” parents could ask their child questions and discuss areas of weakness and strength together. Over time, parents would be able to compare a large body of work and see improvements or challenges. Parents wouldn’t need to depend on a teacher to tell them whether their child was learning anything. They could see it and assess it for themselves.
And yet . . . it still wasn’t enough. Clearly, our model of learning was reaching far beyond merely “learning to know.” The bulk of daily life in the studios could be called “learning to do” and “learning to be”—applying knowledge not only to accomplish tasks and solve problems but to be a friend, respect a fellow traveler, recover from a failure, gain confidence, speak in a group with clarity, and rise up to responsibility. How do you assess how a person is progressing in the quest to become more fully human and more completely themselves?
Learning to be: experiences to grow a heart and soul
We had seen how the deep dives into experiential learning—notably in history and science—triggered emotion, problem solving, engagement, and learning in the students, as they had to imagine standing in the shoes of others and make difficult decisions. We knew this would be the meat of our endeavor to create curriculum to help young people “learn how to be.”
A clear example of this was the way they came up with their own declaration of independence after having their freedoms stripped away. No textbook could have delivered the same learning about different forms of government, taxation, probabilities, standing up for one’s rights, or reasons why people fought for freedom.
While it’s risky to let children play out such challenging experiences, we didn’t want to do anything less. We built in lots of time for reflection and processing in order to make these experiences lasting and valuable.
And our second year’s learning plan felt even riskier than the first. The goal was to understand what discrimination is, prove it still exists, and see if the children were capable of treating classmates differently based on color—in this case, eye color. The test would be the experience itself and the group discussion and personal reflection upon its conclusion.
Jeff had discovered the exercise and knew it was right for Acton Academy. “Our students can handle this,” Jeff said.
It was a tough one, I explained. We’ll have to be sure the parents are informed before we move forward. This will cause some tears but some great learning, too. “These kids will surprise us,” he assured me.
The lesson came from renowned educator Jane Elliott, who years ago put her third-grade class through a now-famous program that became known as the “Blue Eyes/Brown Eyes” exercise.
For two days, she divided her class by eye color. On the first day, the blue-eyed people were “on top.” They got more free time, were able to get second helpings at lunch, and could use the water fountain. The brown-eyed students had to wear large blue collars “so the blue-eyed students could tell who they were from far away.” They were forced to stay inside for free time, had to use small paper cups instead of the water fountain, and got only one serving of lunch.
On the second day they switched, and the “brown-eyes were on top.”
Elliott came up with her exercise in 1968, after the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. “The shooting of Martin Luther King could not just be talked about or explained away,” Elliott said in the PBS Frontline documentary A Class Divided. “There was no way to explain this to little third-graders in Riceville, Iowa. I knew I had to deal with this in a concrete way, not just t
alk about it, because we had talked about racism since the first day of school.”
What happened in the classroom was shocking. Within fifteen minutes, the children who were “on top” became cruel and discriminatory against the “ones on bottom.” Within twenty-four hours, there was a change in academic performance, based on whether students were the “smart ones” or the “dumb ones.”
Reflecting on what they learned, the children in the class said things like: “I’ll never be mean to someone because of their skin color.” And: “It doesn’t matter what someone’s skin color is. You can’t judge them on that.” Experiencing discrimination made them anti-discriminatory. Reflecting on the experience as adults decades later, the lessons still resonated.
· · ·
Jeff and I greatly admired the work of Civil Rights activists. We wanted our children to understand what it felt like to be treated as outsiders in your own country. We were drawn to Jane Elliott’s work, and we decided our students should experience this experiment, too. It would offer them a true understanding of discrimination in a personal and visceral way. As Jane Elliott said, “Reading or talking about it doesn’t teach what it really means.”
We knew we were taking a risk. Like the declaration of independence experience, this would be emotional. Little did we know just how emotional it would become for the Acton community and how much we would learn.
· · ·
The week before we launched into Jane Elliott’s “Blue Eyes/Brown Eyes,” we alerted the parents. We sent an email to them describing the exercise, along with the video of the PBS Frontline episode. We asked them not to talk about it first with their children so the experience could be as real and raw as possible. One of the newer parents emailed me right back: “Thank you for doing this! I’m excited for my daughter to experience it. I’m sure it will be hard but what a great lesson.”
Kaylie and Anna had found their stride as Acton guides—creating projects and facilitating Socratically with ease. But this experience had them—and me—feeling more nervous than about anything we had yet done together. This would go against everything we held high: kindness, justice, and respect for each Eagle. We knew the key to success would be in the processing of the experiment after it happened, so we carved out special time for discussions as a group and for one-on-one discussions if needed.
When the students got settled the morning of the experiment, Kaylie dove right in: “We discovered a new report last night that proves children with brown eyes cannot become heroes. They are not smart or brave. Only children with blue eyes can become heroes.”
The students’ eyes got wide, and they quickly began looking around the circle to take note of eye color for the first time.
“Because our mission here at Acton is to equip young people to be heroes,” she explained, “we can only spend our resources on those who will be successful.”
For the rest of the day, blue-eyed Eagles would get extra snacks from the refrigerator. They needed to keep up their energy. They also would have special ice-water bottles in the fridge. Heroes need lots of exercise, she explained, so the blue-eyed Eagles get to have ten more minutes of free time and would get first choice of the balls and games.
“Brown-eyed Eagles cannot use the laptops today,” she said. “They will need to do math only with worksheets and pencils. We need to save battery power for the students who will become heroes. Also, Brown-Eyes may not have any of the special snacks or ice water. I have these orange bands that we will tie around the arms of the Brown-Eyes so we can know who they are.”
The classroom became very quiet. The usual buzz of energy was absent. Ms. Kaylie then said, “Okay. Let’s get to work. It’s core skills time and you know what to do.”
What unfolded was painful to watch. At first, the “ones on top” had some fun with their privileged status. The snacks were yummy, and the Blue-Eyes made the most of their free time. But upon returning to the classroom, two of their friends were crying. Normally, the group rallied to help one another out. This time, they walked by and curled up with their books on the beanbags that were reserved for them. As the clocked ticked, rumblings of anger came through the tears. Charlie was one of the Brown-Eyes.
“I can think of a lot of heroes with brown eyes!” he said quite loudly. “This is not right! Jesus had brown eyes, I think!” Blossoming as a leader since his first day at Acton, Charlie continued: “Someone get a laptop and research the eye colors of heroes!” With his brown eyes, he was not able to use the laptop himself. Soon the group gathered around, yelling out the names of heroes and the colors of their eyes.
The guides and I were baffled. The Eagles had challenged the authority of the report! But we had a plan. Rather than switch the group that would be on top the next day, we decided to cut the experiment short. Kaylie called the group together.
“You are right,” she said. “We got it wrong. The report actually said it was the brown-eyed people who were the smartest and most courageous. So we will switch the orange bands. Now the blue-eyed Eagles must wear them and go to their desks. No afternoon snacks or free time for the Blue-Eyes.”
This time, there was a sense of fun. The children realized it was a game. But that feeling didn’t last once the chocolate-chip cookies came out of the oven and only the “ones on top” got them. And then free time triggered the deep sense of injustice. The group heading outside began taunting the others: “Ha, ha! You are Blue-Eyes!”
The tears and anger began again. This time, though, both groups were feeling guilty about their behavior. They were distracted, not working, getting into arguments. The emotions were real and definitely raw. It was time to call it off and start processing what they had experienced.
“I hated when they laughed at me for having brown eyes. That was the worst part,” Charlie said. “It wasn’t fair and it made me so angry.”
The group talked about what it meant to walk in someone else’s shoes. How must people who are different feel when people are mean to them or make fun of them just because of their skin color?
“It must feel worse than what we were feeling,” Sam said. “We only had to do this for a day. It must feel like you want to run away and hide. Maybe even die.”
I was listening from the other room. This day meant more to me than any so far at Acton Academy. Sam Sandefer had found a voice. In his old school, he never said a word in a group discussion. One of my fears was that he would never find his own voice. He was a sensitive soul, shy, with tendencies toward anxiety. In addition, I feared he lived in the shadow of his older brother. But this day of emotional turmoil opened him up to share his voice. His words were strong and powerful. The group listened. Something was working. Sam was growing into himself and sharing his important thoughts with the world.
The guides led the processing of this experience with a level of compassion and mastery that was perfect. They let the students lead the way but coaxed honesty and openness from them. I was grateful that my children were there, having this unique and powerful experience that would last a lifetime. I thought the other parents would feel the same way.
I was very wrong. At the end of the day, seeing that her son was emotionally exhausted, one mother blurted out, “Isn’t this abusive?”
My mind went back to Jane Elliott’s original work back in the late 1960s. About 20 percent of the public reaction was visceral. One letter to her said, “How dare you try this cruel experiment out on white children! Black children grow up accustomed to such behavior, but white children, there’s no way they could possibly understand it. It’s cruel to white children and will cause them great psychological damage.” Elliott developed her classroom exercise with the purpose of snuffing out this kind of racist talk.
What do we do with a parent who disagrees with the basis of experiential learning?
“We ask them to leave because we are unable to serve them anymore,” Jeff said to me in an easy, str
aightforward way.
This was so far out of my comfort zone, but I could see that this parent was not a fit for our school. She would not be the first. We said good-bye. It hurt. I quickly learned I needed to be clearer in our application interviews that the Acton learning journey would be uncomfortable at times, even painful, as we watch the children struggle to learn. I would learn later how personal some parents’ rejection of this kind of learning could be. This wasn’t all kicks and giggles in our adorable schoolhouse.
I needed some good news.
Assessing ourselves: our weekly survey of Acton families
We have made transparency one of our key school values, and the Acton Academy families are well practiced in giving us regular and honest feedback. One of the most controversial practices at Acton Academy, at least from the eyes of some traditional educators, is treating our families as valuable customers, whom we are delighted to serve. (The word “customer” riles up some people in very interesting ways, I have found.) While our relationship at Acton is, of course, far deeper than a transactional one, we never forget these parents are paying us to deliver on our promises. We need and want to know how they think we are doing in our service to them, so that we can continually improve.
To that end, each weekend, we send out an anonymous survey for our parents and students to rate us on their week at Acton. We ask them to give us comments on how we can improve. I open the results every Monday morning. I then send them out to the families so everyone gets to see how everyone else thinks we are doing as school owners.
These surveys help us to remain in a continual state of learning and improvement, just like each student and parent. We’ve been able to take what our parents and Eagles suggest and implement it when it fits into our mission.
My favorite requests were to add in more time for core skills work (children asking for more work time!) and a parent’s request to be allowed to observe Socratic discussions so they could learn how to have them at home (children teaching adults!). Because of our commitment to student-driven learning, we can turn on a dime and change when they come up with something better that we believe is worth trying.
Courage to Grow Page 7