I am going to try to make the point that red marks and snarly report card comments still should count for something. Teachers in the 80s excelled at this. I will attempt to do so by taking you through a normal day at my elementary and middle school in Charleston, South Carolina, with one exception. I will start by telling you a story about an extraordinary day; sort of an accidental warp zone on our timeline. Then we will proceed through the rest of the day and classes as if they belonged to the same one. It didn’t. Some occurred in fifth grade, some in sixth, some later. I assure you that even though our route will be somewhat haphazard, it will be worth the trip to the principal’s office. Let’s go.
Spelling Class or the Accident at the Spelling Bee
One of the most ironic events of my life happened to me in 1988 when I was 10 years old.
At the time I was studying for my school’s spelling bee. I had spent weeks memorizing the word list and was ready for anything they threw at me, including every four-syllable beast they could channel. I already knew that the winner of our bee was going to the next level of competition, so I was highly motivated. Maybe I’d get a chance to represent the great school, Wilmot J. Fraser Elementary, before all of Charleston.
Then South Carolina. Then the region. Then the national stage.
I got the butterflies out of my stomach before the bee by practicing words like analyze. Analyze. A-n-a-l-y-z-e. Got it. Now on to the next. I didn’t think I was the best speller in the bee, but I felt pretty strongly that I was top five at least. I also knew that when you get to the last five, preparation was only half the battle, and luck took care of the rest. Did I happen to work on memorizing the spelling of “fluorescent,” or did I put a little too much time into trying to remember how to spell “longitudinal”? Once I got to the top five it was anyone’s guess who would claim the top prize.
My teachers egged me on because no matter how awful I did in something like Science or English or school in general, I usually was in the 90% to 100% range on my Spelling tests. My memory just worked in these circumstances. They—like me—figured I could shock the world and pull this thing off. I was given a fist bump and reassured by a few teachers in the assembly corridor as the students began being called on stage. As we took our places, my internal dialogue continued… Man, I really might win this thing. I am beyond ready. Longitudinal. L-o-n-g-i-t-u-d-i-n-a-l. Got it. I wonder if they put the winner up in a nice hotel at regionals, etc.
The judges started to state the rules. My internal dialogue continued while they stated them. It grew hostile. Enough already! Blah, blah, blah. Let’s get to spelling. I gave one of my study buddies on stage a wink intimating… We are taking this down to the end. We know most of these kids up here are dummies. Let’s make it an epic battle.
The first set of kids went up and got their words. Words like “receive” and “circuit.” I think one kid got the word “bounce” and asked if he could have the definition. He attempted to spell it before being dinged out. I was sure I would be home free once I knocked out these first easy rounds.
My study-buddy went up and aced her word—we winked at each other as she made her way back to her spot. Soon, came my turn.
“Can we have the next speller?” the facilitator said.
Why certainly, I thought.
I stepped up to the microphone. The facilitator gave the word.
“Spell the word accident,” she said.
Are you kidding me? I thought. Too easy.
“Accident. A-c-c-i-d-e-n-t,” I said, ripping it off quickly. If mic drops were allowed, I would have done one.
After a silent pause the facilitator said something like, “Incorrect, but the speller will be given an opportunity to correct their mistake.”
I thought, Ha? You need to check that list again lady. That spelling has to be correct. I looked at the teachers in the audience that had egged me on earlier for clues. Poker faces, all.
This is probably rigged, I thought.
I tried again, this time a little less sure.
“Accident. A-c-c-i-d-e-n-t?”
Another silent pause. Then came the ding.
“Incorrect. The speller must exit the stage,” the facilitator said—something to that effect anyway.
I was stunned. I looked at my study-buddy. They looked at me. My look must have been one of bewilderment. Hers was a look of disappointment. That, I clearly remember. Ultimately, she made it down to the remaining few but didn’t win.
Actually, who won doesn’t matter because you won’t know them anyway. What does matter is that I didn’t. I was ousted in the first round. Like a 1st seed juggernaut being taken out by a 16th seed, cinderella word.
Turns out, what I had forgotten to do was repeat the word after I finished spelling it.
I said “Accident. A-c-c-i-d-e-n-t.”
When I should have said “Accident. A-c-c-i-d-e-n-t. Accident.”
I had spent all the time memorizing the words but almost no time memorizing or listening to the rules. What’s worse is the word I actually went out on was “accident.”
I’m not sure a more ironic thing has happened to me in all of my life.
Anyhow, I continued my run at the top of the pack in spelling class, but due to sheer happenstance (and my ensuing delinquency) that was my last school-level bee.
English Class
When it came to English class it was a different matter. Teachers used to try to explain concepts like subjects, predicates, and split infinitives to me. Sometimes, even they were yawning. Introductory clauses, conjunctions, good punctuation versus bad punctuation. Homophones, homonyms, synophones, synonyms. (Slight indictment on you if you don’t realize I made synophones up just now, but take pleasure in knowing I wouldn’t be too far behind you after a while.)
Truth be told, I just couldn’t hack it. My results in English class were middling at best. “He expresses himself well, but he needs to pay attention to the rules of grammar — and the classroom,” is what they might write on my report cards. My writing efforts were basically a burrito—a little messy at times, but you might walk away feeling full if you commit to eating it all.
Funny thing here is I have learned to write better structured, grammatical English as a result of being a Certified Public Accountant. I think that’s because, if nothing else, CPAs need to be clear, extremely clear, about what they are communicating. Some of you might say, unlike lawyers, but that’s a whole different story.
To summarize where we are: Spelling was my domain. English was not. Not yet. Maybe you think it still isn’t, but I’ll continue to make my point regardless.
Math Class
The Math teacher had their times tables and they politely instructed you to remember that 12 times 12 is 144. As kids we went, what the hell? But eventually we came to understand that if you add 12 to 12 starting with base zero, you arrive at 144.
In Math class I excelled at memorizing my times tables. I had those bad boys down cold. (If you ever see me in the street, you’re permitted to challenge me. I know nothing of what happens after 12 times 12 when it comes to times tables, but if you give me a piece of scratch paper, I’ll have it in seconds.)
I wish they had really pushed it to the max and taught us that for addition you only need to remember 55 sums. From 0+0 to 9+9 and you’re home free after that. Something I later learned reteaching myself math and reading some well-written books by mathematicians some 20 or so years later.
I admit once we got to concepts like division, or multistage multiplication, or partial numbers—decimals, fractions, and ratios—concepts like that, I started to trail off a bit. I still did well when I applied myself and the rules, but if I zoned out for what felt like a minute in Math while the teacher was explaining something, it felt like I would spend the better part of the year trying to work it all out. Again, I was great at memorization, but needed development in dealing with and retaining rules.
As a warm thank you to my former Math teachers, sometimes when I’m not even doing Math I hear, “Show your work. Show your work.” I hear it in a nagging sort of tone, but the love is real regardless.
Science Class (Sometimes Health Class)
Memorization gifts could only get you so far in Science. Once you know how to spell protozoa or photosynthesis, you’re done. Even knowing its rote definition can only get you so far because those darned Science teachers wanted you to learn and apply the stuff they were dealing in. So if I wasn’t disgusted, or otherwise terrified during Lab, I was looking at a test where they might have a picture of a plant and a question like: “What’s happening with this plant?” My answer would be something like, “This is not a plant. This is a plant drawn on a piece of paper. If this were really a plant, I would say it’s in poor condition and dying.” Knowing it would be a miracle if I got more than what amounts to an F, I would spend the rest of class looking for a place to stick my science book until I returned to it. Those suckers were heavy.
Here, because memorization was useless, plus I didn’t even know the rules or how to apply them, I naturally struggled. Sometimes, I would be brought to the principal’s office to illustrate the principle of equal and opposite reactions.
I don’t blame my Science teachers for my bad experiences in their classes. Pretty much all of them were great. Like walking I Wear My Sunglasses at Night dudes sometimes, but it just wasn’t my thing. Plus other kids who really liked the stuff deserved to have their moments in the sun too. Some of them looked forward to cutting open frogs and would one day become great people because of it.
There’s a book called The Joy of Science by Professor Robert Hazen that changed my whole perspective on the sciences, but that would come way later. Like decades later.
Gym
I loved Gym. Lots of kids do. Most kids can tolerate Gym. Not all, and I totally respect that. Most can, because that’s the one place, other than lunch, where you are allowed to talk. I have pretty much nothing else to say there.
Lunch
Enough has been written about lunch table dynamics. I have nothing else to add to the arguments made there or to the subject of Lunch unless you want juicy little truth nuggets, like how I always traded away my milk, even for applesauce or green peas.
Social Studies
The first kink in Social Studies’ armor is the name of the subject. Social Studies. Were school boards purposely trying to make us envision the boredom before we entered the class? Were they thinking, Look, kid. There is no shot at entertainment in this subject. You may have fun in Gym and Lunch, but not here. It isn’t possible. So hunker down until you learn how to sleep with your eyes open.
In Social Studies, I did fine with memorization drills. Things like names, dates, places, locations, context. I did fine with those things. Some of the more esoteric sub-subjects like Geography, with its highly uninteresting charts about plains in the Sahara or things like that, drove me nuts. During these times I might make a stop at the principal’s office as well.
However, I still can tell you all three branches of government and how they operate. I can tell you that the Gettysburg Address was given in Gettysburg after the Battle of Gettysburg (apparently not prominently known today, let alone the words of the address). I can tell you there were Articles of Confederation before there was a Constitution—loosely worded enough to make the Constitution seem fully resolute by comparison. I can tell you the first ten amendments to the Constitution are called the Bill of Rights. If you play the Schoolhouse Rock! song “I’m Just a Bill,” I’ll remember how a bill is constructed and passed. However, when you start getting into the bowels of Social Studies like topography or climate, I’m permitted to daydream. For the sake of self-preservation, if nothing else.
Now, I enjoy all of the subjects that they stuffed into Social Studies back then because I realize their relevance, but back then it was a snore-fest or, worse, a personal recess.
Art Class (Throw in Music Class here too)
This will be short. I remember sitting in Art class knowing my presence there was essentially a waste of space and time. I knew I would color outside the lines. I knew my pasted edges would come out clumpy when they should have been smooth. Meanwhile, another kid in the class could probably sell their work at an art auction after school.
I knew I would be yapping it up when we were supposed to be singing “We Are the World.” I knew these things, and the teachers did too. That’s why most times I went to the principal’s office it was from one of these classes. I learned what happens when you do not participate.
My report cards in this area would say something like, “Brent needs to apply himself more in Art. Especially around the edges.” And Music would say something like, “We don’t even know his vocal range yet because he’s always talking.”
The Comments Section
I’m not about to ask you to comment here. Not yet, anyway. I’m going to shortcut our destination by giving you what might have been my Comments section if I had a daily report card.
Teacher’s Comments
Spelling: Great contributor in class. A natural speller! Needs to work on sitting still.
English: He expresses himself well. He reads very well, but he needs to pay attention to the rules — of grammar and the classroom— everyday and all the time. Needs to work on sitting still.
Math: We were doing fractions today and Brent insisted on doing times tables. He was disruptive but settled down, eventually. He needs to work on sitting still.
Science: Brent probably shouldn’t have showed up today. He had no interest in learning about the systems of the body and how they work together to keep him here. He said, “The only system that’s keeping me here is the school system.” He spent the rest of the class in the principal’s office sitting still as a result.
Gym: Solid day. Got a little overzealous during Kickball, but I’m glad he had somewhere to work off the excess energy.
Lunch: Aced it! He was sweet enough to trade me my milk for my green peas. (Yuck.) Needs a little work on sitting still.
Social Studies: Brent contributed well during the Gettysburg Address section. I’m pretty sure he fell asleep during our study of peninsulas. Needs to work on sitting still.
Art/Music: Brent started the class trying to smear paste on one of his classmates and fiddling with the tambourines. He then refused to sing. Later, when he told me he didn’t know what to draw, I told him to draw something. Anything. He said, “which one,” and laughed. I did not think that was funny. He then drew the word SOMETHING in bubble letters even though we were supposed to be drawing scenes of nature. He thought that was funny. I did not. He spent the rest of the class at the principal’s office sitting still.
My Comments For the Teachers - Present Day
Back then my report card comments would’ve been “Whatever” or “Who cares” or “I plead the 5th” after Spelling’s “Yay.” All the way down to the end, if we were permitted to write return comments. We weren’t.
Today my comments section for them would be a little different. I’ll give it a shot.
Spelling: Bless your beautiful heart! Thank you! No more accidents for me!
English: I should have paid attention more. It would have saved me from some mildly embarrassing work emails I would later send. Hopefully, you wrote that novel. If so, I’d like to read it. Bless your beautiful heart! Thank you!
Science: Seriously, dude. I am nothing but sorry. If you’re still around, I’d love to grab a beer with you and talk about protozoa or whatever you’re into nowadays.
Math: You told me I was too pragmatic not to be good at Math and I’ll be darned if you weren’t right. I’m a CPA and I love the memorization parts of my job, like recalling on cue a section of the Internal Revenue code. I’m weird like that. I love arithmetic. I know the rules and I apply them logically, but you have to admit, the rules are still fairly boring.
Gym: Thank you for putting up with me! I’ve gotten soft in the middle. You would not be proud. I’m not sure I can do a freestanding sit-up or cartwheel any longer. Not without my Albuterol handy.
Lunch: Still doing you proud! Thank you!
Social Studies: How on Earth did you continue teaching after me? If you ever question whether or not it was worth it with me, the answer is yes. Bless your beautiful heart. Thank you!
Art/Music: I’m not sure why any of you didn’t strangle me with a paintbrush or sever my head in the piano. I was the living embodiment of why some teachers leave the field. If you haven’t been given an award yet and I can do anything about it, I will. Bless your beautiful, merciful heart! Thank you!
The Conclusion of Today’s Lesson
If our schools were anything in the 80s and 90s, they were efficient sorting stations. Merciless red marks and comments like my imaginary ones were how you knew where you stood. I knew, for instance, that whatever I did, it would involve rote memorization and rapid comprehension. I knew that certain topics at the time didn’t interest me and my report card reflected that reality. We also had a hunch who would likely be the next Gwendolyn Brooks, Ronald McNair, or future I Gotta Wear Shades dude. We knew some of us would wind up being none of those things and would go whichever way the wind carried us.
With that said, those red marks and comments were how they kept the integrity of the system. It’s not like I ever got a comment like, “Brent will be great at nothing. My prediction for him is a job at the jail-house. Likely making license plates.” Never. Not once. I may have gotten something that read like, “Brent may very well be the next Newton, but until he decides to apply himself he will fail at Science.” I knew where I stood. I wasn’t bad per se, but under their regime I stood no shot if I had trouble sitting still when they were discussing how trees decomposed and produced sap while they were alive.
Things have changed here a little. It used to be more widely accepted that some kids were better at certain things than others. My gift was memorization, but others were naturals in other areas. Some lit up when discussing the circulatory system and probably became nurses or doctors or allied health professionals. Some were content cutting open a frog or playing with test tubes. They became what they became. Others were naturals in athletics, not like stereotypical 80s jocks, but they definitely had gifts. Even the drifters would likely become grounded once they had their eyes set on a goal. Be it good or be it bad.
I say we should be liberal with our red marks and telling comments for these kids. They need to know where they are pragmatically, in the present, and know that their performance is not unpardonable. It can be improved upon. If the kid is not happy with their marked-up paragraphs in English and you want to reassure them, tell them the truth. Remind them English is a polyglot language. English is the derivative of like 23,000 languages. Give them that confidence. Then paint the paper red until they learn how to apply the rules correctly so in the future they may not express themselves somewhat poorly.
This is how I raised my kids. With this understanding. You may be good at some things but bad at others and you always have a natural gift. My daughter has a Master’s degree in History, and I couldn’t be prouder of her, both in her personal and professional life. She is my child who remembers things I wish she would forget. My son, the other half of my progeny, is talented enough to convince you to sell him the shirt off of your back and make you turn around and pay more for his, but he’s also realized that rote memorization is not his strong suit, so he’s excelled at other pursuits. Being a great person and hard worker is one of them.
I’ve talked to them about my belief that there are multiple forms of intelligence. What’s easy for me, may be hard for you and vice versa. Being a CPA, I feel no smarter than a person who can look at a pair of wires and tell me why my dimmer switch isn’t working. Or the person who makes pastries that taste like they were prepared by God’s own hand. What I’m dumb in, others are smart in, and that’s the way the world works. Accept the grade you received for your best efforts. If your efforts aren’t so great, then don’t act surprised and try to accuse the teacher for your marks and comments (in most cases.)
Also, everyone has their gifts. For me, my moment in the sun was Spelling, Gym, Lunch, and any subjects where I could use my memorization and comprehension gifts or not have to sit still. For others, they excelled in Art or English or Science. Some of us did well in all subjects. I suspect they are corporate and government executives, School Administrators, and maybe even Mensa members now. The drifters blew wherever the wind took them. We know that life does not provide us all with a happy ending, so some of those drifters blew the wrong way. Others drifted into success, once they were focused.
Yes, I suffered in English, Social Studies, and Science, but that barometer of red marks and comments that cut the soul on report card day was how I knew where I stood. In Art and Music I bombed out, but as a bonus I learned pasted edges are supposed to be smooth, and Picasso or Brahms I was not. It’s hard enough in classrooms nowadays having to be fearful of violence; let’s not make teachers’ jobs harder by forcing them to be constant softies, too. No need to berate a kid, but they should be able to say in so many words… “Hey Kid. You’re currently failing and it’s likely your fault. Or someone’s fault other than mine because here I stand every day talking over you trying to have you prove my last report card comment wrong.”
In the final analysis, I’m saying let’s try to remember that it’s okay if everyone is judged evenly on a whole. Making judgments on individual areas is a different thing. I would hate to call this 80s school wisdom because there are literally reports on our failing education systems written in the 1980s, but before we throw all the old methods out, let’s check the basin for a baby first. There is value to sorting. There is even more value to constantly resorting based on up-to-date results.
Some of us will drift where the wind takes us, and unfortunately some of us will be the victims of circumstance. Others of us will forever hold on to the memory that accident is spelled “Accident. A-c-c-i-d-e-n-t. ACCIDENT.” It all works out in the end, so let the teachers take care of the meanwhile, in a manner that lets kids know where they presently stand. I am a testament to the fact that they will be better for it. One day they may even learn how to sit still. It’s then they’ll remember how wonderful you were for being hard on them and not giving up on their ability to succeed.