3 Tips For Promoting Student Accountability
I got a C-minus in Computer class when I was in the Fifth Grade.
In a lot of ways, it made sense. I have never been particularly tech savvy, and it was the early 90s when computers were certainly not in high fashion just yet (though, Oregon Trail and Carmen San Diego were definitely my jam).
My less-than-stellar grade wasn’t actually due to my lack of technology skills or disinterest in the subject matter. No, my barely passing grade was the result of a failed exam. I wish that I could remember what the test was about, or why I failed. But, alas, I cannot. What I can tell you is this:
I didn’t tell my parents why I got the grade that I did.
It was the end of the First Quarter, so that meant parent-teacher conferences. My mom and dad had booked additional time to meet with my Computer teacher to understand why in the world their daughter received a C-minus without any explanation.
“My teacher hates me,” I told them.
“I have no idea why I got that grade,” I said confidently.
“This is so unfair!” I whined.
My bravado quickly cracked as I watched them walk into that parent-teacher meeting.
I vividly remember the stone cold expressions on both of their faces when they came out of the classroom. I tried to play it off casually. “What did she say?” I inquired, doe-eyed.
The truth came out––My parents were mortified at my deception, yes, but beyond that, they couldn’t believe that I had a) led them to believe that one of my teachers had a personal vendetta against me, and b) that they were made to look like absolute fools going in to defend me only to discover that I was the illustrator of my own demise. I had failed a test, hidden it from them, and then made up some cockamamie tale to try to avoid accountability.
As a teacher I have seen this same scenario play out time and time again. Forged signatures on tests; tall tales about the circumstances surrounding a test’s validity, or the unfairness of being forced to take a test in the first place.
Can I blame them?
Not really. Clearly I was them at one time, too. But I will tell you the clear difference between then and now:
My parents didn’t back me when I was unmistakably in the wrong. There were consequences for my missteps and conversations on how I could do better next time.
When I was three, and I pushed the party clown into the pool at a friend’s birthday party, my bewildered parents talked to me about how to handle my feelings of stress and anxiety appropriately. When my First Grade teacher noted on my report card that, “Meredith would be better served worrying about herself than the goings on of others,” they talked with me about paying better attention in class, using recess time for socializing with my friends, and knowing what was my business and what wasn’t. When my Eighth Grade teacher spoke with them about me talking too much in class, there was no question about whether or not I felt like I was being disruptive—instead our conversation focused on how could I better communicate with others at the right time and place, so that I was never in a position of doling out disrespect.
My parents never played into the game of whose-fault-is-it? And neither did the parents of my friends. Because, at the end of the day, in each of these scenarios, we were the children. The students. The scholars—striving to navigate our way amongst the plethora of pitfalls that line all of our paths at one point or another. My parents, my friends’ parents, knew, as I do now, that the scraped knees, the tumbles, the testing of boundaries were all ways in which we were being refined into humans of strength and resilience. Sure—they were there to support us, to help us dust ourselves off and try again. But did they steamroll over every bump before us, or forge their way into every conflict we faced, staunchly defending us, even when we were clearly in the wrong and out-of-bounds?
No, they did not.
Accountability is a dying flame, and if we don’t begin to reignite its embers, I am fearful of what’s to follow. A generation with no sense of self-regulation? A population so deep in the blame game they can’t see the rich opportunities for personal growth and refinement?
The overly honest teacher in me is very worried.
So, what do we do?
1. We give our kids the chance to fail. We give them permission to not always be the best, the brightest, the top-of-the-heap. We let them know that not everything is going to always go their way, and that that’s okay. They will be alright in those moments of failure and defeat. And, when life knocks them down a bit, we come alongside them to talk about what they’ve learned; how they will do things differently next time.
2. We encourage honesty and ownership. Most of the time, when I have to call a student to my office over a disciplinary issue, I begin our conversation with this phrase: “There is nothing more important to me in this conversation than honesty.”
We talk about how, no matter how bad things are, or how poor their decision-making was, they need to own it, repair it, and move forward with integrity. Setting the tone with your kids that they are loved, no matter how messy things might be in a moment of turmoil, is crucial. Illustrating for them the necessity of truth telling and making space for them to be honest—in all circumstances—is key. Kids need to feel safe in their vulnerability. Model ownership of mistakes and when you slip up. It will give them the opportunity to see how candor and authenticity is done right.
3. We hold them to a higher standard. Set expectations for your family—around the use of language, self-talk, shared responsibilities, and the tenets of character (i.e. compassion, generosity, patience). When someone—you, your partner, your children—doesn’t adhere to these expectations, hold them accountable. Have a conversation about it in the moment.
“I was super bummed to hear you criticize yourself earlier. Your hair looks great today!”
“I really need you to use more encouraging words when talking with your sister. She needs your support every day.”
If everyone is slipping into bad habits, call a family meeting—we teachers have class meetings all the time if the majority is struggling to adhere to a class-wide ideal. Take 10-minutes, remind one another about why you set these expectations, why everyone seems to be having a hard time following it/them, and come up with a renewed game plan. Throw in an incentive or two to really up the motivation ante, and work together.
You see, my C-minus in Computer class debacle was never about the grade. I would receive a good many other less-than-stellar scores throughout my time as a student. My deception was far more about avoiding accountability, not wanting to let anyone down and diverting the responsibility away from myself. As I learned over time, and as I have sought to teach my students, the best growth we gain in life comes from the times when we fail, when we fall, and when we get back up again.
