“Failure is not an option!”

Yawanna bet?

The current philosophy in education is that students should not be “allowed” to fail.  Somehow as a teacher it is my job to ensure that kids are poked and prodded and nudged and cajoled into doing the basic work that is expected of them as students.  If they say the work is too hard, I should make it easier; if it is too much, I should make it less.  If they failed a test that they chose not to study for, I should consider what interventions I might employ to help this “struggling student”—a misnomer if ever there was one—reach his or her goal of being a nuclear physicist.  Because, in the end, if the student gets an “F,” it is really the teacher who failed.

May I tell you why that is such a dangerous and flawed philosophy?

Sure I may—it’s my blog.

Let me start by pointing out that, in the adult world, failure is an option.  Adults have expectations and responsibilities that they take upon themselves.  When we do not live up to those obligations, we face negative consequences.  Lost jobs, lost homes, broken relationships.  We aren’t helping kids—we are actually hurting them—when we let them think that all will be well regardless of how hard they do or don’t work, how much they do or don’t care.  We aren’t helping society when we raise a generation to think that a semester devoid of effort can be fixed by a magic extra credit crossword puzzle.  Hmmm…bank bailouts…mortgage bailouts…lifetime welfare…maybe we’re already too late.

When we artificially keep kids from failing, we are robbing them of power.  Think about it.  One of the greatest powers we have is the power to choose.  It is a gift from God, and even God respects our choices.  He didn’t create automatons that are forced to love him.  He created people who can choose him…or not.  Not choosing God is hands down the greatest fail imaginable, yet he allows it.  If the Lord of All respects the power of choice, who am I to deny it?  I have to allow my students to be less than their best, if that is what they choose.

For that matter, how can they even know what their best is if there is no chance of failure?  Without real standards, what do we measure ourselves against?  If a passing grade is 60%–no, wait, 58%–oh, you got a 55?  O.K., we’ll make it 55—how does any student ever feel the joy of busting their proverbial butt and seeing it pay off?  We value most that which costs us most; we esteem least that which costs us least.

A grade that is unearned is a failure, even if it is marked “A.”

Consider the following conversation I had with a student.  This fourteen-year-old had been warned, every day for the past eight weeks, that failing my class would cause them to lose the right to go to the end-of-year Promotion ceremony.  There were daily opportunities to retake tests and make up work from absences.  There were daily opportunities to earn extra credit for helping to lead class discussions.  This student had chosen not to take advantage of any of these opportunities, and had, as a result, failed the class with a 52%.  Our conversation went something like this:

Student: I need to talk to you.

Me: Is this about your grade?

Student: Yes.  What can I do to bring it up?

Me: Nothing.  Grades are closed.  You had eight weeks to bring your grade up, and you did nothing.

Student: I know, but now I want to fix it.

Me: Let’s look at your grade report…you have four tests that you failed and could have retaken.  How did you fail these tests?

Student: I didn’t study.

Me: Thank you for being honest.  Having failed them, you could have come in to retake those tests and bring the grades up to a “C.”  You didn’t.  Why not?

Student: I don’t know.

Me: You have two other tests that you were absent for and never even took.  That earned you a zero on those tests.  Why didn’t you come in and take them?

Student: I got busy.

Me: Do you remember when I put the countdown up on the board showing the class how long you had to make up tests?

Student: Yes.

Me: How many days were on the countdown?

Student: 53

Me: Correct.  So, for 53 days you have been unable to find the time to come in and retake a few tests?

Student: Yes, but I can do it now.

Me: Now is too late.  Grades are closed.

Student: But I really want to go to Promotion!

Me: I understand that, but you did not earn it.

Student: This isn’t fair!

Me: Giving you the grade you earned is the fairest thing I can do.

Student: But I have to go to promotion!

Me: No, actually, you don’t.

 

I wish I could tell you that this conversation was unique; it wasn’t.  I had a very similar talk with several students, and some parents, who had been taught in other places at other times that there are no real consequences and that, if you beg hard enough, you can get out of anything.  My hope is that a failure now, in middle school, will lead to a work ethic that will bring success in high school—and beyond.

As a teacher, as a father, as a citizen, here is my earnest plea: Let them fail.  Let them fail so that they might learn the immensely important lesson that success takes work, and work can be hard.  Let them fail and taste the bitter consequences of bad decisions, and decide they don’t like bitter consequences, so they come back and make better decisions the next time.  Let them fail while they are still young enough to learn from the experience. Let them fail now, so they can succeed later.

Failure is an option.  And sometimes, it is the best teaching tool we have.