Grading

Shining a Light on Potential

As an undergraduate, I double majored in accounting and mathematics. I chose those majors for several reasons. First, I wanted a clear path to a job after college. Accounting majors became accountants. Paths don’t get much clearer than that. Second, I like math. Math (at least at that level) behaves. It follows principles that can be derived from other principles. Some people have math anxiety, but math soothes my anxiety, serving as a safe harbor in a world that doesn’t make much sense.

But gradually, I began to see the limits to this ordered way of looking at the world. As an internal auditor at Saint Louis University, I used my rational brain to help departments analyze processes and identify improvements. I summarized my recommendations in well-documented reports with flowcharts and appendices. Six months after delivering the reports, I returned to assess the changes made. Often, little had changed. People were more complicated than numbers or processes. I began taking electives in the organizational psychology department and eventually came to Iowa to pursue my PhD in management.

Which brings me to where I am this morning - grading papers for students in my two leadership classes. The MBA students write a Leadership and Personal Development plan that integrates their understanding of effective leadership with what they have learned about themselves over the course of the semester, creating a plan to help them take the next steps in their leadership journey. The PhD students write a brief literature review (brief = 15 pages in a PhD class), describing the research question they developed at the beginning of the semester and summarizing past research that has examined this question to create a new understanding of what we know and where the field is headed.

Neither of these assignments has a correct answer. It is at this point in the semester that I miss the ordered world of accounting and mathematics (though I understand both become disorderly as you dig deeper). Instead of assessing whether the students accurately computed adjusted gross income, I grade papers using a rubric that includes making clear arguments, using evidence to support those arguments, aligning strategies with the context, and turning each argument over to fully examine all sides.

I write notes in the margins of each paper, pointing out opportunities to use ideas that we’ve discussed in class, questioning strategies that might have unintended consequences, and assessing how well the paper matches the anchors on the rubric. But it doesn’t take long before I’m simply having a conversation with the student in the margins, shifting from pointing out problems to shining a light on potential.

Potential is there in every paper I grade, sometimes dressed up in its finest structure with clear examples carefully placed like accessories. “Yes!” I write in the margins of these papers. “Great insight!” “Good idea!” “I like the way this strategy aligns with the context.”

Other times, potential looks more like I do these days: slightly shaky, with a halting gait and staticky hair. In these papers, potential is tentative, buried under excessive jargon, waiting patiently to be awakened and excavated. My comments in these papers often start with, “I wonder if. . .” Or, “I think you are onto something here.” My logical brain jumps in, returning to the problem that the student is trying to solve, retracing the argument to its crux, suggesting possibilities for expansion, reduction, or inversion.

My students’ willingness to engage with wicked problems - complicated problems with many interlocking parts - is part of what gives me hope for the future. These students don’t ask me to tell them what to do. They don’t even ask me to identify the specific problem they are trying to solve. They wade into situations in which the problem itself isn’t clear, and they begin to explore. They use the tools they have and seek out the ones they need. I share my perspectives and tools, helping them close the gap between actual and ideal.

Potential is defined as “having or showing the capacity to become or develop into something in the future.” My job as a grader is to assess students’ capabilities now, at the end of this class, based on what they have shared on the paper. But as a teacher, I’m more interested in what comes next. I hope that learning does not stop when a class ends. Pointing to the nuggets that might grow into something more in the future may give the students the motivation and confidence to keep going. They are developing solutions that can’t be judged as right or wrong, but only as better or worse, making progress on problems that may never be truly solved.

What will I be doing this week? My to do list says grading. But in my mind, I’m searching for potential, and I’m rarely disappointed.