The Calculator Debate Revisited

If you've been teaching long enough, you might remember the calculator wars of the 1980s. Math departments split into camps. Administrators wrung their hands. Parents wrote angry letters. The concern was existential. If students could simply press buttons to get answers, would they ever learn to think mathematically?

Sound familiar?

Today, we're having nearly the same conversation about AI, particularly tools like ChatGPT and Claude. Students can generate essays in seconds, solve complex problems instantly, and access information that would have required hours in a library just years ago. The anxiety is palpable in faculty lounges and department meetings across the country.

But what we learned from calculators is that the technology didn't go away. And neither will AI.

What Actually Happened with Calculators

In the early 1980s, many educators genuinely believed that calculators would destroy students' ability to do arithmetic. The fear wasn't unreasonable. Why would students memorize multiplication tables or practice long division if a device could do it faster and more accurately?

Yet something interesting happened. Rather than ban the technology or watch mathematics education crumble, we adapted. We changed what we assessed and how we taught. We shifted focus from computational accuracy to mathematical reasoning, problem-solving, and conceptual understanding. We started asking different questions, ones where the calculator was a tool rather than a shortcut to the answer.

The result? Students still learned mathematics. In many ways, they learned it better because they could focus on understanding rather than getting bogged down in tedious calculations. The calculator freed up cognitive space for deeper thinking.

The Parallel to AI Is Striking

The current resistance to AI in education follows the exact same pattern. We're worried that students will use it to avoid thinking, that they'll generate essays without understanding, that assessment will become meaningless. These concerns aren't wrong, exactly, but they're focused on the wrong problem.

The issue isn't the technology. The issue is that our current assessment methods were designed for a world where access to information and processing power was limited. Students had to memorize facts because looking them up took time. They had to show computational work because there was no other way to get an answer. They had to write essays by hand because that was the only option.

That world is gone, and it's not coming back.

What Needs to Change

Just as we adapted to calculators by changing what we assessed in mathematics, we need to adapt to AI by changing what we assess across all disciplines. This doesn't mean lowering standards. It means raising them to focus on skills that actually matter in a world where AI exists.

Instead of asking students to write a five-paragraph essay analyzing a text, we might ask them to use AI to generate three different interpretations, then write a critical analysis of which interpretation is most defensible and why. The assessment shifts from content generation to critical evaluation.

Instead of testing whether students can recall historical dates and events, we might have them use AI to research a historical question, then assess their ability to verify sources, identify bias in AI responses, and synthesize information into a coherent argument.

Instead of asking students to solve equations by hand, we already let them use calculators and now we assess their ability to set up problems, interpret results, and apply mathematical thinking to real-world scenarios.

The pattern is clear. We assess the thinking, not the task that can be automated.

This Isn't Optional

There is an uncomfortable truth that we learned with calculators and must accept with AI. Students already have access to this technology. They have it on their phones, their laptops, at home. Banning it in school doesn't prevent its use. It just makes our assessments less relevant to the skills students actually need.

Every student who graduates into a world with AI will need to know how to use it effectively, critically, and ethically. If we spend their high school years pretending it doesn't exist, we're not protecting the integrity of education. We're failing to prepare them for reality.

Moving Forward

The calculator debate eventually resolved not because everyone agreed, but because the teachers who adapted saw better outcomes. Students in classes where calculators were tools for learning outperformed those in classes where they were forbidden. The evidence made the case that ideology couldn't.

We're at that same inflection point with AI. Some of us will adapt quickly, redesigning assessments to focus on critical thinking, synthesis, evaluation, and creative application. Others will resist, clinging to traditional assessments that are increasingly easy to game with technology.

But ultimately, the technology isn't going away. The question isn't whether we'll adapt, but whether we'll adapt quickly enough to serve our students well. Forty years ago, we figured out how to teach mathematics in a world with calculators. Now we need to figure out how to teach everything in a world with AI.

The good news? We've done this before. We know it's possible. And we know that the teachers who embrace the change, while maintaining high standards and genuine rigor, will be the ones who best prepare students for the world they're actually entering.

It's time to change our assessments. The technology isn't waiting for us to be ready.

Let Them Actually Rest: The Case for a True Winter Break

We need to talk about winter break, or more accurately, what we're turning it into.

I know the pressure you're feeling right now. There's still so much content to cover, and January feels impossibly close. You're worried about learning loss, about students forgetting everything they've learned, about falling behind the pacing guide. So you're considering it: assigning that novel, those practice problems, that research component. Just a little work to keep them sharp.

But, what if the most valuable thing we could give our students right now isn't another assignment, but actual rest?

Think about your own winter break plans. You're probably looking forward to sleeping in, spending time with family, maybe reading something just for pleasure. You've earned that break. The emotional labor of teaching is exhausting, and you need time to recharge. Don't our students deserve the same thing?

Our students have been grinding since August or September. They've navigated six or seven different classes with different expectations, juggled extracurriculars and part-time jobs, dealt with social pressures and family responsibilities. They're tired. Really tired. And when they see us assign work over break, what they hear is: "Your rest doesn't matter as much as my curriculum."

Here's the truth we don't say enough.

Students should have less work than you over the break.

Actually, let me be clearer. 

Students should have no work over the break. 

Zero. None. While you're grading at your own pace or lesson planning in your pajamas, they should be completely disconnected from academic obligations.

"But they'll forget everything!" I hear you. But research on spaced learning tells us that a short break actually helps consolidate memories. And the student who returns rested, recharged, and actually happy to be back is going to learn far more effectively than the one who returns resentful and burned out.

The learning loss we should worry about isn't the couple of math formulas they might need to review in January. It's the loss of their love of learning. It's the lesson we teach when we tell them that rest isn't valuable, that their worth is measured only by their productivity, that there's never a moment when they can simply be.

So this year, give them the gift of a real break. Trust that two weeks away from your classroom won't undo everything you've built. Trust that your students are capable of returning and picking up where they left off. Trust that rest is not the enemy of learning. Rather, it's the foundation.

Send them off with a genuine "Have a great break" and mean it. The content will still be there in January. Your well-rested students will be ready to learn it.

The Illusion of Learning

Every December and May, teachers across the country face the same ritual. Students who confidently completed assignments just weeks ago suddenly act as though they've never seen the material before. They cram frantically, rewatching videos and rereading notes for concepts they supposedly mastered months earlier. The question we need to ask ourselves is uncomfortable but necessary. If our students need to relearn everything for finals, did they actually learn it in the first place?

The answer is probably not in the way we hope they did.

What students often experience in our classrooms is not true learning but temporary retention. They hold information in their minds just long enough to pass the unit test, then their brains efficiently discard it to make room for the next batch of facts and formulas. Cognitive scientists call this phenomenon the illusion of knowing. Students feel like they understand something because they can recognize it or reproduce it with their notes nearby. But recognition is not the same as retrieval, and retrieval is not the same as deep understanding.

Think about how we typically structure a semester. We introduce a concept, practice it for a week or two, assess it, then move on. The message we send, perhaps unintentionally, is that knowledge has an expiration date. Once the unit test is over, students perceive that content as "done" and shift their focus entirely to whatever comes next. Weeks or months later, when finals approach, we express surprise that they've forgotten everything. But should we be surprised? We designed a system that encourages exactly this kind of shallow, short term learning.

The real issue is not that students have poor memories. The issue is that we often mistake performance for learning. A student who scores well on a quiz the day after instruction might simply be good at short term memorization. That same student struggling on a cumulative exam is not failing to remember. They're revealing that deeper learning never happened in the first place.

So what do we do about it? We need to build forgetting into our teaching design. That sounds counterintuitive, but it's based on solid research. When students retrieve information after they've started to forget it, they build stronger, more durable memories. This means incorporating spaced practice throughout the semester, not just before finals. It means regularly spiraling back to old content in new contexts.

One of the most powerful ways to build retrieval into everyday instruction is through discussion-based learning. When students engage in genuine discussion, they must pull information from memory to contribute, defend their thinking, and respond to peers. Unlike passive review or rereading notes, discussion forces active retrieval by design. A student explaining how the Industrial Revolution connects to modern labor issues isn't just recalling facts. They're retrieving prior knowledge, applying it to new contexts, and strengthening those neural pathways through use. The beauty of discussion is that it makes retrieval feel natural and purposeful rather than like tedious test prep.

Discussion also creates what researchers call elaborative rehearsal. Students don't just retrieve isolated facts. They connect ideas, build arguments, and weave together different strands of learning. These connections make knowledge more memorable and more transferable. When exam time arrives, students who have regularly discussed content throughout the semester have been practicing retrieval all along. They're not starting from scratch because they've been maintaining and building on their understanding through conversation.

We also need to shift our focus from coverage to understanding. If students are going to forget most of what we teach anyway, and research suggests they will, we should prioritize teaching fewer things more deeply. A student who truly understands the fundamental concepts of a discipline can rebuild the details when needed. A student who has memorized a hundred disconnected facts without understanding has nothing to build on.

The semester exam cramming crisis is not a student problem. It's a system problem. Our students are responding rationally to the incentives we've created. If we want different results, we need to design different learning experiences, ones that acknowledge how memory actually works, that value retrieval over recognition, and that treat learning as a long term process rather than a short term transaction.

The next time you find yourself reteaching an entire semester in two weeks of test prep, ask yourself what that reveals. Not about your students' work ethic or ability, but about whether your classroom structures actually support lasting learning. The answer might be uncomfortable, but it's also an opportunity to do better.

Feedback to Feed Forward

In my last post, I described replacing semester exams with five-minute conversations where students reflect on their learning and we collaboratively determine their grade. A reasonable follow-up question I keep hearing is, "What happens after we determine the grade? Once the conversation ends and the semester grade gets entered, what then?"

This is where the magic really happens. That five-minute conference shouldn't close the door on a semester of learning. It should open the door to what comes next. The conversation about what students earned naturally leads to a conversation about where they're headed. This is the shift from feedback to feed forward.

Beyond the Grade

Traditional feedback looks backward. It tells students what they did well or poorly, what they got right or wrong. It's evaluative, final, completed. Feed forward thinking, on the other hand, uses the past as a springboard for the future. It acknowledges where students are and illuminates where they might go next.

During your end-of-semester conference, you've already established trust and engaged in honest dialogue. You've both examined the evidence of learning from the past four months. The student has practiced self-assessment and you've confirmed or calibrated their thinking. You're sitting together in a moment of clarity about their current standing. Don't waste that moment.

This is the perfect time to add 60 to 90 seconds of feed forward conversation. Not a lecture, not a list of deficiencies to fix, but a genuine observation about what you see as possible for this student moving forward.

What Feed Forward Sounds Like

The structure is simple. After you've agreed on the semester grade, transition naturally into forward-looking dialogue.

"So I'm thinking about next semester for you. Here's what I noticed this term..." Then share one specific strength you observed, something concrete and personal. "Your analysis really deepened in the last two units. I noticed how you started connecting ideas across different texts instead of treating each one in isolation."

Follow that with an invitation to stretch in a particular direction. "I think you're ready to tackle more complex synthesis. Next semester when we get into comparative analysis, that's going to be your sweet spot. I want to see you really lean into that skill."

Or maybe the conversation goes differently. "You know what stood out to me? Your persistence. Even when the material got tough in October, you kept showing up and kept trying. That's the foundation for everything else." Then the invitation: "Next semester, I'd love to see you bring that same persistence to asking questions when you're stuck. Your determination plus a willingness to ask for help earlier would be powerful."

The key is authenticity. Students can smell generic praise from a mile away. But when you reference specific moments or patterns you genuinely observed, they lean in. They listen. They believe you.

Making It Meaningful

Feed forward works because it's personal, specific, and actionable. It's not "try harder" or "do better." It's "I noticed this particular strength in you, and here's how I think you could build on it."

Some students need encouragement to take risks they've been avoiding. "Your technical skills are solid. Next semester, I want to see you volunteer your ideas in discussions more often. You have insights worth sharing." Other students need focus. "You've got so many interests and that's great. Next semester, let's work on channeling that energy into deeper exploration of fewer topics."

A few students might need acknowledgment of obstacles. "I know this semester was challenging with everything happening at home. The fact that you're sitting here having passed this class shows real resilience. Next semester, let's check in earlier if things get overwhelming. I want to support you better."

Every student's feed forward will be different because every student is different. That's the point. This isn't something you can script or standardize. It emerges from actually knowing your students and caring about their growth.

The Ripple Effect

What happens when students leave your conference room having heard not just what they earned, but what you see as possible for them? They carry that message forward. They remember it weeks or months later when they face a challenge or a choice. Your words become part of their internal narrative about themselves as learners.

Last spring, a student stopped by my room in March to tell me she'd been thinking about our December conference. I'd told her that her creativity in approaching problems was a real asset and that next semester she should trust her instincts more. She said that comment had stuck with her and she'd been trying to honor it. She wanted me to know it was making a difference.

A 90-second feed forward comment from three months earlier was still influencing a student's approach to learning. That's the power of this moment.

Practical Considerations

Can you really add feed forward to every conference without the whole process ballooning out of control? Yes, if you're strategic. Prepare for it the same way you prepare for grading conversations. As you read student reflections, jot down one strength and one growth direction for each student. When you sit down for the conference, you'll already have your feed forward mapped out.

Some conversations will naturally expand because a student needs more discussion. That's fine. Others will be brief. But having a feed forward observation ready ensures that every student gets something to carry with them beyond their grade.

You might also find that the feed forward portion of the conversation reveals things you hadn't noticed before. A student's face might light up when you mention a particular strength, showing you that's an area of real passion. Another student might look uncertain when you suggest a growth direction, opening space to discuss underlying concerns or misconceptions. These moments deepen your understanding of your students in ways that enhance your teaching next semester.

An Invitation Forward

If you're already planning to try end-of-semester conferences, build feed forward into your design from the start. If you've been doing conferences but haven't explicitly included forward-looking dialogue, consider adding it this semester. The infrastructure is already there. You're already sitting with students one-on-one. You're already in the perfect moment to say something that might stick with them.

Students deserve more than grades. They deserve to know what their teachers see in them, what potential lies waiting to be developed, and what their next steps might look like. The end of one semester is really the beginning of the next. Your feed forward comments become the bridge between them.

That five-minute conference isn't just about assessing what was. It's about imagining what could be. And that might be the most important conversation you have all year.