Why We Can’t Hold Students to the Same Expectations We Have For Teachers
Last month, I sat across from Mia’s mom during a parent-teacher conference, stirring a cold coffee that’d been sitting on the table for 20 minutes, while she tapped a crumpled late homework slip against her notebook. “I get needing to build responsibility,” she said, leaning forward, “but I don’t get it. I’m a project manager at my job. I’m required to turn in my status updates every Friday by 3pm, no exceptions. You guys as teachers are required to turn in lesson plans every Monday morning. Why can’t we require the same from Mia? Why do we have to make exceptions?”
I nodded, because I’d asked myself the exact same question as a mom, when my 10-year-old came home for the third time that month without his winter coat. I’d been annoyed, frustrated even, wondering how he could be so careless when I reminded him three times before he got on the bus. Then I remembered what happened to me two weeks before that conference. The district sent three emails, two reminder slips in my school mailbox, and the admin assistant knocked on my classroom door to remind me: turn in your recertification paperwork by Friday at 4pm. I nodded each time, said I’d get it done. I left it sitting on my home printer, under a pile of permission slips and my son’s science project display board. I missed the deadline by 12 hours. I’m a 12-year veteran teacher. I’m paid to be organized. I still forgot.
I told that story to Mia’s mom, and she laughed, because she’d done the same thing the month before—forgotten her own sister’s birthday dinner even though it was marked on her work calendar. That’s when it hit me how backwards our thinking often is. We’re okay with adults slipping up, forgetting, missing a requirement now and then, but we act like kids should be able to stick to every rule and meet every deadline the same way a fully trained, fully grown teacher does. It doesn’t work that way, and it’s not because kids are lazy or don’t care.
It’s because their brains aren’t done building the tools that adult teachers and parents take for granted. The part of your brain that keeps track of 10 different small requirements, that prioritizes a homework deadline over the fun conversation you’re having with your friend at recess, that remembers you stuffed your homework in your math folder instead of your reading folder? That part is still under construction for kids, and it doesn’t finish maturing until people are in their mid-20s. I’ve had 20 more years than 9-year-old Mia to practice juggling multiple demands and build little tricks to remind myself of things. She hasn’t had that time yet.
Last semester, I counted how many unwritten, unreminded requirements I put on my students in a single day. Remember to bring your library book back. Remember to turn in your field trip permission slip. Remember to change for PE. Remember to bring a snack for the class party. Remember to stop by the office after school to pick up your sister’s forgotten lunch. That’s five extra things on top of the six lessons they have to get through, plus the daily drama of who got to be line leader that morning. I only have three main requirements for my job any given day: teach my lessons, turn in attendance by 9am, write my end-of-day note to parents. If I can forget my recertification paperwork when I only have three big things to focus on, why would I expect a kid to remember five small things on top of a full day of learning?
After that conference, I adjusted a few small things in my classroom that didn’t take any extra time, just a shift in how I think about requirements. Now, instead of just saying “homework goes in the tray before the bell,” I put a two-minute timer on the smart board when kids come in in the morning, and we do a quick group check: “Pull out your homework, check your folder, put it in the tray.” I have a student helper who walks around to tap people on the shoulder if they’re still focused on sharing a new toy instead of digging through their backpack. That’s it. It’s not coddling, it’s giving them the external reminder their brain is still learning to do on its own.
For parents, I gave Mia’s mom one concrete change to try, instead of a vague “be more patient” speech. She taped a small printed check list on the inside of Mia’s locker door: homework, library book, sneakers for PE, lunch box. Every morning when Mia gets to her locker, she checks it off before she puts her bag away. Three weeks later, Mia’s mom sent me a quick note: Mia went from turning in homework 2 out of 5 days a week to 4 out of 5. She still forgets sometimes, usually on picture day or when there’s a snow dance after school, when her brain is busy thinking about other things. That’s normal. I still forget things when my brain is occupied, too.
I tried that same check list trick at home for my son’s soccer practice. I used to ask him every day “did you pack your cleats?” and he’d say yes, then we’d get to the field and he’d forgotten his shin guards. Now there’s a check list taped to our front door: cleats, shin guards, water, snack. He checks it off himself before we leave. We’ve only forgotten one thing in two months, which is a huge improvement from three times a week.
I still get pushback sometimes, from other parents and even other teachers, who say this is just lowering the bar. But it’s not lowering the bar. It’s meeting the kid where they are, instead of expecting them to jump to a height that their body and brain aren’t ready for yet. We don’t ask a first year teacher to handle the same caseload as a 20-year veteran, right? We don’t ask a new driver to navigate a busy downtown highway on their first day behind the wheel. Expecting a kid to have the same memory, the same ability to juggle multiple requirements as a fully grown adult teacher doesn’t build responsibility. It just builds kids who think they’re bad at being responsible, before they ever had a chance to learn.
I still miss the occasional deadline. I still leave my water bottle on the kitchen counter when I go to school. Some days I forget to send the end-of-day parent email I promised. No one writes me up for it every single time, no one calls me lazy. It’s just part of being a person with a brain that can only hold so much. Kids are people too, their brains just haven’t finished growing into all the things we ask of them yet. It’s working, most days. Some days it’s still messy. That’s okay.
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