Grumpy Gus on the Local School District Promise

Sometimes I refer to my husband as "Grumpy Gus." He just has a way of looking at some things as if the glass is a quarter full, and I have a way of being annoyingly Pollyanna. And that makes for a good balance. But today, I want to write in the skin of Grumpy Gus, because... well, I am Grumpy Gus about this one.

Here's the deal: our local school district has articulated the following "school district promise": "All students will realize their unlimited potential." I saw it the other day on the sign at the neighborhood school and I nearly snorted, right then and there. There's so much wrong with that kind of "promise," I hardly know where to start.

Well, maybe with "promise." If you're going to promise something, you'd better be able to keep your promise. This is not a motto. It's not a wish. It's not a dream. Any of those would be less offensive. No, it's termed a "promise." And they can't keep it.

The reason they can't keep it is the next word: "All." Come on, Mr. Superintendent. I assume you had to take educational statistics at some time in your academic preparation. You should know better; you can't use the word "all," unless you really mean "all," and you can guarantee "all." "All" is a qualifying word that should put up red flags all--and I mean all--over the place. Very rarely can we say with confidence that all people will do something. In fact, the only thing I can think of in the moment is that, short of the second coming of Jesus, all people will die. Not even all have the chance to be born. So "all" is a word to be avoided. You just can't make "all," happen.

And when you combine "all" with "realize" their potential, it gets worse. Now you're saying that you promise to get every last one of those sweet children to a point that not a single one of us in this world reaches. This starts to get ludicrous.

But wait! Not only have you just said something that in practicality means NOTHING, but you said that each child has unlimited potential. No, no! That is simply not true. Every person has limits on their potential. And those limits are different for different people. I simply cannot become an airplane-designing engineer, even if I study engineering for the rest of my life. Even if I had started studying it way back in college. I just don't have it in me. My potential has limits because my physical body has limits and my mind has limits and my interest level has limits. To say that I have unlimited potential is goofy. And it's not useful.

To say that I'm going to reach my unlimited potential is not mathematically possible, either. If you've studied limits in calculus, you know that. when something is unlimited, you never can reach it. The logic just doesn't work. The arrow goes up and and up into infinity without ever touching it's limit.

This "promise," "All students will realize their unlimited potential," is the kind of thing that makes education as a profession look like airy whipped cream instead of the solid meat-and-potatoes it should be in our society. Educators should be thinkers, should make sense, should be the types of people that you can depend on their word when they give it. Whipped cream may look delectable, but the meat-and-potatoes is what will sustain a body for growth. (Well, the potatoes, anyway, if you consider that I'm a vegetarian.) Let's stop being people of fads, stop being people who think there's a silver bullet to solve every child's problem, stop saying silly, fluffy things that don't hold up, and be real about the promises we make to families who have hope for their children.

Maybe our promise should be this: "We'll give our very best, our 100% effort, as educated professionals to help your child learn, grow and thrive." It may not be flashy, but it's solid. That would do it.