Snow Days Don’t Hurt Student Progress!
–a finding by Harvard Professor Joshua Goodman
The spring that I turned six, I learned how to ride a bike. Early that summer, I rode my bicycle to the penny candy store. The quarters in my pocket covered the purchase of thirty fireballs at three for a nickel. I didn’t eat them. I pedaled back to our summer house, where I sold them two for a nickel to our guests and to my siblings, netting a profit of twenty-five cents, which I reinvested in my fledgling company. Very soon, I could no longer operate out of my pockets. I used an empty Kleenex Box, then an old sewing machine table to display my assorted candies.
My cousins, my brothers and sisters could rot their teeth from the following menu:
- Fireballs: 2 for 5¢
- Smarties: 2 for 5¢
- Bubble Gum: 3¢ (Bazooka or Double Bubble)
- Mary Janes: 3¢
- Bit-o-honey: 3¢
- Licorice: 5¢ (red or black, long shoestring variety)
- Bottle Caps: 5¢
- Charms’ Pops: 5¢ (Tootsie or blow)
- Candy Sticks: 7¢ (same price as the store, but I did not pass on my quantity discount
- Asst, boxed: 10 – 20 ¢ (Hot Tamales, Jujyfruits, Junior Mints, Good~n~Plenty, Neccos, etc.)
For a quarter each, I also managed to sell a few pieces of my art to doting older aunts and cousins. My work was drawn on lined, three-ring binder paper. I offered a dog’s face, a tree, and a pig. Also, I have a confession to make, and I hope my siblings and cousins will forgive me. The gum, Mary Janes, and Bit-o-honey cost me the same as the fireballs and Smarties, but I wanted a better profit margin.
Despite competition from my mother, who had hung art of a more professional quality around the house, and also offered healthier snacks, such as popcorn and carrot sticks, out of the kitchen, for free, I did quite well. I bought a kite and an extra roll of twine with the profits. I also ate some of the profits. But at the end of the summer I opened my first bank account, number 235-16610, with ten dollars.
I run into a lot of people who say that kids don’t do that sort of thing these days. All kids do is text, game, watch videos. Those people are wrong. I see hundreds of kids every day, and they too have dreams and ideas that they act on, if they have the time. And then ‘those people’ say, no, given the time, the kids will just sit down and play video games. Perhaps, but I know a lot of kids who, of their own volition, are learning code, and are trying to write their own games, or their own apps… perhaps we should recognize that today’s $2.00 app may be the penny candy of the new generation, and these guys want in on the deal. But the system we adults have created does not allow the time, nor teach our students the habits of self-agency and resourcefulness that they need. Our present system focuses too much on test taking.
Which brings me back to snow days. (We hardly want to talk about those in May, but suffer on, please).
Test scores are the number one go-to for measuring student progress. I did not read Joshua Goodman’s study of snow days. I only read about the finding, cleverly reprinted on the weather page of our local paper. Test scores were the only measure for success listed in the article. If Professor Goodman went to neighborhoods to see the snow forts or the snowmen the kids built, or how the kids put into practice their intuitive knowledge of the inclined plane by sledding down the steep part of a hill and going back to the top by taking a gentler contour, the article didn’t mention it.
Maybe I’m in a confessing mood because it is a Sunday morning… but I have another. Stephanie Bilak, from second grade, if you are out there… I had a mind-block back then about the answer for 3 + 6. Despite having money in the bank, I was awfully anxious. So, I copied you. It was the last time I ever cheated, because where our wonderful teacher, Miss Napoleon, had written “Name:______,” I also copied you. I wrote down your name.
My point is that testing for math may tell how good of a test-taker one is, but at least in my case, it gives little hint at the capacity or inclination to apply the knowledge. Test-taking may have its place, but that place ought to be much smaller than we make it. Our most important assessments of teacher effectiveness and student learning are an accounting of how the students implement their knowledge in their own lives. In my case, I had been employing math all summer as I ran my store, but 3 + 6, on a piece of paper, simply felt entirely irrelevant.
What if, on a snow day, teachers didn’t stay at home, but spilled out into the streets to play with the kids? Imagine the math and science teachers explaining the whys of what the students are already discovering—such as the calculation that supports their finding that the 18-inch ball of the snowman’s belly weighs way, way more than twice as much the 9-inch ball they made for his head. Effective snow shoveling is a great example of levers and mechanical advantage.
For English and Social Studies teachers, there is nothing like unstructured play to help a person realize that they are part of the story of the human condition. A child in the snow may relate better to Ezra Jack Keats’ The Snowy Day, Wilder’s epic blizzard in The Long Winter, the fierce cold of London’s To Build a Fire, Shackleton’s survival on the ice, and the miserable cold and deprivation of the French troops during their 1812 foray into Russia. The shared experience of cold and snow may be the best hook for student engagement many subjects. A vague awareness that some day, a question about these stories might prompt you to fill in the correct oval with a number two pencil, well. It teaches the unfortunate importance of obedience.
Although Stephanie Bilak wasn’t anywhere near me when I took the SATs, the GREs or the Military Officer’s Exam, I did well enough. But I want to share my career trajectory. When I became old enough, I got a summer job with the same family that ran the penny candy store, and developed a fondness for inventory control. On the side, I sold my artwork, which had advanced from line drawings to woodburnings and driftwood sculpture, at a local gallery. Two years after I graduated college, I joined the Navy as a supply officer. My military job was not all that different than pedaling candy and selling souvenirs on an island: I made sure that our ship had everything it needed to run: I was in charge of purchasing and planning for the food (I had moved up in the world from sugar to deep-fry). I oversaw the ship’s store, the vending machines, the barbershop, the laundry, the payroll, travel claims and shipboard purchasing contracts. I was in charge of about a hundred people. After my Navy stint, I went back to that summer town and opened a grocery store and wholesale business. My inventory suggested my maturity through its concentration of natural products. And, at one point, I employed more than 90% of the graduating class from the local school.
The business was remarkably successful, and well loved, but I sold it to free up time when my children were born. Afterward, what I really missed was working with kids. That is what led me to a second career in education.
There is, I am sure, a correlation between my passing the standardized tests and the relative success I have had. But the step by step cause and effect that has brought me to successful adulthood has had more to do with free time than with seat time. Seat time helped me learn that I had a very hard time sitting still. It was during my down time–snow days and summers–that I engrossed myself in projects and discovered my strengths.
If we moved more projects into our classrooms, perhaps the adverse effect of snow days on learning might actually materialize, and wouldn’t that be a wonderful thing?