“Everything is Figureoutable”:

What Fifth Graders Taught a College Writing Instructor

“The men sat still—thinking—figuring.” 

John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath

In the weeks leading up to the 2024-2025 school year, when I would be teaching elementary for the first time, I thought about how I wanted to design my classroom. My search for motivational décor led me to a small wooden sign that read “Everything is Figureoutable.” I was amused by the prospect of adding a sign with a neologism to my ELA class, but that’s not why I purchased it. The sign’s motto summarized my approach to teaching and to life in general—that persistence is the most important part of achieving success—and that success looks different for everyone: progress over perfection, if you like. 

The idea that obstacles can be figured out challenges our notions of what it means to fail. Many consider failure as the end of something—the unsuccessful results of studying or not getting the job despite months of preparation. Yet we often try again. Viewing failure not as an endpoint but as a continuation of the journey can encourage us to learn from what didn’t go our way. This is not a new outlook for most adults, but for the fifth graders I taught that year, “Everything is Figureoutable” seemed downright baffling. 

One major difference between the fifth graders and the college students I had taught for 12 years is parental involvement. Without FERPA, I was required to share information about student performance with family members. And while many of the parents I spoke with were supportive and just wanted to be kept in the loop, some inadvertently shed light on the source of their child’s debilitating anxiety. I first recognized this anxiety after the first quiz of the year was given in Social Studies, which took place across the hall from me. During class change as I waited at my door, I watched many of the fifth graders bolt from Social Studies with tears streaming down their faces. 

Over the coming weeks, I realized the immense pressure these 10- and 11-year-olds were under, which those working in public schools longer than me already understood. A hardworking girl, popular with her peers and perky in most situations, would completely shut down when taking a test. She knew the material, but her grades suggested otherwise. A boy who could make anyone laugh and was a founding member of what I would call the “cool kids” asked very quietly whenever something was assigned how much it would affect his grade. He, too, dreaded exams and would second-guess himself while working nervously until time was called. There were also the students whose anxiety and insecurities were more visible, reflected in their reluctance to speak during class or tendency to spend recess sitting alone. Some of the fifth graders held themselves to such high standards that a 95% was unacceptable. But all of them at one point or another demonstrated their deep-seated concern over grades, even those who paid no attention in class and outwardly reveled in their reputations for clowning around. “How much is this worth?” “Is this graded?” “Will my grade go up if I do good on this?” “How much would this affect my grade if I got a 7/10?” The questions burst forth like popcorn from the worried countenances before me anytime we began a task. (My favorites were those like the last ones, which assumed I was a human calculator.) 

The obsession with grades implied their parents’ high expectations for academic performance. I overheard conversations every now and then after a test: “My dad’s gonna flip out.” “I already know I’m grounded.” “I’m cooked, chat.” Getting good grades was the end-all, be-all for most of the students. I have no way of knowing how much pressure is put on them at home, but some parents told me directly that they won’t accept anything lower than a B on report cards. I can understand why teachers are often blamed for students’ disappointing grades. It’s easier to believe that your child failed because they weren’t taught adequately than because they didn’t pay attention in class or study the material at home. And it’s certainly easier to blame the instruction (or the perceived lack thereof) rather than considering the possibility that more parental involvement would have helped. Instead of pointing fingers at one person to try to explain unwanted results, however, we need to perceive both failure and success as the product of a nuanced relationship between more than just the student-teacher-parent triangle. The home environment, family structure, income and finances, religious beliefs, access to healthcare, and additional factors can all influence the ability to reach academic goals—and this interplay is unique to each child. Every participant in a student’s education should see “failure” not as a cause for despair but as a guide to moving forward. The child sobbing while leaving Social Studies is distracted and nervous the rest of the day, dreading the moment her parent asks about the quiz. 

Enter the “Everything Is Figureoutable” approach. 

Parent and child review the quiz answers together. The student reflects on her participation and focus during class as well as the lessons she found most engaging. She realizes certain clarifications from her teacher that would have helped and acknowledges how the demands of extracurriculars probably limited her ability to study. Together, she and her parents figure it out—making a plan for the child to do better next time. This plan includes an effort from the student to communicate with the teacher and take a more active role during lessons and discussion. 

Figuring it out looks different for everyone, of course, and getting my students to adopt this mindset when it came to grades was often like pulling teeth—so deeply entrenched are their insecurities over pleasing Mom and Dad. Their apocalyptic attitudes toward tests and report cards often prevented opportunities for learning from gaps in understanding. Many of the fifth graders I taught were completely terrified of raising their hands and answering a question incorrectly. They were stunned when I told them I’d rather hear wrong answers than silence and when I insisted that “failure” is how we learn. Eventually, I got through to some of them. A group of girls in my homeroom told me at the end of the year that they didn’t feel as stressed about report cards. I also saw noticeable improvements in behaviors and test scores after meeting with parents for conferences, during which we discussed grades and were usually able to figure out a brighter way forward for the student.

Admittedly, I was puzzled and frustrated by my students’ preoccupation with grades, test anxiety, and general academic angst. These traits were largely absent in the post-secondary groups I was accustomed to teaching. By the time they got to me, life experience had required them to figure out countless obstacles and setbacks. Some still benefitted from my reminders that “Everything is Figureoutable.” But it’s also true that, over a decade into teaching, I was giving this reminder less and less often. Maybe it’s because I have taught almost exclusively online since the birth of my son eight years ago. If there’s angst, it is mostly invisible to me. 

This is how my year in elementary school has made the greatest impact on my pedagogy:  I have remembered the importance of encouragement, even for college students, who so often choose to drop a class after a poor first semester or want to give up if they don’t understand a lesson. They may not have to dread getting picked up in carline by parents who will immediately ask how their test went, but that anxious fifth grader is still inside somewhere, perhaps storing a bygone but unrelenting compulsion to impress. First-year community college students are especially prone to the temptation to throw in the towel. They’ve heard that community college isn’t “real” college; that “anyone” can get in; that these schools somehow deserve less respect than a 4-year university. Undoubtedly, they have seen media depictions of high school seniors ashamed to admit to their university-bound friends that they were only accepted to a community college. A vital part of my job is to make all of my students feel worthy of higher education, no matter the route they take. They will face rigor and challenging assignments to show them they can figure it out, a process that doesn’t involve the hand-holding or the parent-teacher-student triangle of elementary. Instead, the post-secondary student is expected to take full responsibility for their learning, and success in college classes often hinges on their knowledge of and willingness to use the myriad resources available through the campus and other organizations. That’s why I happily pause my lesson for a presentation from the Writing Center. Success coaches want to know if now is a good time to tell students about their services? Come on in! Career counseling, advising, financial aid, clubs & organizations, disability accommodations, alumni connections – there are more resources than ever to help students figure it out. Most higher ed institutions also offer food pantries, mental health treatment, and assistance with childcare. These resources are designed to see students through just about any obstacle on their path to graduation. I make an effort to familiarize myself with them. I know my primary role is to deliver instructional content, but good teachers want their students to succeed. As academic success often means more than understanding subject material, I hope to guide my students toward the many individuals and offices who work to make them feel like they’re not alone. Figuring it out in college certainly looks a bit different than it does in fifth grade, but the emphasis on persistence is the same, whether we’re facing a complicated writing assignment, indecision over which major to choose, or a disappointing Social Studies quiz grade. 

Haili Alcorn, Ph.D.