Friday Chronicle
My children,
In a few days, you will head back to school. And very soon, even before summer has fully left your minds, that little rectangle of paper or that line on a screen will return: a grade.
I want to talk to you about this number before it comes back. Because it is not the number that concerns me most. It is what you will do with it. And especially what you will believe it says about you.
The word you will add after the number
When you report a grade, you almost never report only a number. You also report a sentence you tell yourself. And this sentence often begins in the same way.
« I am bad at math. »
« I am strong in French. »
« I am like this. »
Look closely at the verb: « I am ».
You took the result of an assignment, on a specific day, on a specific chapter, at a specific moment in your life, and you turned it into a declaration about your identity.
There is, however, another way to talk about the same grade:
« I didn’t study this chapter enough. »
« I worked on this lesson and it paid off. »
« I haven’t understood this part yet. »
Those are the same grades. This is not the same life.
In the first way of speaking, the result becomes an identity. In the second, it becomes information: something that can be understood, corrected, improved, or reproduced.
What researchers observed
Researchers studying school motivation asked a simple question: what happens when you praise a child for intelligence rather than for effort, method, or perseverance?
In classic experiments, children praised for their intelligence were more focused on preserving that image. When faced with difficulty or after a failure, they tended to avoid the challenge or persevere less than those whose work was valued.
But I owe you an important clarification: this is not a miracle recipe. Research conducted since on what is sometimes called the ‘growth mindset’ shows modest average effects and variability depending on students and contexts.
And simply praising someone for “making an effort” is not enough either. An effort without good method can lead to repeating the same mistake ten times. What matters is the process: trying, thinking, changing strategy, asking for help, starting again differently.
What I take away from it is simpler: a child who believes their grade says who they are may devote part of their energy to defending an image. The one who sees their grade as information about what they have mastered or not yet mastered can devote that energy to learning.
What belongs to you
And this is where a verse has accompanied me for a long time:
﴿ وَأَن لَّيْسَ لِلْإِنسَٰنِ إِلَّا مَا سَعَىٰ وَأَنَّ سَعْيَهُۥ سَوْفَ يُرَىٰ ﴾
« And man only earns the fruit of his efforts; and his effort will soon be seen. »
An-Najm, 53:39-40
What strikes me about these verses is the word chosen: the effort, the ‘sa‘y’.
They do not promise that one effort will always produce exactly the hoped-for result. You will encounter efforts in life that do not lead to success, exams that are failed despite the work, projects that fail despite good will.
But they remind me that what depends most on you is your approach: what you have attempted, the way you have worked, and what you decide to do after a failure.
It is a vast freedom. A grade can tell you a chapter is not yet mastered. It does not have the power to decide your worth.
On comparison
There is a sentence you will probably hear this year. Maybe even in our own home.
« Look at your brother. »
« Look at your cousin. »
« Look at the neighbor girl. »
I tell you this knowing that adults, including me, do not always refrain from it.
This comparison is often misleading for a simple reason: it pairs two children who do not have exactly the same memory, nor the same advantages, nor the same fears, nor the same confidence, nor sometimes the same night’s sleep behind them.
﴿ لَا يُكَلِّفُ ٱللَّهُ نَفْسًا إِلَا وُسْعَهَا ﴾
« Allah does not burden a soul beyond its capacity. »
Al-Baqara, 2:286
This verse obviously does not speak about school report cards. But it reminds me of something that we, parents, easily forget: the abilities, difficulties, and burdens are not identical from one child to another.
Comparing two grades as if the two children started from exactly the same point can thus be deeply misleading.
So compare yourself, yes. But compare yourself first to yourself. To what you could not do three months ago. To the mistake you no longer make. To the text you read today more easily than in September. To the problem you now know how to solve.
That kind of comparison teaches you something.
Not knowing is not a shame
One last thing, and perhaps the most important.
This year, there will certainly be a moment when you do not understand. Perhaps a division. A grammar rule. A sentence in Arabic. A word in English.
And you will have the choice between raising your hand and staying silent.
Many stay silent, because saying “I did not understand” in front of a class sometimes feels like a sign of weakness.
It is not a confession. It is the gesture of someone who has decided to understand.
﴿ وَقُل رَّبِّ زِدْنِى عِلْمًا ﴾
« And say: O my Lord, increase me in knowledge. »
Ta-Ha, 20:114
That word was addressed to the one who received revelation. Even to him, he was asked to ask for more knowledge.
What remains of our pride, then, when we refuse to simply say: “I don’t understand”?
Three things to keep this year
The verb rule.
After each grade, try replacing “I am” with “I did,” “I understood,” “I have not yet understood,” or “I need to rework.” It’s not just a play on words: it transforms an identity into a possibility for action.
The three-month rule.
Don’t measure your progress only against the person sitting next to you. Look also at the child you were at the start of the term.
The raising-hand rule.
The day you don’t understand, ask. A misinterpretation kept for a week can become a lost chapter; kept for a term, it can sometimes become: “I am terrible at math.”
I will look at your grades. I would be dishonest to pretend otherwise.
I will be happy about your good grades. I will also ask what happened when the results are poor. I will ask you to work, sometimes to restart, sometimes to do more.
But I will try never to confuse what you have obtained with who you are.
Because a grade is information. Not an identity. It can signal well-done work, a method that works, a lesson that was misunderstood, or an effort to redo.
But it cannot measure your curiosity, your courage, your kindness, your ability to change, or all that you will still learn.
So this year, when you come home with a number at the top of a page, I will ask you what you got.
Then I will try to remember to ask the question that matters more:
What did you understand, and what will you try now?
Your father.
