Homework is a hot-button topic in education. People often conflate “homework” with “rigor” and, as educators and parents, we rarely pause to ask the most basic questions: What is homework for? And what is THIS homework for? In my classroom, I believe that giving homework is not an indication of rigor, nor a badge of honor that proves I am a “good teacher.” Instead, when I assign homework at all, it must be meaningful work that I deliberately follow up on in class – necessary for learning, but not something I grade.
In many schools, homework still serves as shorthand for "high expectations." But volume is a poor substitute for rigor. Rigor, to me, lives in the quality and purpose of work we ask students to do, and the support we provide as they do it. A student can grind through three chapters of a novel or mechanically annotate a poem and still walk away unchanged in their understanding. So I reject the assumption that teachers who assign nightly homework are inherently more serious or demanding; or even that nightly homework is necessary for learning. Homework is one tool among many, and like any tool, it can harm if misused. The question for me is never “Did I assign something?” but “Does this specific assignment deepen my students’ relationship with language, text, and ideas in a way that justifies (and respects) their time and cognitive effort?”
Mind Brain Education (MBE) research gives us a clearer idea for thinking about homework and how and when to assign it. First, we need to acknowledge cognitive load – students’ working memory is limited. Overly long reading assignments or multi‑part written tasks at the end of a long day can overwhelm that system, pushing students into shallow skimming and formulaic writing – or, dare I say, relying on AI – rather than genuine engagement. Learning does not happen under these circumstances, so why do it?
Furthermore, MBE reminds us of the interplay of emotion and motivation. Students who are so concerned about getting it “right” often take shortcuts or simply give up. A homework system that punishes students (i.e. by grading them on it, or by assigning additional work to students who are already struggling) erodes both confidence and engagement, and cannot lead to deep learning.
If we keep these principles at the forefront when planning our units, we will assign homework that is shorter, more intentional, and explicitly low‑stakes. Instead of treating homework as “more reading because this is a tough course and we have to get through the book,” I use it, when I use it, as a brief opportunity for retrieval, reflection, or preparation that will make the next class more fruitful.
Joe Feldman’s work in Grading for Equity has also shaped how I view the value of homework and why I don’t grade it. His three pillars – accuracy, bias‑resistance, and motivation – raise essential questions about traditional homework practices.
First, accuracy: In the English classroom, if grades are supposed to represent what a student currently knows and can do as a reader and writer, homework is a deeply unreliable indicator. Some students receive extensive help on work at home by way of parents, tutors, or older siblings, or rely on online summaries and translations; others are doing the work late at night after athletic practice or family obligations. Grading these products and folding them into an academic score distorts what that score claims to represent about their actual analytical and writing abilities.
Second, bias‑resistance: Homework is where out‑of‑school inequities show up most starkly. Access to quiet space to read, time to annotate carefully, a family member who can talk through a confusing poem, or a reliable device to draft an essay all vary widely. When we grade discussion boards, annotation completeness, or “did you finish Act V?” we are not necessarily measuring engagement with literature; we are, inevitably, measuring access and circumstances.
Finally, motivation: Graded homework often steers students toward compliance rather than curiosity. Some learn to play the game – skimming just enough of a reading assignment to answer surface‑level questions or annotating each line of a poem mechanically to earn points. Others, overwhelmed or discouraged by the volume, simply give up and accept the zeros. In both cases, the grade exerts pressure, but not the kind that encourages critical thinking and skill development.
For these reasons, I do not treat homework as a graded category in my class. If a reading, annotation, or writing task is crucial to our collective work, I communicate that clearly and design class time so the homework becomes indispensable to what we do together. The “consequence” for not doing it is not a punitive score; it is the lived experience of being less prepared to contribute to discussion, group work, or analysis; of not being in the optimum position to learn what comes next. Ultimately, habitually not doing the work will affect the final grade, but grades themselves are reserved for more controlled demonstrations of literary understanding, not for scattered artifacts of out‑of‑class effort.
The single most important rule in determining whether I assign homework is this: if I cannot clearly articulate to myself and to my students how I will use an assignment in class the next day, I do not assign it.
This principle eliminates busywork (“read and annotate” with no follow‑through) because every task must have a specific purpose. It requires me to plan with the end in mind: if students write this response or mark this passage tonight, what will we do with those words tomorrow? It also sends a powerful message to students: your out‑of‑class work is not invisible; it is central to our shared work as a community of readers and writers. Additionally, I respect your time. I won’t assign something you won’t need in class tomorrow. As a result, my students want to do the work so they are prepared for the important learning that will follow the next day.
It is time to let go of the idea that good teachers always assign homework, that the homework has to be long and difficult, and that “serious” courses require constant homework to be legitimate. Good teachers, in my view, actually know when not to assign work because students’ brains, schedules, and emotional bandwidth are already taxed; who can design in‑class work so powerful that relatively little at‑home work is necessary; and who, when they do assign homework, ensure it is purposeful, fair, and fully integrated into the daily life of the course.
Homework should not be an indication of a teacher’s dedication or competence, or the “rigor” of a class; rather, it should be an intentional tool anchored in a philosophy that honors student agency, real accountability, and authentic achievement. When we treat it that way, we stop asking, “How many pages should I assign?” and start asking a far better question: “What do my students need to think about to get the most out of tomorrow’s class, and does my assignment serve that end?” If it does not, I don’t assign it.
No comments:
Post a Comment