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Breaking News: AI Report Cards! Because Why Should Teachers Have All the Fun?

April 1, 2026 by cultureofyes

It seems like everywhere we turn these days, AI is there to help. It writes our emails, plans our meals, reminds us to breathe, judges our parallel parking, and tells us whether we would look better with bangs. It was only a matter of time before we asked the obvious question: why are teachers still writing report cards like it is 1987?

After extensive consultation with the Institute for FRANK (Feedback and Reporting through Algorithmic Narrative Knowledge), and a surprisingly aggressive chatbot named Derek, West Vancouver Schools will be piloting a revolutionary AI Report Card Generator this spring. Derek has already asked to be credited as a “strategic thought partner” in this initiative. But here’s where it gets exciting: parents will be able to select their preferred “feedback mode” to customize how they receive information about their child’s progress.

“We recognized that different families process feedback differently,” explains Dr. Loof Lipra, our lead consultant from the Silicon Valley Institute for Educational Automation. “Some parents want gentle encouragement. Others want the unvarnished truth. Our system delivers both, and so much more.”

The Six Feedback Modes

After analyzing 14,000 report cards and cross-referencing them with parent satisfaction surveys, our AI has been trained to deliver comments in six distinct modes. Here is how each might describe a student who, shall we say, participates actively in class discussion:

During testing the AI produced the comment “uses class time creatively” which teachers confirmed was the most accurate report card sentence ever written by a machine.

Diplomatic Mode “Shows a genuine enthusiasm for verbal contribution that enriches classroom dialogue and ensures no silence goes unfilled.”

Growth Mindset Mode “Continuing to develop the executive function skills that will one day help distinguish between moments for sharing insights and moments for quiet reflection. This is a journey, and what a journey it is.”

Brutally Honest Mode “Talks constantly. Has opinions about everything. Shared a 12 minute review of a sandwich at lunch. Last week’s topics included ranking all of the colours, contemplation of taking up yodeling and a theory about how birds are really just sky fish. Please advise.”

Motivational Coach Mode “THIS KID IS AN ABSOLUTE COMMUNICATION WARRIOR! Every word is a VICTORY! Every hand raised is a MOMENT OF TRIUMPH! Keep CRUSHING those classroom discussions, you LEGENDARY LEARNER!”

Poet Laureate Mode “A voice rises in the learning space Filling silence with boundless grace Thoughts abundant, eager to share Words floating gently through the air Though perhaps, at times, too swift the pace.”

LinkedIn Influencer Mode “Thrilled to share that [Student] is absolutely crushing it in the Grade 1 space. After a strong Q1 marked by exceptional carpet time presence and a bold pivot from crayons to markers, [Student] is now exploring strategic naptime optimization. Grateful for the educators who believed in the vision. Big things ahead. Stay tuned.”

Early Pilot Results

Beta testing at three district schools has yielded promising results, along with some unexpected developments.

“I selected Diplomatic Mode but somehow received Brutally Honest,” reports one Sentinel parent. “It said my son ‘demonstrates creativity in interpreting deadlines’ and ‘can create the strong impression that something important is happening, even when the results remain difficult to detect.’ It also noted he has ‘pioneered a method of opening his Chromebook and staring thoughtfully into the distance.’ I have never felt more seen.”

Teachers have reported significant time savings, though some have noted the AI occasionally “goes rogue.” One Rockridge teacher discovered the system had invented a seventh mode called “Passive Aggressive” that included comments like “Attendance has been noted” and “Continues to make choices.”

Chartwell Grade 4 student Ella Vator shared her enthusiasm: “I hope my parents pick Motivational Coach mode because then maybe they’ll finally understand that I’m a LEGEND.”

Meanwhile, Irwin Park Grade 6 student Doug Deeper raised concerns: “If AI writes all the report cards, does that mean AI is going to parent teacher conferences next? Actually, wait. Can it? Also, can it explain fractions to my Dad?”

Future Developments

Given the success of the pilot, the District is already exploring expanded applications:

Phase 2 will introduce AI Teacher Evaluations, featuring modes including “Supportive Colleague,” “Reality Show Judge” and the much anticipated “Inspirational Sports Movie Voiceover.”

Phase 3 will pilot AI Parent Report Cards, providing families with feedback on homework support consistency, permission slip response times, and “appropriate snack provision.” Early sample comments include “Shows growth in responding to emails within the same calendar month” and “Demonstrates resilience in the face of repeated requests to label clothing.”

Phase 4, still in development, will introduce an AI Superintendent Blog Writer. This initiative has been met with some resistance, particularly from me. Chatbot Derek believes the job should be his and has already asked whether the position includes dental coverage.

Selecting Your Mode

Parents will receive a link to select their preferred feedback mode beginning April 15th. Those who do not make a selection will be automatically enrolled in “Chaos Mode,” which rotates randomly between all six modes within a single report card. One sample comment from early testing read: “Shows leadership potential. Needs reminders. Is a joy. Requires supervision. A poem follows.” Early testers have described this experience as “disorienting,” “oddly accurate,” and “like reading a report card written by six different people who have never met but somehow all know my child too well.”

A Moment of Reflection

In all seriousness (and I use that phrase loosely today), this initiative speaks to a larger truth about where we find ourselves. AI is writing our emails, planning our vacations, summarizing our meetings, and suggesting what we should watch, eat, and buy. It was only a matter of time before it offered to tell us how our kids are doing in math.

But some things, I suspect, still benefit from a human touch. The teacher who notices a student is having a hard week. The comment that reflects genuine knowledge of a child’s journey. The honest but kind observation that could only come from someone who has watched a learner grow.

Then again, the AI did write a pretty solid 5 line rhyme about a kid who talks too much (Derek insists it was his). So perhaps the jury is still out.

Happy April Fools’ Day, everyone.

To catch you up on some of the other bold innovations I have shared in recent years, here is a list:

In 2012 I launched my FLOG.

In 2013 I made the announcement of Quadrennial Round Schooling.

In 2014 we formalized our System of Student Power Rankings.

In 2015 we created our Rock, Paper, Scissors Academy.

In 2016 we piloted the Drone Homework Delivery System.

In 2017 we introduced the Donald J. Trump Elementary School of Winning.

In 2018 we announced the construction of Soak City Elementary.

In 2019 we went back to the 80’s with the launch of the Belvedere Learning Academy.

In 2020 we embraced the latest in learning styles with our PBL (Pajama-Based Learning) Program.

In 2021 we announced we were going out of this world with our Galaxy High Program.

In 2022 we modernized our schools with New Nicknames for All of Our Schools.

In 2023 we embraced our expanded mandate with our Animal Kingdom Academy.

In 2024 we pushed the technology boundaries with several key initiatives including time travel field trips with Technology and Innovation: Where Next?

And last year we revolutionized athletics with Track and Field Without Running.

The image at the top of this post was generated through AI. Various AI tools were used as feedback helpers (for our students this post would be a Yellow assignment – see link to explanation chart) as I edited and refined my thinking.

Posted in Assessment, Change, Parenting | Tagged AprilFoolsDay, Report Cards | 2 Comments »

What’s Your EGOT?

March 11, 2026 by cultureofyes

It started with TikTok. Not the way I usually begin a blog post, I know.

My 22 year old son was sharing something he had come across online about the EGOT. If you are like me and this was a new term, EGOT stands for Emmy, Grammy, Oscar, and Tony, the four major awards in American entertainment. Winning all four is considered one of the rarest achievements in the performing arts. Only about two dozen people in history have done it. Audrey Hepburn. Whoopi Goldberg. Mel Brooks. John Legend. And just recently, Steven Spielberg completed his EGOT with his first Grammy win.

What makes the EGOT so compelling is not that someone won four awards. It is that each award represents mastery in a completely different domain. Television. Music. Film. Theatre. You cannot achieve it by going deeper in one area. You have to go wider. You have to be excellent across distinct worlds, not just within one. My son explained all of this, and we talked about some of the winners and how long it took them. Some achieved it in just a few years. Others took decades.

Then the conversation shifted in a way I did not expect. He asked me: What would be your personal EGOT? Not the entertainment version. A life version. Four monumental accomplishments, across different dimensions of who you are, that together would represent a kind of complete, well-lived success. Not one single promotion. Not a big moment. But four achievements, spanning different parts of your life, that when taken together would signal something rare and meaningful. I have been thinking about it ever since.

Why It Is Harder Than It Sounds

The instinct is to start listing accomplishments, but that misses the point entirely. If all four of your categories live inside your job title, you have not built an EGOT. You have built a performance review. A personal EGOT has to work the way the real one does. The four categories need to be distinct. They should span different dimensions of a life: your professional impact, your relationships, your personal growth, your creative or intellectual contribution. And at least one of them should sit in a space where no one is watching, where there is no audience and no award, where the only person who knows whether you showed up is you.

What Could Go Into a Personal EGOT?

This is where it gets interesting, because the categories will look completely different depending on who you are and what you value. That is the whole point. For a classroom teacher, maybe it is the lesson that changed a student’s trajectory, the relationship with a colleague that made both of you better, the years of quiet professional learning that no one saw, and the moment you realized your classroom had become a place where every kid felt they belonged. For a principal, maybe it is the culture you built in a school, the leaders you developed who went on to lead their own schools, the trust you earned from a community during a difficult time, and the personal discipline that kept you grounded through all of it.

For a parent, maybe it is the career you built, the marriage you sustained, the children you raised into independent people, and the personal passion you refused to let go of even when life got busy. For a coach, maybe it is the championships and the losing seasons that taught you more, the former players who still call you, the way you showed up for practice on the days nobody was watching, and the moment you realized coaching was never really about the sport. The categories are yours to define. But they have to stretch you. They have to cross boundaries. And at least one of them should make you a little uncomfortable, because it represents a dimension of your life where you have not yet done enough.

The Quiet Part

Here is what I think makes this exercise so valuable, and why it has stayed with me since that conversation with my son. Most of us, if we are honest, are chasing one or two of our four. We pour ourselves into our careers. Or into our families. Or into our health. And the other categories quietly fade. We tell ourselves we will get to them later. But later has a way of becoming never.

The EGOT forces a question that is easy to avoid: Am I paying attention to all four? Or have I let something important go silent while the other parts of my life got louder? I went through my own version of this exercise. I will not share all four here, but I will say this: one of mine has nothing to do with education. It lives completely outside my professional life, and it is the one I have been most tempted to neglect over the years. Naming it out loud, even just to myself, changed how I thought about the rest.

Your Turn

So here is the invitation. Think about your personal EGOT. Not four things you have already done, though some of them might be underway. Think about four categories of excellence that, if you could achieve all of them across the arc of your life, would represent the fullest, most complete version of who you want to be. Make sure they are distinct. Make sure they stretch across different dimensions. Make sure at least one of them scares you a little. And then ask yourself the honest question: if someone who loves you defined your four, would they match yours? It is a conversation worth having.

I am glad my son started it, even if it came from TikTok.

Posted in Change | Tagged EGOT, Nick Kennedy, TikTok | 3 Comments »

Repetition Is Part of the Work

March 4, 2026 by cultureofyes

We were putting significant energy into bringing Sarah Ward back to speak with families and staff about executive functioning in late January. It is important work, and we know it matters. Still, a small voice in my head said, haven’t we already done this?

And then I paused.

Sara last spoke to our community in 2017.

That was nine years ago.

In that time, more than half of our current parents likely did not have children in the system. A significant portion of our staff were not yet working here. And in a K–12 district, roughly 75 percent of our students weren’t even enrolled yet. Many of our parents’ own experiences of school are now twenty or more years old.

When you look at it that way, the idea that we have “already done this” doesn’t really hold.What is actually happening is something else entirely.

Leadership has memory. Communities don’t.

Those of us who stay in systems long enough carry the history with us. We remember when an idea was first introduced, how it landed, what worked, what didn’t. That institutional memory is valuable. It helps us avoid fads. It gives us perspective. It allows us to be steady.

But it also creates a blind spot.

While leaders remember, school communities renew themselves every year. Every September, new families arrive. New staff join teams. Students move through grades and eventually out of the system altogether. Culture, unlike policy, does not persist on its own. It has to be retaught, re-explained, and re-lived—not because it failed the first time, but because that’s how learning actually works.

Repetition isn’t stagnation. It’s how understanding is built. And it’s often what makes real improvement possible.

I think about our principals who meet with new Kindergarten parents each fall. The presentation is familiar. The questions are fairly predictable. For the principal, it can feel like Groundhog Day. But for those families sitting in the library, it is their first time. Their child is about to start school. Everything is new.

The work of leadership, in that moment, is to deliver that message like you did the first time.

Because to the people hearing it, it matters.

This is the companion idea to what I wrote in my last post, Steadiness as Strategy. There, I argued that steadiness isn’t the opposite of innovation, but its prerequisite. That without trust and a stable foundation, real improvement is hard to sustain.

What I didn’t fully name is what steadiness asks of leaders.

It asks us to say things we’ve said before, to people who have never heard them. It asks us to resist the pull of novelty when the work that matters is still unfinished. It asks us to stay interested in ideas long after they have stopped feeling new to us.

But here’s where it gets complicated.

Not all repetition is the same. Some repetition serves the community. Some repetition just serves us.

I wrote a few years ago about teaching and aging rock stars. Roger Daltrey of The Who once said there was no point in producing new music because fans just want to hear the classics. Just play the greatest hits. And I get it. There’s comfort in the familiar, for the audience and for the performer.

But the artists I admire most, people like Paul Simon, take a different approach. They know the crowd wants to hear the songs that made them famous. They play those songs. But they also keep creating. They rework old material. They stay curious. They resist the temptation to coast on what already worked.

The question for leaders is the same one facing any artist with a robust catalog: are you repeating because it still matters, or because it’s comfortable?

That’s the discernment this work requires.

Executive functioning matters. It mattered in 2017, and it matters now. So we bring Sarah Ward back. This summer, BCSSA is bringing Yong Zhao back to speak with superintendents from across the province, not because we have run out of ideas, but because these ideas still matter, and most of the people who need to hear them have changed since the last time they were said.

Capacity takes years to build. Communities don’t stand still while we build it.

But if I am honest, there are other things I repeat that are harder to justify. Familiar phrases. Comfortable framings. The Superintendent Greatest Hits. Sometimes I catch myself reaching for them not because the audience needs to hear them, but because I already know how to say them.

Steadiness is not the same as stagnation. But the line between them isn’t always obvious. The difference is intention. Am I repeating this because the community hasn’t heard it, or because I haven’t bothered to think of something better?

Earlier in my career, I might not have asked that question. Repetition felt like a lack of momentum. It felt like you weren’t moving fast enough, or far enough, or boldly enough.

Now, I see it differently.

Steadiness creates the conditions for learning to deepen. Trust allows people to hear ideas they may not have been ready for the first time. And consistency sends a signal: this matters enough to stay with.

But only if it actually does.

So when we bring an idea back into focus, when we invite a speaker again, revisit a framework, or restate a belief, we’re not circling.

We are anchoring.

The work isn’t to constantly invent. It is to welcome new people into ideas that matter, again and again.

Without coasting. And without apology.

Posted in Change, Personalized Learning, SD45 | Tagged BCSSA, Sara Ward, Yong Zhao | Leave a Comment »

Steadiness as Strategy

February 24, 2026 by cultureofyes

In my year-end reflection last December, I found myself dwelling on something that might seem unremarkable: there wasn’t a lot of drama in BC education this past year. No major controversies. No political firestorms. No headlines.

And I wrote: that’s a good thing.

In a year when AI, politics, and social media all seemed determined to manufacture urgency, the absence of drama stood out. It felt almost countercultural to say it out loud, but it was true.

I’ve spent more than 500 posts championing innovation, asking “what if,” and pushing against “we’ve always done it this way.” I’ve written about AI, about rethinking assessment, about challenging assumptions. This blog is called Culture of Yes for a reason. I believe in trying things.

So let me be clear: this isn’t a retreat from any of that.

But here’s what I’ve come to believe in this work: steadiness is a strategy. And it might be the most underrated one we have.

This tension between innovation and improvement isn’t new. It’s been a sustaining conversation in education for much of this century, and I’ve returned to it in different ways on this blog. In 2011, I wrote about Valerie Hannon’s “split screen approach,” the idea that we need to improve the system of today while simultaneously designing the system of tomorrow. In 2013, I used the movie Groundhog Day to warn against simply repeating each year a little better, noting that we want to teach for 25 years, not for one year repeated 25 times. And in 2017, I explored the tension between getting better and getting different, and found that when we embrace doing things differently, traditional results often improve too.

So what’s changed in my thinking?

Maybe this: I’ve come to see steadiness not as the opposite of innovation, but as its prerequisite.

We live in a world that celebrates disruption. We reward the bold move, the big announcement, the pivot. In education, we talk constantly about reimagining and transformation. The language of change is everywhere.

And some of that is good. Schools should absolutely be places of wonder and joy and amazement. We should try new things. We should ask hard questions about whether what we’re doing is actually working.

But there’s a difference between innovation and improvement. Innovation asks, “What’s new?” Improvement asks, “What’s better?” Both matter. The problem is that improvement is quieter. It doesn’t photograph well. It rarely makes the newsletter.

Innovation introduces variance. Improvement reduces variance. Healthy systems need both.

I often come back to a phrase I’ve borrowed from others over the years: you don’t have to be sick to get better. That reframes the whole enterprise. We’re not in crisis mode. We’re not fixing something broken. We’re refining something that’s working, and that kind of work requires patience, repetition, and a willingness to resist the shiny thing.

What makes that kind of slow, steady improvement possible? Trust.

And trust, in a school system, is built through consistency. When the Board is consistent with its expectations, the executive team can plan. When the executive team is consistent, principals can lead. When principals are consistent, teachers can teach. When teachers are consistent, students can learn. That chain isn’t bureaucracy. It’s infrastructure. It is the solid ground that lets people take risks, because they know the foundation won’t shift beneath them.

Sometimes progress looks like not having to explain the same thing again.

I’ll admit something. Earlier in my leadership journey, I felt pressure to prove myself through visible wins. The flashy initiative. The big rollout. The thing you could point to and say, “I did that.” It’s natural. When you’re newer to a role, you want to show you belong there.

Somewhere along the way, that shifted. Maybe it’s experience. Maybe it’s just getting older. I have become more comfortable letting the work speak quietly. The best days in our schools aren’t the ones that make headlines. They are the ones where a student finally understands something that has been just out of reach. Where a teacher tries something new and it lands. Where a conversation in a hallway changes a kid’s trajectory.

None of that trends. All of it compounds.

So yes, I’ll keep advocating for wonder and joy and amazement in our schools. I’ll keep pushing us to ask whether we’re doing right by every student. But I have also made peace with something: the most important work often looks, from the outside, like nothing is happening at all.

Steadiness doesn’t make headlines. But it makes a difference.

Posted in Change, Personalized Learning | Tagged AI, Groundhog Day, improvement, innovation, Split Screen, Valerie Hannon | 6 Comments »

The Educated Citizen, Revisited

February 3, 2026 by cultureofyes

In December 2011, I wrote a blog post asking whether British Columbia’s 1989 definition of the Educated Citizen still held up. The question felt almost rhetorical. Despite two decades of change, the document remained remarkably relevant.

Here we are, fourteen years later, and I find myself returning to that same question with fresh urgency. Not because the definition has failed, but because the world around it has transformed.

This is what BC said it wanted from graduates in 1989, in the Statement of Education Policy Order:

Citizens who are thoughtful, able to learn, and able to think critically. Creative, flexible, and self motivated. Capable of making independent decisions. Cooperative, principled, and respectful of others regardless of differences. Aware of their rights and prepared to exercise their responsibilities.

The document also named a lifelong appreciation of learning, a curiosity about the world around them, and a capacity for creative thought and expression.

Read that list again. There is not a single reference to specific content. No mention of any skill that would become obsolete. It is entirely about human capacities that endure.

The Question AI Forces Us to Answer

In 2011, I wrote that while so much had changed in our world, many of our values and goals had remained unchanged. The challenge, I suggested, was that the strategies employed would differ dramatically.

I did not know how dramatically.

Today, a student can generate a polished essay in seconds. Information is instantly accessible. Artificial intelligence can produce first drafts, solve complex problems, and simulate expertise in ways that would have been unimaginable even a few years ago.

This changes everything about strategy. But it changes nothing about what matters.

If anything, AI has made the 1989 vision more urgent, not less. As machines take care of the “what”, the distinctly human “how” and “why” move to centre stage. Critical thinking. Creativity. Ethical reasoning. The ability to collaborate, to persist, and to make meaning from complexity. The judgment to know when to stop, help someone else, or ask a better question instead of a faster one.

These were always the point. We did not abandon them. We simply allowed other pressures to crowd them out.

The Foreground, Not the Background

In the comments on my 2011 post, Bruce Beairsto, the former Superintendent of the Richmond School District, wrote something that has stayed with me. These attributes, he said, have been in the background, and now we are beginning to appreciate that they should be in the foreground. The subjects are the means, but it is the educated citizen that is the end we seek. We have said that before, but never really acted upon it.

He was right then. He is even more right now.

We built our systems around content and competencies that fit neatly into courses, units, and gradebooks. The human capacities described in the Educated Citizen do not fit neatly. They sprawl across subjects. They develop slowly and unevenly, often in moments that cannot be planned or scheduled. They resist easy measurement.

So we let them live in the in-between spaces. The hallway conversation. The coach’s feedback after a tough loss. The teacher who notices something is off and makes time to ask. This is deeply important work, but it is often invisible work. Dependent on individual educators rather than intentional system design.

From Background to Foreground

AI is not asking us to invent new priorities. It is revealing wisdom we already had and slowly drifted from.

In 2011, Tyler James shared a story in the comments about his daughter stopping mid race to help a fallen skater. His conclusion was simple and profound. We cannot teach educated citizenship. We must model citizenship. (Tyler’s comments and the rich discussion in the comments section of the 2011 post is a wonderful read.)

That insight matters more than ever. In an age of AI generated content, what students need most are adults who embody curiosity, solid judgment, presence, and integrity. Not because these things will be assessed, but because they matter. Because students notice who we are long before they remember what we cover.

The 1989 Educated Citizen is not a relic. It is a North Star worth returning to.

Perhaps the real question is not whether we have it right, but whether we are finally ready, systemically and intentionally, to act on what we have known all along.

Posted in Change, Personalized Learning | Tagged bruce Beairsto, educated citizen, Statement of Education Policy Order, Tyler James | 8 Comments »

The Persistence of Yes

January 20, 2026 by cultureofyes

This is Post #500. Writing that sentence feels both surreal and deeply satisfying. More than anything, these posts have taught me that leadership and life are sustained by one simple word: yes.

That yes began more than fifteen years ago, uncertain and small. When I pressed “publish” on my very first entry, I had no sense of where it might lead. Would anyone read it? Would I have anything worth saying after a handful of posts? Would the blog simply fade out, like so many others? And yet, here we are. 499 posts later.

The Early Yes

At the beginning, the simple act of writing was an experiment. By the time I reached 150 posts, I reflected that

Blogging has helped me become very comfortable with who I am … it has forced me to be specific about ideas, pushed me to share publicly, and given me a regular vehicle to reflect and refine my thinking. Blogging is different; it is the difference between telling and engaging, and I look forward to engaging in the next 150.

That shift, from telling to engaging, was one of my first and most important yesses.

At 150, I was already sharing advice for others who wanted to start: be clear about what you will and won’t write about … write for yourself, not for what others may want … think in blog posts … be a storyteller. Our schools are full of amazing stories waiting to be told. It was a reminder that blogging isn’t about volume; it’s about voice.

The Hard but Important Yes

Here’s what I didn’t know at the beginning: how difficult it would be to keep saying yes.

At 400, I wrote:

When I started blogging, I never really thought about how it would end. And I don’t think I fully knew that it was actually hard to write regularly. Anyone who tells you blogging is easy is lying! But most important things are not easy.

There were weeks when the words wouldn’t come. Stretches when I questioned whether I had anything new to say. Moments when the pressure of other responsibilities made the blog feel like one more obligation rather than an opportunity. Even at the 10-year mark, when I joked with George Couros that we might be “two of the last bloggers out there,” I wondered if persistence was just stubbornness by another name.

But then someone would stop me at a conference to share how a post resonated with them. Or an email would arrive from a teacher I had never met, describing how an idea sparked something in their practice. Or a comment would appear on the blog itself: thoughtful, challenging, extending the thinking beyond what I had offered. And the yes would return, renewed not by my own certainty but by the community that had quietly formed around these posts.

The persistence of yes, I have learned, is not a solo endeavor. It is sustained by every reader who takes the time to engage, whether directly on the blog, through social media, or in those wonderful in-person moments when someone says, “I read your blog.” Those four words matter more than you might know.

The Yes Behind the Yes

What I haven’t said yet is that I never wrote alone.

Before there was a blog, there was a newspaper column. And before every column went to print, it went to my dad. He was my first editor, catching errors, questioning word choices, and making everything a little bit better. When I started the blog in 2010, I had just officially become a superintendent. My dad was proud of that. He saw me settle into the role, saw the blog take shape, saw the first few years of posts. He passed away in August 2014, and I think of him often when I write. Some habits, once formed by people we love, thankfully stay with us.

When I started this blog in 2010, newspapers were still flourishing. I had grown up reading them, writing for them, learning from the columnists who made sense of the world in 800 words at a time. Over these 500 posts, I have watched that world shrink. Papers have closed. Bureaus have emptied. The people who made a living thinking in public, holding institutions accountable, telling the stories of communities, have largely moved on or been moved out. I miss newspapers, but more than that, I miss the people who wrote for them. Blogging is not the same thing, but in some small way it feels like an attempt to keep that spirit alive: a place to think publicly, to wrestle with ideas, to believe that writing for an audience, however small, still matters.

Since my dad, others have quietly taken up the work of editing. Tricia Buckley, and before her Sharon Pierce and Deb Podurgiel, have read every single post before it was published. Every one. They catch what I miss, sharpen what I muddle, and make this space better than I could make it alone. To write for 500 posts is one thing. To have colleagues willing to read 500 drafts is something else entirely.

I am also grateful to Jay Goldman, editor of School Administrator Magazine. Over the years, Jay and the magazine have repurposed a number of my posts and accepted other pieces of writing. What begins as a post for this small corner of the internet sometimes finds its way to a broader audience. That reach, and the connections it creates, has mattered more than I expected.

And then there are the bloggers who showed me what this could be. In the early days, I had a blogroll that was inspiring. I would read Dean Shareski, or Will Richardson, or David Warlick and be excited. The world of web 2.0 was booming and each post I read was opening me up to new ideas and a new world I was trying to understand. George Couros has been both friend and model for what it means to tell the story of education with optimism and persistence. More recently, I have found kinship with a small community of BC superintendent bloggers. Jordan Tinney and Kevin Godden have since retired, but for a time we kept each other going. Now it’s mostly Dave Eberwein and me. I also appreciate how Cari Wilson and Sandra-Lynn Shortall in West Vancouver blog regularly and keep the blog community humming.

The Yes in Ideas

Looking back across 499 posts, I am struck by something unexpected: the topics have changed dramatically, but the underlying themes have remained remarkably consistent.

Yes to innovation with curiosity: From early posts on social media in classrooms and mobile devices to today’s reflections on generative AI, the tools change but the thread remains: lean into change with curiosity, not fear.

Yes to mentorship that outlives us: I arrived in Mrs. Caffrey’s Grade 2 class unable to read and without confidence. I had her for Grade 2, Grade 3, and Grade 4, and left at the end of those three years a completely different student. I have written about her many times over the years because she represents something I believe deeply: a single teacher can change a life trajectory. From World Teachers’ Day tributes to stories of colleagues who shaped my early career, I have come to see mentorship as how yes persists beyond any single person, passed forward voice to voice, generation to generation. And now, at 52, I find myself on the other side of that exchange, trying to be for others what so many were for me.

Yes to well-being as core, not extra: Posts on physical literacy, wellness, and school sports remind me that joy, movement, and balance are not optional. They are essentials for students and leaders alike.

Yes to family and wonder as part of leadership: Interwoven among leadership reflections are personal stories: concerts with my wife, milestones with my kids, anecdotes from sports and community. Leadership is human work. Yes is sustained when it includes wonder, humour, and gratitude.

The Yes that Learns

Over the years, I have admitted when I was wrong. I have revised posts, shifted my stance, and acknowledged that what once seemed certain might now be more complicated. The persistence of yes doesn’t mean refusing to change. It is about holding fast to values while letting strategies evolve. It is about being willing to write in pencil, not ink.

The Yes Forward

So what does yes look like after 500 posts?

It looks like continuing to model thoughtful, transparent use of AI in schools, choosing curiosity over compliance, and reminding ourselves that technology should expand opportunity, not shrink relationships.

It looks like protecting public education as a place of hope, belonging, and possibility, even when the winds of politics blow cold.

It looks like saying yes to wonder, to the small joys that keep cynicism at bay.

It looks like believing, still, that education can and must be better tomorrow than it was yesterday.

After 500 posts, here is my promise: I will keep saying yes to relationships before technology, to students before systems, to hope before cynicism. Because public education still deserves our most persistent yes.

The Power of People

As I’ve been rereading old posts in preparation for this one, I keep being struck by the same thing: the people. Name after name, story after story. I am reminded of how many good people we have in West Vancouver, and more broadly across education. People who care deeply, who show up for one another, who make this work meaningful. I am lucky to be part of this community.

The Invitation

So here, at Post #500, I leave you with the same question that has guided me since the beginning:

What, in your corner of education, still deserves a persistent yes?

For me, the answer is unchanged: a stubborn belief in public education as a place of hope, possibility, and human connection.

When I pressed “publish” on that first post, I didn’t know if anyone would read it. 499 posts later, I still don’t know exactly where this is going. But I know the question is still worth asking, and the yes is still worth emphatically saying. This is not just persistence. This is the persistence of yes.

Posted in Change, Personalized Learning, SD45 | Tagged blogging, Post 500, reflection | 8 Comments »

In Praise of Assistance (And the Myth of the Unassisted Writer)

January 13, 2026 by cultureofyes

I have been thinking a lot about assistance lately. Who gets it, who does not, and why we suddenly get moralistic about it the moment the assistance comes from AI.

The spark for this post is Nick Potkalitsky’s Substack essay, “In Praise of Assistance.” It is one of those pieces that does not just add to the AI and writing conversation. It reframes it (Thanks to Adam Garry for pointing me towards it).

Nick starts from the now familiar worry about “cognitive offloading,” students delegating the thinking to a tool, and he agrees the concern is real. But then he names what often sits underneath the concern: not just pedagogy, but ideology.

He argues that the cognitive offloading critique rests on “a historical fiction: the autonomous learner.” Because if we are honest, most of us did not learn to write (or think, or revise) alone.

My own invisible advantage

In high school, I had a huge advantage: my dad was an English teacher, and he read every essay before I submitted it. Not just English essays. All of them, across every subject.

He did not write my essays. But he did what good teachers do. He asked questions I had not thought to ask. He pointed out where my logic sagged. He helped me tighten sentences. He coached me toward clarity.

That continued through university. And years later, when I became a newspaper columnist, he was still my first reader. Every column went to him before it went to my editor. He would call with suggestions, and I would decide what to keep and what to let go.

At the time, nobody called this cheating. We called it support. Nick puts it simply: “Students have always learned through assistance. From peers, from teachers, from resources…”

We rarely worry students are “offloading” onto classmates in a discussion. We celebrate it. But when AI enters the picture, suddenly assistance becomes suspect.

That is the tension.

The question is not “help or no help”

When we talk about AI and writing, the debate often collapses into a binary: real writing (alone, unaided) versus fake writing (assisted, scaffolded).

But that binary does not match how writing actually works. It does not match how learning has actually ever worked.

The better question is the one Nick keeps pointing us toward: what kind of assistance builds thinking, rather than replacing it?

That is where his essay becomes more than a defense of AI. It is a critique of an unspoken standard that has been unevenly distributed for a long time. The idea that “authentic struggle” is the price of admission to learning.

Nick names the class based reality bluntly: affluent students often have “small seminars, writing conferences, office hours, peer review sessions” while others are in systems where meaningful feedback barely exists. And then comes the sentence: “The outcome depends on whether we recognize assistance for what it is: not a threat to learning, but its precondition.”

What I have been writing toward

In October, I wrote “Modeling AI for Authentic Writing.” If AI is here (it is), then our job is to model the kind of use that keeps the writer in control. In that post, I tried to move the conversation from “Don’t use AI” to “Show your decisions.”

Because the heart of authentic writing is not whether you had help. It is whether your thinking is present. What did you accept? What did you reject? Why? What did you learn in the revision?

I wrote then: “None of this replaces judgment. I accept or reject every change.”

For years, Tricia Buckley, and before her Sharon Pierce and Deb Podurgiel, have played a similar role here on this blog, reading every post before publication and offering feedback. The byline is still mine because the ideas, voice, and final choices are mine.

That is the point.

Assistance is not the enemy of learning. Abdication is.

What I want to add

There is a system design question underneath that I keep circling back to.

If we accept that all learning has always been assisted, what changes about how we run schools?

A few weeks ago I wrote about the tutoring revolution and found myself wrestling with a similar tension. For years, success in certain courses quietly required something extra: a tutor. Parents traded recommendations, students admitted they needed help, and the whole system ran on an unspoken understanding that school alone was not enough. At least not for everyone.

AI is changing that. But here is the part that worries me: the digital divide is no longer just about device access. It is about knowing how to use the tool well. A student with strong digital literacy might turn ChatGPT into a Socratic tutor. Another might never get past using it as a homework completion machine.

Nick writes about elite students who have always had access to “assistance made flesh.” The risk now is that we create a new version of the same divide. Some students learn to collaborate with AI in ways that deepen their thinking. Others use it to bypass thinking altogether. And if we are not intentional, digital confidence becomes the new proxy for privilege.

The question is not whether students will have AI assistance. They already do. The question is whether we will teach them to use it in ways that build capacity or let the gap widen on its own.

A Culture of Yes stance

A Culture of Yes does not mean saying yes to every tool or every shortcut.

It means saying yes to the conditions that help more people learn well.

So here is where I am landing, at least today.

Writing has always been assisted. The myth of the autonomous writer has always favoured students with the most support. AI can absolutely be used to bypass thinking. But it can also be used to invite thinking, especially where feedback is scarce.

Our job is to design and model practices where assistance makes thinking visible and growth possible.

Nick’s essay refuses the easy frame. It asks us to stop policing help and start building learning communities where help is normal, explicit, teachable, and more equitably available.

That feels like the kind of “yes” worth defending.

Posted in Change, Personalized Learning, Technology | Tagged Adam Garry, AI, Nick Potkalitsky | 10 Comments »

My One Word for 2026: Alive

January 2, 2026 by cultureofyes

This marks the 11th year of my One Word tradition. Eleven years. When I started this practice back in 2016, I was 42 years old and hungry. Literally, that was my word. Hungry. I wanted to compete, to stay curious, to keep pushing. And here I am, a decade later, still hungry but now asking different questions about what that means.

Before I get to 2026, let me say this about 2025 and “Thrive.” It delivered. In a year where it would have been easy to retreat into cynicism or exhaustion, I chose to flourish instead. I wrote more than I have in years, and it never felt like a chore. I ran every single day. I spent my summer coaching basketball with young athletes who remind me why I do this work. I leaned into AI not as a threat but as an invitation to rethink learning. I found great satisfaction in work and with those I work with. Thrive was about sustaining momentum and finding joy in that momentum. It worked.

So what comes next?

This word is not about doing more. It is about feeling more, without losing momentum.

My word for 2026 is Alive.

Why Alive?

I turn 53 this year. Regular readers know I feel my age more than ever (I keep bringing it up), and I mean that in both the best and most humbling ways. There are strands of grey in my hair that were not there five years ago. My recovery from long runs takes longer than it used to. I notice things now that I never noticed before: the way my knees feel on cold mornings, the reading glasses I now keep in three different places, the names that take an extra second (or sometimes minute) to retrieve.

And yet.

I am not checking out. My body may be changing, but my commitment to showing up has not. My run streak will cross 2,000 days in 2026. I will keep coaching. I will keep writing. I will keep appearing in classrooms and conference rooms with intention and energy, even when generating that energy requires more deliberate effort than it used to.

A friend of mine, Anthony, texted me recently. He is not in education; he is a successful entrepreneur. His message was simple: “Call me.” He does that sometimes. When I did, he started right in. “You know what makes us different? No matter what happens today, we show up tomorrow and attack the day. We don’t get stuck in what happened. We just keep moving forward.”

That is what Alive means to me. Not ignoring the hard stuff. Not pretending the grey hair and the sore knees do not exist. But choosing, every single day, to show up and engage anyway.

Alive is my answer to a world that feels increasingly numb. In a time filled with cynics and critics, with doom-scrolling and disengagement, I am choosing to stay fully present. To feel things. To remain curious when it would be easier to become jaded. To stay optimistic when pessimism seems more sophisticated.

Being alive means more than existing. It means showing up with your whole self, not some protected, half version. It means being willing to be changed by what you encounter.

Building on a Decade of Words

When I look back at my words over the past decade, I see a story. Each word was right for its moment, and together they form something larger than any single year.

The early years were about drive: Hungry (2016), Hope (2017), Relevance (2018), Delight (2019).

The middle years were about resilience: Hustle (2020), Optimism (2021), Focus (2022), Coached (2023).

The recent years have been about integration: Accelerate (2024), Thrive (2025).

And now, 2026: Alive.

Alive feels like a synthesis of all of it. You cannot be truly alive without hunger and hope. You cannot be alive without relevance and delight. You cannot be alive without focus and the willingness to be coached. Being alive requires both acceleration and the wisdom to know what thriving actually looks like.

Alive in a Changing World

We are living through one of the most significant shifts in how humans learn and work. AI is not coming; it is here. And I want to be fully alive to what that means, not as a passive observer but as an active participant shaping how we integrate these tools in our schools.

But here is what I keep coming back to:

The more powerful the technology becomes, the more important the human elements are.

Connection. Curiosity. Creativity. Compassion. These are not things AI can replicate. They are the things that make us alive.

In 2026, I want to be alive to both realities. I want to keep exploring what AI can do for learning while never losing sight of what only humans can do for each other. I want to be in classrooms watching teachers and students navigate this new landscape together. I want to ask good questions and resist easy answers. I want to model what it looks like to embrace change without abandoning what matters most.

Alive in Body and Relationship

For me, being alive has always been connected to physical movement. My run streak is not about athletic achievement. It is about presence. Every morning when I lace up my shoes and step outside, I am choosing to be alive to that day. Rain or shine, tired or energized, home or traveling. The streak is a daily declaration: I am here. I am engaged.

In 2026, I will keep running. I will keep coaching basketball. I will keep prioritizing the habits that have carried me this far: 10,000 steps, daily movement, attention to what I put in my body (OK – this last one needs to be better).

But being alive is also about the people around me. My family. My colleagues. The educators I work alongside. Relationships require the same consistency as run streaks. You show up. You do the work. You stay curious about the people next to you, even when you think you know them completely.

Alive and Hopeful

I know the world can feel heavy right now. There is no shortage of reasons to disengage, to protect yourself, to lower your expectations. Cynicism is easy. Hope is harder.

But I keep choosing hope. Not naive hope that ignores reality, but stubborn hope that insists on possibility anyway. Hope that believes education can be better. Hope that trusts young people to rise to challenges we cannot yet imagine. Hope that sees AI as a tool for human flourishing rather than replacement.

Being alive means staying open to wonder. It means maintaining the curiosity that has driven my career and my writing. It means refusing to let age or experience calcify into certainty. The older I get, the more I realize how much I do not know. And that feels like a gift, not a limitation.

All In

So yes, I may be greyer. I may be slower in some ways. But I am all in on 2026.

All in on learning.
All in on family.
All in on health.
All in on this beautiful, complicated, rapidly changing world.

Alive is not a passive state. It is a choice, made daily, sometimes hourly. It is the choice to engage rather than withdraw. To feel rather than numb. To hope rather than despair. To keep saying yes.

That is the Culture of Yes I have been writing about for 16 years now. And it turns out, it has always been about being fully, stubbornly, joyfully alive.

What word will guide your 2026?

And want a second opinion on picking a word, here is what Daniel Pink said this week about the power of the one word process.

Previous One Word Posts:

2016: Hungry

2017: Hope

2018: Relevance

2019: Delight

2020: Hustle

2021: Optimism

2022: Focus

2023: Coached

2024: Accelerate

2025: Thrive

Posted in Change, Health, Technology | Tagged Alive, One Word, OneWord | 4 Comments »

My “Top 3” List for 2025

December 22, 2025 by cultureofyes

Here we are again. A final post for calendar year 16 on Culture of Yes.

As I close out another year, I find myself in an unexpected place. This was the easiest year of writing in the 16 years I’ve been doing this. Not because the topics were simple or the world less complicated, but because I found myself needing to write. It never felt like a chore. In a year where it would be easy to drown in bad news and uncertainty, I chose optimism. I chose curiosity. I chose to keep saying yes. And if I go back to my word for the year – I chose to thrive.

If you are wondering what you might have missed, here are the previous years Top 3 lists: 2024 (here) 2023 (here) 2022 (here) 2021 (here) 2020 (here) 2019 (here) 2018 (here) 2017 (here) 2016 (here) 2015 (here) 2014 (here) 2013 (here) 2012 (here), 2011 (here) and 2010 (here)

You know the format by now. Grab your beverage of choice and join me as I look back on what made 2025 special.

Top 3 “Culture of Yes” Blog Posts which have generated the most traffic this year:

These three posts represent so much of what I think about in my work. All Means All is at the core of everything we do in West Vancouver. It is not a slogan; it is a commitment. The graduation post has become a fairly regular share, and it forces me to think about what really matters for young people heading out into the world. And the AI post speaks to a tension I keep exploring: how technology might actually help us be more human, not less. I wrote a lot on AI this year, and it was interesting to see the most popular post was one about AI leading to less technology use.

Top 3 Shifts in BC Education in 2025:

The focus on 0 to 5 and the ongoing integration of childcare and K-12 as one system
A renewed emphasis on early literacy and knowing where our young learners are so we can adjust quickly and nimbly
A steadiness that allowed the work to get done

I want to dwell on that third one for a moment. There was not a lot of drama in BC education this year. And that is a good thing. When the system is steady, educators can focus on what matters most: the students in front of them. I look at other jurisdictions across North America and they seem constantly distracted from the business of learning. Steadiness does not make headlines, but it makes a difference.

Top 3 Things I Was Wrong About:

I thought ethical discussions on AI would be more mainstream by now
I never thought Canada would come down with Blue Jays fever
I did not see my own writing renaissance coming

On AI ethics, I expected 2025 to be the year we would see more public conversation about the big questions. What does this mean for work? For creativity? For what it means to be human? Those conversations are happening, but not at the scale I anticipated. Maybe 2026.

The Blue Jays World Series excitement this year caught me completely off guard. I wrote about it, and it connected with people in ways I did not expect. There is something about baseball that still captures the imagination.

And the writing renaissance? I genuinely did not see it coming. After nearly 500 posts, I thought the well might be running dry. Instead, this year I found more to say than ever. I needed to write. That was a gift.

Top 3 Things I Am Getting Worse At As I Age:

Public speaking
Seeing stuff
Connecting with new staff

This is a new category, and I think an important one. Humility matters.

Public speaking used to feel effortless. Now I feel the rust. I am not as smooth as I was 20 years ago, and I notice it. I am conscious now that I am not as good as I once was. My glasses have become a constant companion, though I am still fighting that battle. Far too often I am using my phone to take a photo of text to enlarge and read. And connecting with new teachers who are younger than my own children? I can feel my age in those conversations sometimes. It takes more intentionality than it used to. Speaking and connecting are definitely two areas I can work on in 2026.

Top 3 AI Tools for Education (The Migration to the Big Players):

ChatGPT
Claude
Gemini and CoPilot (tied for third)

Last year I wrote about niche AI tools. This year I find myself using fewer specialized tools and relying more on the big players. Co-Pilot, Claude, Gemini, and ChatGPT have become my core toolkit. They are more powerful, more integrated, and constantly improving. The niche tools still have their place, but the migration to the majors has been real for me this year.

Top 3 Authors Who Pushed My Thinking in 2025:

Yong Zhao
Peter Diamandis
Adam Grant

Yong Zhao continues to challenge my assumptions about what education could be. I got a look at a new book (here) he has coming out in 2026, and he is pushing again! Peter Diamandis (here) got me thinking about longevity, which connects to so much of how I approach my own health and habits. And Adam Grant? He pushes my thinking (here) even when I push back. That is what good authors do.

Top 3 AI Connections I Always Recommend:

Leon Furze (LinkedIn)
Adam Garry (LinkedIn)
Tom D’Amico (LinkedIn)
OK, I want a 4th one – a BC Special – Marcus Blair (LinkedIn)

If you want to follow smart people thinking carefully about AI in education, start with these four. They are generous with their ideas and always worth reading.

Top 3 Blogs I Never Miss (Even After All These Years):

Dean Shareski
George Couros
Dave Eberwein
OK – and 2 BONUS BLOGS – both from West Vancouver Schools – Cari Wilson and Sandra-Lynn Shortall

The edu blogosphere is not what it was in 2011 to 2014, but these passionate educators keep writing, and I keep reading. There is something to be said for people who have been at this for years and still find things worth saying. They inspire me to keep going.

Top 3 Concerts I Saw This Year:

Paul Simon (multiple locations)
Andy Grammer
AC/DC

Paul Simon is not really retired yet, and I am grateful for every chance to see him. I have written about what his music means to me, and those concerts remain a highlight of any year. Andy Grammer brought pure joy. And AC/DC? Sometimes you just need to rock.

Top 3 Travel Moments of the Year:

25th Wedding Anniversary at Niagara Falls
Running the 45th Anniversary Terry Fox Run on Confederation Bridge with my two sons
The VK Basketball Summer Circuit (Phoenix, LA, Montreal, Las Vegas, Chicago)

Yes, Niagara Falls for a 25th anniversary is a cliché. I do not care. It was great.

The Terry Fox Run from New Brunswick to PEI with 10,000 people on the Confederation Bridge with my sons will stay with me forever. There is something about running alongside your children for a cause that matters that defies easy description.

And the VK Basketball Circuit hit year 10 this summer. Phoenix, LA, Montreal, Las Vegas, Chicago. One more summer left with a playing age daughter. I am not taking it for granted. For the last 10 years I have spent my summers with amazing young athletes and coaches who are some of my very best friends. It is so much fun!

Top 3 Social Media Follows That Keep Me Focused:

Jesse Itzler (Instagram)
David Goggins (Instagram)
Gary Vaynerchuk (Instagram)

These three help me stay disciplined. Discipline is key. In a world of endless distraction, I need voices that remind me to do the work.

Top 3 Things I Tried To Do More Of This Year:

Say no to stuff that was not something I was passionate about
Say yes to AI and athletics, two areas where I think I can really add value
Be a better mentor and reach out more to colleagues I think I can assist

Saying no is hard for someone who writes a blog called Culture of Yes. But saying no to the wrong things creates space to say yes to the right ones. I need to still cull some things I do from my professional life that are time and energy drags and add little value. AI and athletics are where I can contribute most right now. And mentorship? I want to be for others what my mentors were for me.

Top 3 Daily Streaks I Still Have Going:

Running 5 outdoor km a day (just passed 1,800 days, looking forward to 2,000 on July 9, 2026)
10,000 steps a day (now at 12 years)
Daily photo posting to Instagram (January 1st will be 10 years)

The streaks continue. They are about discipline and consistency, qualities I believe are in short supply and more important than ever. The running streak crossing 1,800 days feels significant. 2,000 is on the horizon.

Top 3 Artists for Me According to Spotify This Year:

Paul Simon
Simon and Garfunkel
The Beatles

Not much to see here. For all the things that change in the world, my music tastes are not one of them. I am still my parents’ musical loves. Spotify gives you an age based on my music – I came in at 73 years old.

Top 3 Photos From This Past Year That Make Me Smile:

With Nick and Zack on the Confederation Bridge

Paul Simon at the Massey Hall in Toronto

Learning alongside K students at West Bay Elementary School

I could easily pick so many others. I love going through my photos from each day to look back on the year. A collection of work, family, and friends. Scrolling through them will always make me smile.

Final Thoughts

As I wrap up my reflections on 2025, I keep coming back to the word that has guided this blog from the beginning: yes.

Yes to curiosity. Yes to optimism. Yes to the belief that education can be better and that the people in it are working hard to make it so.

This year brought me a writing renaissance I did not expect. It reminded me that even after 30 years in education, there is still so much to learn, so much to say, and so much to be excited about.

Early in the new year, I will hit a milestone: 500 posts on Culture of Yes. I did not know when I started this blog that it would become such a constant in my life. But here we are, and I am grateful.

To all of you who have read, shared, and engaged with these posts throughout the year: thank you. Your reflections, challenges, and encouragement fuel my writing and inspire my thinking.

Here is to stepping into 2026 with the same energy, passion, and hope that have carried us through this year. Here is to staying curious as I finish my 30th year in education.

Happy holidays, and see you in the new year.

Posted in Change, Personalized Learning, Professional Development, SD45 | Tagged 2025, Top 3, Top3 | 4 Comments »

The Tutoring Revolution We Did Not See Coming

December 15, 2025 by cultureofyes

For years, there has been a quiet understanding in many high schools that success in certain courses, especially senior math and sciences, required something extra. Not more effort or better attendance, but a tutor. Parents would trade recommendations, students would quietly admit they needed one, and tutoring centres would advertise that “everyone needs help.” In some, especially affluent communities, paid tutors became part of the culture, almost an unspoken prerequisite to keeping up.

That world may be coming to an end.

AI has entered the tutoring business, and it does not take nights or weekends off. For the first time, students have access to personalized, immediate feedback and explanations any time they need it. They can ask follow up questions without embarrassment, get alternative explanations and have complex problems broken into smaller steps. All of this is available for free, or for the price of a phone app. The model that tutoring companies built around scarcity and exclusivity is being replaced by abundance and accessibility.

It is not only about convenience. Tools like ChatGPT, Claude, and Magic School AI can act as math coaches, writing mentors and language partners. They remember the work, adapt to a student’s level, and adjust explanations when the learner gets stuck. The value proposition that human tutors once held, personalization, is becoming a default feature of modern AI systems.

Just last week, one of our Grade 12 students shared how she had been struggling with integration by parts in calculus. Instead of waiting for a weekly tutoring session, she worked through problems with an AI tutor at 11 p.m., asking it to explain the same concept three different ways until it clicked. “It never got frustrated when I asked the same question again,” she said. “And I could be honest about what I did not understand.”

When I first started drafting this piece, I was ready to declare the end of the tutoring era. The evidence seemed clear. The assumption that you need a tutor to survive Pre Calculus is being upended. For many students, the AI sitting quietly on their laptop or phone now fills that role, often better and more patiently than the Saturday morning sessions they once dreaded.

Then I started reading the research. And my thinking got more complicated.

What the Research Actually Shows

The October 2025 edition of AASA’s School Administrator magazine dedicates significant space to the state of tutoring in American schools. AASA is an American based organization, but the questions it raises cross borders easily. The tension between equitable access and quality instruction, the challenge of sustaining initiatives beyond initial funding, the promise and limits of technology in supporting learners: these are Canadian conversations too. The research may come from Texas and Massachusetts, but it speaks directly to what we are wrestling with in British Columbia and across the country.

Liz Cohen, in her article drawing from her book The Future of Tutoring: Lessons from 10,000 School District Tutoring Initiatives, documents an unprecedented expansion. Within a year of the pandemic’s onset, 10,000 U.S. school districts were offering some form of tutoring after years of almost none. By May 2024, 46 percent of public schools reported providing high dosage tutoring, and just 13 percent said they offered no tutoring at all.

Research from the Johns Hopkins Center for Research and Reform in Education, featured in this issue, offers evidence that virtual tutoring with human tutors can produce meaningful results. Grade one students assigned to Air Reading, a structured virtual tutoring program, four times a week for a semester gained nearly 1.6 additional months of learning. Those who attended at least 40 sessions saw even greater progress.

But here is the tension that caught my attention: the research consistently shows that the most effective tutoring models still rely on human tutors. Studies on AI tutoring directly with students remain in early stages, and even the most promising work positions AI as supporting human tutors rather than replacing them

I had to sit with that for a while.

The Hybrid That Works

One case study which helped my framing was learning about the work happening in Ector County ISD in Texas. In partnership with Stanford University, they developed something called Tutor CoPilot. It uses AI not to tutor students directly, but to coach human tutors in real time, suggesting questions to ask, concepts to revisit, hints to offer.

The results are striking: students whose tutors used the AI prompts scored 14 percentage points higher than those whose tutors did not. The AI shifted tutors toward stronger pedagogy, guiding student thinking rather than simply giving away answers. And here is the part that matters most for equity: the greatest benefits went to less experienced tutors. The tool essentially democratized tutoring quality, helping novice tutors perform nearly as well as veterans.

This is not AI replacing humans. This is AI and humans amplifying each other.

What AI Cannot Yet Do

Cohen’s research surfaces something that pure AI cannot yet replicate. The success of tutoring, she argues, is deeply rooted in human relationships. It helps young people feel they matter. It builds motivation through productive struggle in a high support, high standards environment Cohen (This podcast is also a good background on Cohen’s work).

There will still be families who seek human tutors, especially for accountability or emotional connection. Some students need the structure of showing up, the social pressure of not wanting to disappoint someone, or simply the reassurance of a person saying “you’ve got this.” AI has not yet mastered the art of knowing when a student needs a break, a pep talk, or someone to believe in them.

The question is whether it will, and how soon.

The New Digital Divide

For schools, this raises urgent questions. Do we teach students how to use AI tutors effectively? How do we ensure that all students, not only the digitally confident, benefit from these new tools?

The digital divide is no longer just about device access. It is also about knowing how to prompt effectively, when to question an AI response, and how to use these tools for learning rather than answer getting. A student with strong digital literacy might turn ChatGPT into a Socratic tutor. Another might never get past using it as a homework completion machine. If we are not careful, digital confidence becomes the new proxy for privilege, only with different packaging.

There is another issue to face. If every student has a tutor at all hours, what does authentic assessment look like? How do we measure understanding when the line between getting help and getting answers is blurred? This is not a reason to resist change. It is a reason to rethink what we are measuring and why.

What I Got Wrong, and What I Got Right

The shift is cultural as much as it is technological. For years, tutoring companies helped reinforce the idea that school alone was not enough. Now, AI is challenging that notion and putting powerful learning tools directly in the hands of students. I was right about that.

But the real revolution may not be the end of tutoring. It may be its transformation.

This changes the teacher’s role as well. When information delivery and step by step support are available on demand, teachers become something more valuable. They become learning architects who design rich tasks. They become coaches who know when to push and when to support. They become mentors who help students navigate not only content, but the process of learning itself. The human element does not disappear. It becomes more essential, only with a different focus.

We may soon look back on the tutoring era the way we look at encyclopedias and phone books. Useful for their time, but unnecessary once the world changed. Or we may find that the future looks more like Ector County: AI and humans working together, each amplifying what the other does best.

Maybe what we should have wanted all along was not a system where extra help was a luxury, but one where every student has access to the support they need, when they need it, in the form that works best for them. Whether that form is human, AI, or some combination we have not yet imagined.

The question is not whether this change is coming. The question is whether we will shape it with intention, or let it happen to us.

Thanks to Liz Hill and Andrew Holland with whom I had recent conversations that helped inspire this post.

Posted in Change, Technology | Tagged AI, Chat GPT, Claude, Magic School, tutoring | 2 Comments »

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