fbpx
| Family First Feature |

Smart Cards

Can AI write your kid’s report card? Yes. Should it? Buckle up

Back when I was in elementary school, getting report cards was a whole big deal. The way it worked in our school was that on “report card day,” which was always on a Thursday, the principal made rounds from classroom to classroom to personally hand out report cards. We would fidget in our seats all morning, eyes peeled to the door, in either apprehension or anticipation of the big moment, depending whom you asked.

When the door finally squeaked open, our teacher stopped talking mid-sentence, and the air grew thick with tension. We rose from our seats with absolute deference. Our principal had the kind of presence that made you feel goose bumps, and as she launched into her report card speech, it became exceedingly difficult to breathe.

The speech was pretty much the same every time… how she barely glanced at our grades and it was only our effort, conduct, participation, and middos that mattered. She didn’t speak for long, but when you’re waiting for that envelope, every word felt like eternity.

At last, she would start calling out names, giving each student a penetrating stare along with her report card. Back at our desks, we would cower in our seats as we pulled that pale yellow card stock out of the envelope and opened it to discover how we’d fared.

Our eyes flew over the grades side (first, despite the principal’s warning), then flitted over the conduct and participation marks. There were the standard S’s on that side, sometimes with a plus, a minus, or a stomach-sinking dot. If you got an E, usually reserved only for the last term of the school year, there was just no way to conceal the pride from your face.

With that out of the way, we would turn over the report card to the back flap and hungrily read the comment our teacher had written.

Forget standardized testing. Forget college applications. That folded rectangle of academic mystery is where the true drama lives — and not just for kids. For parents, too. Because we don’t just want to know how our kids are doing in school. We want to know who they are in school. And that sacred intel comes in the form of The Comment.

Because that comment — that tiny paragraph summarizing an entire semester in three sentences and bearing a whopping six different synonyms for “responsible.” — held more weight than all the grades inside the report card. You read it once, twice, and again, both the written lines and the words between the lines, absorbing the significant analysis of all things You.

What is it about report card comments that hold so much meaning to students?

What is it about those same comments that keep teachers deliberating for hours, carefully selecting and editing words that will accurately reflect a student’s profile yet convey a positive message that will leave each student with a sense of pride?

If It Ain’t Broke

I spoke to Mrs. Kopel*, a teacher of 17 years, about this process, and the first thing she said was, “The truth? I used to think those comments were overrated. I considered the whole comment system nothing more than a sweet way of showing students that their efforts were recognized. I didn’t think it meant much to anyone. Every girl is an asset to the class, everyone is kind and shines and is a role model.”

But one year, her perspective changed. “Our school decided to abolish those comments, and it really didn’t go over well.”

The students and parents were disappointed. Report cards felt so one-dimensional, a list of scores that said nothing about what kind of student the girl was, nothing about her personality or unique character traits. A 92 percent on one girl’s report card is a totally different story from a 92 percent on another girl’s report card, and it takes a thoughtful comment to distinguish between the two. “Even as a parent,” she added, “I found my girls’ report cards so boring, so impersonal.”

The school went right back to including those comments the next school year. Some traditions are followed because they actually work.

In terms of constructive criticism, she admitted, comments serve no purpose. The last thing teachers want to do is cause anguish, so if a student acted out or failed straight through the year, you aren’t writing any of that.

“It’s nice to write honest compliments, and there’s always something great to say about every student,” Mrs. Kopel says. She appreciates this opportunity and tries to personalize her feedback so that every girl goes home feeling special.

I’m curious about the scope of work that goes into writing those comments. To me, it feels like most of the comments are generic, picked off from some master list of comments. I go ahead and recite:

Chava is a diligent student who prioritizes her responsibilities and invests herself in her studies. She is mature, respectful, and well-liked by her peers. Her cheerfulness and great class participation make her an asset to the class.

Mrs. Kopel laughs. “Something like that,” she says. “But really, everything I write about a girl is true, even if the words seem universal.”

Does that mean that she breaks her head over every comment?

“After so many years and so many students, it’s become really easy. Yes, most sentences are cliché, most of them are recycled, but this is the style and I stick to it.”

She also says that she sticks with the same four to five sentences on purpose, because they just work, though she tries to convey that each girl matters to the class and isn’t just another face behind a desk. So even from the generic descriptions, she has preferences.

Instead of writing “Suri’s X coupled by her Y are commendable,” which doesn’t tell a girl or her mother anything, she’ll write “Suri’s XYZ enhanced our class atmosphere this year,” or “Suri is an asset to the class,” or “Suri adds so much to the class.” She wants each student to feel she makes a difference.

New teachers work a lot harder on those comments, often consulting with more experienced teachers for guidance. Mrs. Kopel has assisted many teachers with those comments over the years.

“What kind of help?” I ask jokingly. “Sharing your master list?”

Another laugh. “If you want to put it that way….”

Autopilot Praise

If you’ve ever read through the report cards of an entire class, you’ll notice something suspicious: “participation,” “positive attitude,” “refined character,” “shines in class,” “an asset to the group.” At a certain point, it starts to sound like one giant Mad Lib of polite adjectives.

And I began to wonder… could AI do this better?

I decided to test the theory. I picked four fictional students, wrote little bios for each one, and handed them to two judges: Mrs. Kopel, a seasoned, human teacher, and ChatGPT, a seasoned, inhuman chatbot.

Let’s see who wins the comment-writing crown.

The Four Students

Student 1:

A perfect student, aces through tests, wins every contest. Mature, participates, has great character traits (because I don’t think ChatGPT knows what middos are). Could teach the class.

Mrs. Kopel:

“Suri is a pleasure to have in class! She is a reliable and diligent student who excels in her studies and has mature, intelligent comments to offer during class discussions.”

ChatGPT:

“This student has consistently demonstrated exceptional academic abilities. Her mature and responsible attitude makes her a role model. She is an outstanding model of excellence in both academic and personal pursuits.”

Is it accurate? Sure. But it reads like a quote that no one would buy from a job résumé… or even worse, a shidduch résumé.

Student 2:

Middle-of-the-road. B student, minimal hustle, maximum social success.

Mrs. Kopel:

“Suri is a conscientious baalas middos who exhibits a positive attitude in the classroom. She is well-liked by her classmates and enhances the class atmosphere.”

ChatGPT (after revisions, revisions, and more revisions):

“She has shown great social skills and is well-liked by her peers. She is a well-rounded student with a bright future ahead.”

Truly impressive. I mean, truly. The brightness of the student’s future all but blinds me.

Student 3:

Overthinker. Quiet. Anxious. She takes school too seriously. She gets good grades but would cry if you asked her to choose the nosh for a siyum. Needs a real boost.

Mrs. Kopel:

“Suri is a diligent and thoughtful student who exhibits enthusiasm for the subject. Her grades reflect a motivation to do well and understand the subject material, and her classroom behavior is stellar.”

ChatGPT:

“She is an incredibly hardworking individual. Though more reserved, her commitment and dedication are truly admirable. With continued effort, she has the potential to excel in any field she chooses, and should feel proud of all that she has accomplished so far.”

And this aimed to boost a withdrawn girl’s confidence…. Someone should input on ChatGPT that potential is a dirty word.

Student 4:

Queen of the lunchroom. Fails every quiz, aces every schmooze.

Mrs. Kopel:

“Suri’s charming disposition and magnetic personality made her beloved by all. She brightened our classroom atmosphere with her enthusiasm and smile.”

ChatGPT (and this is the cleaned-up, no-negativity version):

“She is a bright and cheerful individual, extremely popular among her peers. Her kind and respectful demeanor is appreciated by everyone. Her natural charisma and social skills will serve her well in all areas of life.”

Which is AI-speak for, “She flunked math but made us laugh.”

But Is That All It Is?

AI in the classroom has been spoken about ad nauseam. Professors are returning to blue books for essays. AI detectors abound. (They’re not great. I ran some AI-generated text through one just now, and the detector assured me that the piece was 88 percent human.)

“Sometimes, students don’t even bother to edit what they’re handing in,” another teacher, Mrs. Hammer*, tells me. She once received an essay that included the phrase, “As an AI language model, I cannot express personal opinions.” Another began with the obvious tell of, “Of course! Here’s a breakdown of the topic.”

So isn’t it fair play to use AI to write their report card comments?

I poll a number of teachers and find that many of them are already leaning on AI to write their report card comments. “It’s just simpler,” one teacher confides in me. “I’m just not as articulate as AI. And I’m still describing the girl to the AI in the first place. It’s just cleaning up my thoughts and making them sound more professional.”

Mrs. Hammer disagrees. “I’ve tried it out, and the comments all sound robotic at first. There’s no heart to them, no specific detail. I can give ChatGPT those little details that make the comment a little more personal, but in the time that it takes to fine-tune the AI, I could have written the entire comment myself.”

When she looks at my teacher-AI test, she’s unimpressed. Ultimately, she says, the Four Students, like the Four Sons, are only archetypes. They’re not real children; they’re ideas. Why would a teacher be significantly better at commenting on a child who doesn’t exist? It’s not that far off from AI.

She has a point. AI doesn’t know that Student 1 is a shining star in the classroom, but awkwardly prone to rambling anecdotes if called on at the wrong times. AI couldn’t tell you that Student 2 always greets the teacher with a smile and a hello when she walks into the hallways. AI wouldn’t remember the day that Student 3 first raised her hand in class unprompted, and the smile on her face when her answer earned her effusive praise. And AI definitely doesn’t understand how much the teacher tried and failed to encourage Student 4 to study for each test, but it also doesn’t know about the impromptu birthday party that Student 4 threw for a quieter girl in the class.

Ultimately, that’s the difference between AI and a teacher. Sure, those comments might begin to feel indistinguishable. That’s because they’re constructed in the same way.

“Essentially, your teacher and your AI system are both working the same way. They both have an algorithm that tells them what to write as the comment,” explains Ariella Lowenstein, a software engineer and Professor of Artificial Intelligence. “So when you’re a teacher, you sit down with the report card and you look at the student’s name and say, ‘Okay, this girl is very boisterous in class, she’s smart, she’s quiet….’ Things like that. And then the teacher, with her years of experience, knows what to plug into the comment because of that.”

The boisterous girl might “bring life to the classroom.” The quiet one might “be reserved, but has so much to offer.”

AI will do the same thing. “It’s why we say that AI systems are based on ‘neural networks,’” Ariella explains. “Because they’re structured like the brain.”

But behind the teacher’s brain is a year with your child, are all the triumphs and failures that came with it. Behind the AI is a whole lot of computer power and a tendency to overuse the em dash.

Why Does This Even Matter?

But really, what’s the point of those comments, anyway? Why are they so treasured by every student and parent? They don’t really evaluate. They rarely critique. And they’re definitely not going to tell your kid, “Listen, ziskeit, you never handed in your last three projects and spent half of May managing handstand contests in the playground.”

But they do something important: they make your child feel seen. They translate a year of work — of effort, friendship, participation, and growing pains — into three lovingly crafted sentences. At best, they make a kid stand a little taller. At worst, they’re politely forgettable.

AI doesn’t know your child. It’s very proficient at the Barnum Effect, though: a psychological phenomenon where people believe that vague, general statements are a perfect encapsulation of who they are.

See, I can describe you pretty well. You have a strong need for other people to like and admire you, but you tend to be critical of yourself.

Not bad, right? Mostly because it describes pretty much everyone (except me, obviously. I’ve come to terms with my own perfection). And AI is excellent at giving you nebulous, positive comments that feel specific when they’re very vague. And when you’re grasping at that report card comment to figure out who your child is at school, once you look past the Barnum Effect, it’s going to fall short.

What AI can do, though, is create a solid first draft. It can offer the bare bones with which a teacher can flesh out a well-rounded comment. For teachers struggling to come up with a new word that isn’t “conscientious” or “diligent,” it can suggest more creative ways to express the same concept.

Like any technology, AI is really just a tool, as smart and efficient as the person who wields it. If the person entering prompts into it doesn’t know your child, then the comment won’t, either. But when it’s a teacher who’s invested a year into your child, then the AI will produce something more familiar.

If AI helps teachers get those sentences written faster — fine. As long as there’s still a human hand signing the bottom.

Final Grade?

AI might be a straight-A student in speed and efficiency. But when it comes to connection, nuance, and good old-fashioned humanity?

It still needs work.

 

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 948)

Oops! We could not locate your form.