I used to plan lessons with a construction metaphor. Set up a blue print, lay the foundation and if we have time, save the fun interior decorating for the end. If we failed one day toward the beginning of a unit, students would be lost forever, with cracked concrete that would eventually ruin the structural integrity of a home (as if a broken house and a broken home were synonymous anyway.

Then I spent a little more time around early elementary education teachers during some mandatory district trainings. I noticed their language when describing student learning. They called their students "sprouts" and spoke of "growth" and referred not to the class as a whole, but to individual students. "Sometimes it takes awhile to mature," a third grade teacher explained to a frustrated kindergarten teacher. "Nobody grows at the same rate."

When I switched metaphors to something more organic, I began to view lessons differently. True, there are the ones that truly tank and I suppose the garden equivalent would be to fail to water or to flood the system altogether. However, those are rare. Instead, what I now experience is this notion of do-overs. Remember in playing games when you'd get frustrated and call a do-over? Remember in life, as you got older, you started hearing the subtle message that do-overs are as make believe as Santa Claus and magic carpets?

What I love about learning is that it allows do-overs. In fact, it almost demands do-overs if there is ever anything approaching mastery.

Last year, I had a student who struggled with writing. He stumbled across my blog when he Googled my name (apparently he looks up all his teachers on day one) and he thought I wrote well. "Will you teach me how to write?" he asked. So, we set up a twice-a-week early morning Writer's Workshop with five students. The truth is that he wasn't bad. According to the State Department, he was "Approaches."

We had no grades, no pressure, no rewards or punishments. Just one piece of writing each week. The work was never "complete." Instead, they had as many do-overs as they wanted.

He sent me an e-mail a month ago. "I'm in Honors English right now. You helped me to grow as a writer and I wanted to thank you for that. You taught me not to be afraid of mistakes. I learned that editing didn't have to be a punishment." To be honest, it wasn't all me. He was highly motivated and he had a great language arts teacher. But it made me realize that a part of why I love teaching is that the growth happens because we are allowed to have do-overs.