The Unforeseen Casualties of Educational Change
- DocHolbrook
- Nov 9
- 5 min read
When people talk about the science of reading, they usually talk about curriculum, assessments, or decoding. They talk about phonemic awareness and orthographic mapping. They talk about what we teach and how we teach it.
What they don’t talk about enough is the human side of this shift—the teachers who have to completely relearn what it means to teach reading, the parents who don’t understand why their child’s “reading level” disappeared overnight, and the leaders who have to rebuild entire systems while holding a staff that feels like the ground has shifted beneath them.
That’s the part no one prepares you for.
It’s no secret that I’m leading the science of reading transition in my district. And like all “best laid plans,” things rarely unfold neatly. There have been roadblocks, pushback, tears, breakthroughs, and countless challenges I never anticipated when I started this journey.
When I first arrived in February 2024, I remember standing in front of a room full of teachers explaining my vision for literacy instruction in the district. At the end of my presentation, one very vocal teacher raised her hand and asked, “So, you want to change everything we’re doing?”
I paused—and realized she was right. My answer was simple: yes.
Because to make real, measurable progress for students, we had to change everything.
What I didn’t fully understand then was that “everything” included not only instruction and materials, but teachers’ sense of identity, their professional confidence, and their daily rhythm. This shift wasn’t just about reading—it was about redefining who we are as educators.
Assessments: From Subjective to Concrete
If you know me, you know I love talking about aimlines. It’s almost a running joke in my district. But there’s a reason for that obsession: aimlines turn something that feels abstract—student growth—into something visible and actionable.
For decades, our district (like many others) relied on running records to determine progress. Teachers grouped students by “levels” and used those levels to guide instruction. On the surface, it looked scientific. But in practice, it was deeply subjective.
I’ve worked in districts where teachers were coached to “score the same” because variability was seen as the issue. But the real problem wasn’t inconsistency—it was the tool itself.
So, we replaced it.
We introduced Curriculum-Based Measurements (CBMs), norm-referenced assessments, and fluency checks that actually measure reading development. Instead of labeling students, we now track whether they’re making adequate progress toward grade-level goals.
And that shift—from subjective judgment to objective data—completely transformed how we view student learning.
Instruction: When the Data Changes, Everything Changes
Once you change assessments, you change instruction. There’s no way around it.
In our district, everything teachers did—grouping, lesson planning, goal setting—was built around running records and guided reading. When we replaced that foundation, the entire structure had to be rebuilt.
We moved from grouping by reading level to grouping by skill need. We began using diagnostic data to guide lessons, not leveled text lists. We replaced “strategy prompts” with explicit instruction in phoneme-grapheme mapping and syntax.
But the ripple effects went far beyond instruction.
Every assessment tracking tool we used had to be redesigned. The spreadsheets, dashboards, and digital templates and programs that once displayed reading levels now needed to show fluency scores, accuracy rates, and aimlines.
That meant hours of meetings with our technology team, who spoke in databases and formulas—and me, who spoke in phonemes, decoding, and percentile ranks.
I’d say, “I need to see if a student is making adequate progress over time in a way that’s clear for teachers.” They’d reply, “So… you want a data visualization dashboard with longitudinal tracking?” And I’d laugh and say, “Yes—if it means we can tell who’s catching up.”
Even our report cards had to be restructured from the ground up. Gone were the quarterly “comprehension strategies” and in their place came skills-based indicators aligned to how reading actually develops. We held countless meetings, adjusting codes and templates.
Communication: Redefining What We Value
Change doesn’t just happen in classrooms—it happens in conversations.
Parents were used to seeing “reading levels” on report cards. Those levels, for better or worse, had become a kind of comfort—a simple way to know if their child was “on track.” Now, that simplicity is gone.
We no longer send home letters that say “Your child is reading at Level M.” Instead, we communicate progress through skill-based data—decoding accuracy, oral reading fluency, comprehension measures, and growth over time.
It’s more accurate, but it’s also more complex. It requires educators to explain what this new data means—that knowing a child’s reading level isn’t the same as knowing where they are in their reading development. And that this approach, while harder to summarize, is far better for helping kids actually succeed.
Beyond a Curriculum Change
One of the things I say over and over again is:
Switching to the science of reading isn’t like adopting a new textbook. It’s a complete system overhaul.
It changes assessments. It changes instruction. It changes reporting. It changes communication. And most profoundly—it changes teacher identity.
For years, teachers were told their value lay in helping students love reading, in building warm small-group environments, in finding “just-right books.” That work felt creative, and personal.
Now, they’re being asked to think like scientists—to analyze data, diagnose skill gaps, and apply structured routines that feel less intuitive and more clinical. It’s not that heart and passion no longer matter—it’s that they’re now joined by a precision that ensures no child falls through the cracks.
This kind of transformation is hard. It’s emotional. It’s humbling. But it’s also profoundly hopeful.
The Cost—and the Gift—of Real Change
I’ve started calling the fallout from this shift “the unforeseen casualties of change.” Because change always comes with a cost.
For teachers, that cost might be the loss of familiar routines. For leaders, it’s the constant balancing act between urgency and empathy.
But every time I walk see a teacher confidently using diagnostic data to drive instruction, or a student who once struggled now reading at grade level—that’s the return on investment.
This work changes systems, yes. But it also changes people. It deepens teacher expertise, restores professional confidence, and builds a collective belief that literacy for all kids is possible—not just for some.
The science of reading isn’t just a shift in curriculum. It’s a shift in consciousness.
And when the dust settles, what remains is something extraordinary: teachers who understand how reading works, students who can read and write with independence and confidence, and a school district that ensures literacy is a right denied to no one.
That’s the kind of change worth every late-night spreadsheet, every reworked report card, and every difficult conversation in between. And that’s why, even on the hardest days, I’d still say “yes” to doing it all again.
When we know better, we teach better.
See you next Sunday!
References
Darling-Hammond, L., & Oakes, J. (2021). Preparing teachers for deeper learning. Harvard Education Press.
Datnow, A. (2020). The role of teachers in educational reform: A review and synthesis of research. Educational Administration Quarterly, 56(1), 3–31.
Fullan, M. (2007). The new meaning of educational change (4th ed.). Teachers College Press.
Fullan, M. (2021). Leading in a culture of change. Jossey-Bass.
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