Back to School (again!): Final Reflections

Well, friends. The end of this four-part story is upon us.

I have written the final exam.

That sentence still makes me exhale with relief. Not because I enrolled in a first-year computer science course to prove anything, but because there were moments where I wasn’t sure I would make it to the end. I asked myself many times: Why did I do this? For two simple reasons: I wanted to keep a promise to my son, and I believe deeply in the power of learning something new. But back in September, the thought of documenting this experience left me feeling very anxious—especially because I didn’t know if I would succeed.

It’s uncomfortable to admit that, but it goes against what I believe about learning. Learning is relational. The struggle is part of the work. And a triumph isn’t necessarily what makes a good learning journey.

So instead of going with my gut reaction, I made the conscious effort to share what it felt like in real time: the wins, the confusion, the persistence, the parts that didn’t fit neatly into competence. Because learning is not a solitary performance. And struggle in learning is not a personal flaw. It is innately human.

The Exam

The final exam was what you might expect from a large first-year course: multiple-choice scantron exam invigilated in a huge room under intense scrutiny. The same thing I experienced as an undergraduate student thirty years ago, and never again since. It was fast. It was detailed. And it was unforgiving of my shaky foundation. It required that I recognize ideas under pressure, trace logic carefully, notice edge cases, remember definitions precisely, and keep going even when my confidence wobbled. And wobbled it did.

I left the exam with that familiar mix of emotions: relief that it was done, dread about what I might have missed, and pride that I showed up anyway. After the exam, Trevor and I met at the Phoenix and reviewed as many questions as we could recall. I remember being relieved when he said he got a similar answer as I got. And I remember beating myself up on questions we discussed that I realized just an hour too late that I had made silly mistakes.

Relief from having that behind us, we were into the 10-day wait to find out our results.

What this experience is forcing me to ask of higher education

Let me be very clear: this blog series is not a commentary of any one instructor or any one course. I’ve experienced thoughtful decisions and genuine care in this course, including collaborative midterm rounds that begin to recognize learning as something we do with others, much dedication to providing learning advice, many opportunities for students to work through low-pressure exercises, and heaps of encouragement to keep students engaged.

However, even thoughtfully designed courses live inside larger cultures that shape how students experience rigour, success, and failure. From where I sit, we have some bigger questions to wrestle with as an education sector:

• Who are we designing our courses for? Who is our “ideal” student? When we design an undergraduate course, who are we imagining as our learners? A full-time student with strong preparation in certain subjects, no caregiving responsibilities, good mental health, and infinite evenings free? Who falls outside that picture, and what story do they tell themselves when they fall outside that imagined norm?
• What do we think rigour is for? Is rigour about sorting and filtering, or about deepening understanding? Are we using difficult assessments to identify and nurture potential, or to gatekeep those who arrive with less background or less experience with and tolerance for repeated failure?
• How does feedback shape belonging and motivation? We say we want students to be motivated, but then we design systems where most of the feedback they receive is about what they got wrong. People naturally move toward what they feel they’re doing well. Thoughtful, specific, positive feedback doesn’t weaken standards; it grows the discipline by inviting more people to see themselves in it.
• What would it look like to actually honour mistakes as learning? “Learn from your mistakes” is a familiar piece of advice from educators. But our grading structures often make it impossible to recover from early errors. If learning after a mistake is richer and more durable — and it often is — why is our system set up to punish it?
• What kinds of knowledge and demonstration do we value? Could we imagine rigorous courses that also make room for collaboration, explanation in plain language, story, and multiple ways of showing understanding? The collaborative midterm rounds I experienced hint at this, and I can’t help but wonder: What if collaboration was a core design principle?

Behind all of this is a simple, uncomfortable realization: We can build courses that are constructively aligned, intellectually defensible, and still quietly telling many students: “This place wasn’t built with you in mind.” As someone who helps lead teaching and learning at this university, I can’t un-see that, especially after experiencing the effects of it first-hand.

Where I land (for now)

I have learned a new vocabulary, a new way of thinking, and a basic ability to write Haskell. My learning experience has:

• reintroduced me to the emotional cost of trying and “failing” in public, or at least feeling like I am
• reminded me how much courage it takes to simply show up to class when you’re not sure you belong
• deepened my respect for students who keep going, even when the system doesn’t bend toward them
• and sharpened my commitment to centring student voice, especially the voices of those who are struggling or coming from non-traditional backgrounds

Students hold a tremendous amount of practical wisdom about our courses, because they are the ones inside them, trying to survive and grow as beginners. We could be far more intentional about inviting that wisdom into how we design and teach.

Ultimately, I want us to create learning environments where challenge is real, belonging is actively cultivated, and learning is relational and collaborative. Because if higher education is only a place where the already-prepared, already-confident, already-resilient can thrive, then we need to be more honest with ourselves about how public, accessible, and transformative we truly are.

Did I do it?

In the end, I passed the exam and finished the course with an A-. That was far better than I thought I would in the hardest weeks and a good reminder that it isn’t about the letter grade. It’s about what it took to get there. I am so proud of myself for what I learned on this journey, all the parts I can’t un-see now: how easily capable people can start to believe they’re not when the learning environment makes struggle feel like a signal to exit.

My hope is simple: we continue to work at building learning experiences where challenge and belonging are not in competition, where teaching and learning are seen as relational, and where students come out feeling more confident in their learning and growth.

I am so grateful for this experience, both to have learned so much about myself and to have shared it with my son. I’m glad I kept this promise to him and I’m proud to have pushed through the challenge.