Sometimes I feel trapped inside Catch-22s, seeing both sides but not clearly aligned with either. Catch-22s are seemingly ubiquitous, prevalent in many ways within our education system.
The term Catch-22 dates back to 1961 and Joseph Heller’s satirical novel, where U.S. Army bombardier Captain John Yossarian attempts to avoid flying more combat missions in World War II due to the constant danger of war. Complicating matters was the absurd, self-serving bureaucracy of his superiors. The paradox rested in a rule stating that a pilot who was insane could be grounded. Yet, if a pilot asked to be grounded, this was proof that the pilot was sane, and they had to continue flying. Paradoxes simply do not make sense because they contain two opposite or conflicting ideas. In Heller’s novel, the Catch-22 was represented by the illogical, bureaucratic system.
These past few years, I have found my mind grappling with the existence, or non-existence, of attendance policies in schools, and, moreover, the enforcement of them. Enforcement? That does not sound very inviting. We are talking about the privilege of having a teacher and a school. Yet, clearly, we all do not see it this way, and inherent in that is the question of whether our schools and classes are offering real value. Maybe they are on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, but not perceived to be on Mondays or Fridays? Whatever the case, there is global, recent data showing that absenteeism is not just a U.S.-centric issue. The Guardian reported, “In England, over 170,000 children missed at least half their school lessons in 2023–24. This was the highest number ever recorded.”
A year ago, I participated in an accreditation committee, and the data presented showed that the school was challenged with attendance. I left reflecting on how my current school has more than one or two students and families similarly challenged with attending classes. There’s no single national standard in the U.S. for how much school attendance is required to avoid being considered truant; it depends on the state or district. In Hawaii, where I live, the Department of Education Attendance Policy defines chronic absenteeism as missing 10% or more of the school year for any reason. The independent school where I teach has more autonomy to set policies, yet there still appears to be a gray area between “excused” and “nonexcused” absences. Or maybe there really isn’t? A parent can excuse a child without providing much explanation. On this side of the Catch-22, I find agreement. Ultimately, parents are paying customers, and if they want to pay for an education their child does not fully show up for, this seems perfectly acceptable. Furthermore, is the traditional system of education not built around learning by sitting at a desk, within four walls? A student who finds a way to learn without being consistently physically present deserves recognition. Maybe, just maybe, there is truth in the sentiment: “It’s not about breaking the rules, it’s about knowing the rules well enough to make them work for you.” Or, perhaps, Elon Musk’s approach to value is worth considering. Musk explicitly says: “Walk out of a meeting … as soon as it is obvious you aren’t adding value.”
The educator in me sees and feels the other side of the coin as well. At times, I have questioned whether this side is caught up a little in ego. “This is the seventh time she has missed my class,” a thought that has surfaced more than once, as if to foolishly take offense. Mixed in is the feeling of a quiet message of spite being sent: “I don’t need to be there, we don’t really do anything anyway,” a laissez-faire attitude of sorts. One that silently undermines the integrity of the academic program. Upon deeper reflection, however, the umbrage is more about what I would call an unwillingness to be a team player—an apparent lack of consideration for what it means to exist within a greater learning and school community. This, and the responsibility we each have to one another. For example, asking questions, building projects, or helping others understand. These roles depend on collaboration. Several of education’s greatest philosophers would support this. John Dewey believed learning is a social process that happens best through experience and interaction. Lev Vygotsky emphasized the importance of dialogue and collaboration in helping students advance their thinking. Moreover, Jean Piaget, the father of modern developmental psychology and cognitive learning theory, shared that doing things in social collaboration and group effort leads to a critical frame of mind. An essential factor in intellectual development is students communicating with each other.
Yet, insisting that students must be in class implies that learning only happens at school. And though this may be partly true, learning is certainly not limited to the confines of our schools. On the contrary, I can convincingly say that my best learning has always occurred outside of school. So, maybe instead of being caught up in policy and counting days missed, we should focus on the question that matters most:
What can we do to make our classrooms and schools more inviting?
Might this re-envisioning include much more spaciousness of both time and place? 2026 is dawning, and we can hardly claim to be new to a digitally connected world where learning can happen anywhere, from anyone, at any time. Maybe the real Catch-22 isn’t about attendance at all. It’s about creating schools and classrooms where students want to show up, contribute, and learn together. Knowing that my classroom is one of my few “controllables,” I will continue to do everything I can to promote curiosity, collaboration, and connection—so students are ready to “show up.” One of my go-to sources for wisdom is marketing guru Seth Godin, who suggests that showing up matters not just as a physical act, but as a committed, consistent presence. It’s about being generous and doing the work, possibly for something—or someone—bigger than ourselves. Wow, wouldn’t that be a marked difference in education? Generosity and learning for something more than just ourselves—it’s definitely possible.
Thank you, Jane Goodall.
Thank you, Malala Yousafzai.
Thank you, Nelson Mandela.
To name just a few. Nothing about them speaks of paradox!
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