In classrooms where evidence-based programs are used, scripted lessons can be powerful tools. They help ensure fidelity to research-backed sequences, reduce teacher workload, and support consistency across classrooms. But as powerful as these scripts can be, their true strength lies not in rigidly following every word, but in knowing when and why to adapt them thoughtfully to meet the unique needs of our students.

I’m passionate about bringing the science of learning to the art of teaching. Scripts can help provide the science through proven methods and carefully crafted language. However, the art comes from the teacher; through their deep knowledge of their students and the context they bring to the classroom every day.
The golden question guiding every decision to stay on script or deviate must always be: Will this improve learning for my students?

This isn’t about disregarding the program, but about putting students at the heart of everything we do. Sometimes that means adding extra support, sometimes it means increasing the challenge, and sometimes it means holding fast to the plan because it’s exactly what students need. Through careful observation, preparation, and collaboration, teachers can use scripts not as constraints, but as important tools, guiding students step by step toward deeper understanding and greater success.

Do we need to add support?
There are times when the needs of our students call for deviation from the script, especially when it comes to scaffolding. I once taught a class of EAL/D students using the Reading Mastery program. The script assumed students had an understanding of basic English prepositions like next to, in front of, and behind. But these concepts didn’t translate directly into Murrinh Patha, the students’ first language, where a single term was used for all spatial relationships. To bridge this gap, I added extra lessons to explicitly teach prepositions. The script didn’t fail; my students just needed more support.

Do we need to increase challenge?
Sometimes, the script includes scaffolds that are no longer necessary. If student responses show deep understanding, we might choose to remove or compress supports to maintain cognitive stretch.
Over the past couple of years, we’ve found that by explicitly teaching phonemic awareness and linking those skills to graphemes, our students are confidently reading CCVC and CVCC words before these patterns are formally introduced in our phonics program. As a result, we’re able to move more quickly through these sections without compromising understanding.
Our decisions should be driven by careful observation: Are students breezing through this part? Are they ready to move faster or go deeper?

Teacher knowledge is crucial
Whether you stay faithful to the script or make a change, your own content knowledge is critical. You need to know:

• Which parts of the lesson are designed to prevent common misconceptions
• What the likely stumbling blocks are for your students
• How the lesson connects to previous and future learning

A metaphor I often use is this: following a script is like following directions to the post office. If you don’t really know the way and take a shortcut too early, you could end up down a dead end. Similarly, skipping a part of the script without understanding why it’s there can derail a lesson. I’ve had teachers tell me a lesson didn’t work, only to discover they unknowingly skipped the section that clarified a key concept. Actually, I've been guilty of that mistake too...

Intellectual preparation is key
Deviating from a script is not an excuse for improvising on the fly. Any change must be grounded in a deep understanding of the lesson:

• How does this lesson fit within the unit?
• What knowledge or skills is it building?
• How do the parts within the lesson connect and build on one another?

Preparation allows us to teach with intention, whether we’re staying within the lines or thoughtfully stepping outside them.

The power in economy of language
Teachers love to talk. But too much teacher talk (especially tangents and stories) can pull students away from the core learning. Scripted programs are often designed with economy of language in mind. Every sentence serves a purpose. We need to be conscious of when our words are helping students learn and when they’re becoming a distraction.

In a maths lesson focused on skip counting by tens, the script might say: “Count by tens starting from 40. Ready? Go.” However, excessive teacher talk can unintentionally disrupt the flow. The teacher might easily turn this prompt into, “Let’s count by tens now. Remember how we’ve done this before? You know, like counting money: ten cents, twenty cents, and so on. I used to save all my ten-cent coins when I was a kid. I had a big jar…” While the story might be engaging, it derails the lesson’s momentum and shifts focus away from the key skill being practised. In contrast, the original script keeps students engaged in the task, maintains pace, and ensures the learning stays on track.

Teaching is a team sport
When it comes to adapting instruction, especially when stepping outside a scripted program, it’s important to remember that teaching is a team effort. If you decide to make a change for a good reason, it’s worth asking yourself: Have I shared this with my team? We’re all in this together, and when changes happen in isolation, we miss out on valuable opportunities to learn from one another and grow as a community of educators. And you might just be missing out on your colleague's wisdom when they say, "I tried it that way last year and it did NOT work..."
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Having a shared understanding and consistency across classrooms isn’t just about staying on the same page; it’s about making sure every student has an equitable learning experience. If one teacher adapts something because their students are ready, while another sticks strictly to the script, it can lead to very different opportunities for students in different rooms. When we communicate openly, we build trust and ensure that these decisions support all learners.
By sharing your reasons for adapting, and hearing how others respond, we create a culture where thoughtful change becomes part of our collective wisdom; not just a solo experiment. Together, we can be more responsive, more flexible, and ultimately more effective in meeting the needs of every student. Change feels less daunting when it’s something we do side by side.

Fidelity matters, but students matter more
If we don’t teach with fidelity, we can’t honestly evaluate whether a program is effective. But the ultimate guide for whether we can deviate is the students themselves. Their responses show us where they’re struggling, where they’re confident, and where they need us to make adjustments.

Using scripted programs well means knowing when to follow them closely and when to deviate with purpose. It’s not about teaching the program, it’s about teaching our students. The program is the plan, and our students are the reason. Our students are constantly giving us feedback. Let’s make sure we’re listening.

Imagine this: a Tour de France cyclist flying down a narrow, winding mountain road. The pace is intense, the focus razor-sharp, and every movement is deliberate. There’s no time to pause and admire the view. Every turn is calculated, every second matters.

That’s the energy of a well-run daily review in the classroom.

Fast. Focused. Fluid.
Like a cyclist descending a mountain, the daily review isn’t where the learning begins; it’s where we test the brakes, lean into the turns, and reinforce the training that’s already happened. The content should come quickly and confidently. If we’re dragging through it, we’ve lost the point.

Each question is a twist in the road:

• "What's 7 x 6?"
• "Partition 3425."
• "What's half of 36?"
  
• "True or false: 5.2 is greater than 5.09?"
• "Round 268 to the nearest hundred."

There’s no time for long explanations or in-depth instruction. The review is about retrieval, repetition, and responsiveness. Just like the rider trusts their training, we trust that students have already learned these concepts; and now they’re being kept fresh, fast and accessible.

Reading the Road
But just like in cycling, this pace only works if we’re alert to what’s happening around us. A rider reads the road and adjusts; so must we. If a student stumbles, we make a mental note. If multiple kids miss the same question, that’s a sign that we may need to revisit that curve later in the lesson. If the whole class doesn't respond, perhaps we didn't give them the thinking time they needed.

The magic of the daily review is in its diagnostic power; you see what’s stuck and what’s slipping in real time.

Avoiding the Uphill Grind
Without daily review, students often find themselves on a slow, painful uphill climb: struggling to recall, battling to connect past learning to new concepts. The descent is exhilarating because it’s powered by what came before.

When we run a daily review with pace and precision, we’re giving our students that same momentum. We’re saying: You’ve done this before. Let’s go again: swifter, sharper, stronger.

Final Thoughts
A good daily review isn’t rushed; it’s purposeful. It doesn’t dawdle, but it doesn’t drop students, either. Like the best riders, we want our students to be confident, agile, and always looking ahead.

So next time you’re leading your class through a daily review, think of the Tour de France. You’re not just reviewing content: you’re racing down that mountain, making every second count.

Teachers make daily decisions about what students can handle: what texts to read, what tasks to attempt, what behaviours are acceptable. But sometimes, these decisions aren’t maximising a child’s full potential. They’re based on assumptions about a child’s background, perceived ability, or past performance.
This is what the speechwriter Michael Gerson coined as “the soft bigotry of low expectations.” And it remains one of the most damaging and insidious forms of inequity in education.

What It Looks Like in Practice
The “soft bigotry” isn’t overt prejudice. It’s subtle. It sounds like:

• “He’s doing well… for him.”
• “It’s too hard for them; they won’t get it.”
• “These kids can’t sit and listen for more than a few minutes.”

These low expectations don’t protect students: they limit them. When we water down the curriculum, avoid challenging tasks, or excuse underperformance, we rob students of the very experiences that help them grow. We send a damaging message: You’re not expected to succeed.
As Noel Pearson, Indigenous leader and education advocate, has warned:
“Low expectations are the scourge of disadvantaged schools. They are the disease that infects schools with endemic failure.”
But when we raise the bar and teach with belief, incredible things happen

Every Child, Every Chance: Changing the Narrative
Take the quiet child whose previous teacher rarely heard her speak. She seemed content to fade into the background; until warm calling invited her into the conversation with kindness and consistency. In the beginning, her answers seemed to surprise her as much as anyone. Soon, she was one of the first to put her hand up, keen to share her thinking. Her confidence hadn’t appeared overnight. It had been built, brick by brick, because someone believed her voice mattered. And so she started to believe that it mattered too.

Or the Prep student who couldn’t count to three when she arrived. Rather than hold her back or simplify the content, we gave her full access to the same high-quality maths instruction as her peers; with scaffolding and support where needed. Slowly, she caught up. By year’s end, she was one of our strongest mathematical thinkers. She didn’t need a watered-down curriculum; she needed a chance.
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And then there was the class who couldn’t sit on the mat for more than a few minutes: restless, distracted, and disconnected. It would’ve been easy to lower expectations, to teach in five-minute bursts or avoid whole-class instruction altogether. But we didn’t. We built their stamina. We made the lessons engaging, checked for understanding constantly, and taught behaviour as intentionally as we taught reading. Within weeks, they were locked in. By mid-year, they could sit together for 30 minutes of rich, focused instruction: fully present and thriving.

What High Expectations Really Mean
Having high expectations isn’t about demanding perfection or pushing kids too hard. It’s about:

• Believing every student is capable of growth
• Teaching rigorous and rich content with appropriate scaffolds
• Providing daily opportunities to think and respond
• Teaching routines and behaviours explicitly; not assuming students “just know”
• Celebrating effort and progress, not just polish and perfection

Zig Engelmann, creator of Direct Instruction, said it well:
“If the student hasn't learned, the teacher hasn't taught. And if the student can't learn, the teacher hasn't found the way to teach.”

Breaking the Cycle
To fight the soft bigotry of low expectations, we must first look inward. We must ask:

• What assumptions am I making about this student’s capacity?
• Am I giving them the same opportunities I’d expect for my own child?
• Have I taught this explicitly, or am I expecting them to infer it?
• Do I truly believe they can meet the standard with the right support?

Every child, regardless of postcode, language background, or prior achievement, deserves a teacher who believes in them. They deserve a rigorous curriculum, meaningful feedback, and a classroom culture that says:
You belong here. We believe in you. Let’s get to work.

No child should be held back by our assumptions.
Let’s be bold and ensure every child can thrive.

As educators, it’s heartening to see the growing interest in the science of learning—a body of research that explores how the brain learns best and how we can use that knowledge to teach more effectively. This can be seen in the Victorian Teaching and Learning Model 2.0 and other frameworks across the country. However, with this growing interest, a range of myths and misunderstandings are starting to emerge.
These myths can paint an inaccurate, even disheartening, picture of what informed, effective teaching looks like. At worst, they risk turning teachers away from approaches that actually support their professional judgment, creativity, and connection with students.
Let’s take a closer look at five common myths: and the truths that bust them wide open. I’ve also included real-world classroom examples to show how vibrant and powerful learning becomes when we embrace the science of learning.
 
Myth 1: “We can’t display students’ work in the classroom anymore.”
Truth: We absolutely can: we just need to be intentional about how we do it.
One of the most persistent myths is that a Science of Learning approach means blank walls and lifeless rooms. But this is a misinterpretation of cognitive load theory. The research doesn’t say “no displays”. It says to avoid unnecessary distractions. When students are learning something new, the last thing they need is clutter pulling their attention away from the teacher, whiteboard, and core learning visuals.
But displays can have a powerful place in the classroom, especially when they’re curated carefully and used purposefully.
A source of pride in my own classroom has been our “Grow Wall.” It’s a space where students choose work they’re proud of- writing, artwork, maths challenges they’ve conquered- and we display it proudly. We refresh the wall regularly, and it tells a story of growth and achievement. Crucially, it’s placed at the back of the room, away from the direct line of sight during instruction, but right where parents can see it during drop-off and where students line up during the day. The wall celebrates student voice and effort without competing with the cognitive focus of a lesson.
When we understand the research, we can embrace celebration and clarity.

Myth 2: “Differentiation is dead.”
Truth: We’re still differentiating; just more effectively, and more sustainably.
Differentiation has long been a pillar of great teaching, but it’s also often a vague concept that becomes both misunderstood and unsustainable. Misunderstanding differentiation often involves teachers creating multiple versions of the same lesson, or “watering down” tasks in the name of accessibility. That approach is exhausting, and it rarely delivers equity or excellence.
The science of learning encourages us to ensure all students can engage with the same core knowledge and skills through strong instruction, effective scaffolds, and meaningful opportunities to deepen learning. It’s about making sure every student can succeed with the core learning, while giving those ready for more the chance to stretch and go deeper. It’s not about watering things down, but lifting everyone up.
I had the pleasure of recently seeing a teacher run a brilliant lesson on story structure. Every student was given a series of images and asked to sort them into narrative components—character, setting, problem, solution, and ending. This task gave every student access to the big idea. Then came the differentiation:

• Some students wrote simple labels or captions.
• Others wrote full sentences describing each element.
• The most confident were challenged to use rich vocabulary and connect ideas across the story.

Same task, shared purpose, multiple entry points. It’s a beautiful example of how differentiation can work when it’s grounded in shared learning goals, not separate activities. What made it so powerful was that the teacher never placed limits on any child; instead, she celebrated their success at each point and guided them toward the next challenge.

Myth 3: “There’s no space for creativity or critical thinking.”
Truth: Knowledge builds the foundation for both.
Another common misconception is that explicit instruction and knowledge-rich learning “kill creativity.” But the opposite is true: you can’t think deeply about something you don’t understand, and you can’t create with concepts you haven’t yet grasped.
When students have strong foundational knowledge, they ask better questions, make richer connections, and generate more original ideas. Their creativity isn’t diminished: it’s informed.
In my classroom, as we explored the world of Greek mythology, students began making comparisons that sparked rich, critical discussion. One student wondered if Ariel from The Little Mermaid might be related to Poseidon. Another asked whether Jesus and Zeus were similar. Someone else questioned what really causes lightning; was it Zeus, as the myths suggested, or something more scientific?
These conversations didn’t happen in a vacuum. They were the result of structured knowledge-building. The content gave them the tools to play, question, and imagine; and that’s true creativity.

Myth 4: “Students are becoming robots.”
Truth: Calm, focused classrooms amplify student voices.
There’s a worry that orderly classrooms stifle children’s personalities. The claim persists that if students are listening, following routines, and focused on their work, they must be “robotic.” We need to challenge that.
Calm classrooms aren’t quiet because of compliance. They’re calm because students know what to do. There’s security in routine, clarity in expectations, and freedom in structure. In that space, more students get to participate, especially those who might otherwise be overshadowed.
One of the greatest highlights of my career has been supporting a student who was selectively mute. Over time, with consistent routines, gentle encouragement, and clear expectations, she found her voice. A classroom that some might call “strict” was, in her case, a sanctuary; one that helped her feel seen, safe, and successful.
Children aren’t robots. They’re inherently joyful, curious, and capable. A well-structured classroom doesn’t suppress that; it makes space for it to flourish.
 
Myth 5: “It robs teachers of their artistry.”
Truth: The science of learning empowers great teaching; it doesn’t strip away our professional flair.
This is perhaps the myth that stings the most because it strikes at the heart of our profession. Teachers are artists. We build relationships, adapt to the moment, and respond with creativity and heart. So when we hear “science of learning,” some worry that it means robotic delivery that erases our individuality.
But here’s the truth: I’ve never visited two great classrooms that were identical. Even when a lesson is scripted, each teacher brings their own tone, personality, and strengths.
I worked with a teacher last year who brought music into every part of her practice. She had a song for nearly everything: transitions, spelling rules, even maths strategies! That was her superpower. While I’ve got a few songs up my sleeve, it’s not my strong suit, and that’s okay. I am still able to let my teaching shine in other ways.
The science of learning gives us the foundation to stand on, but it doesn’t define how we dance. It helps more students learn more effectively, more often. And when teachers feel confident in what works, it frees them to do what they do best: teach with joy, flair, and purpose.