Qualified or competent?

Pretty much anyone studying for a certification in any discipline has heard the question, “When are you taking your test?”

It’s a reasonable question. Testing is a cornerstone of the certification process. Whether the assessment is oral, written, or skills-based, there is a well-defined method for establishing that each applicant has learned the necessary information and can apply it appropriately. Once that hurdle is successfully completed, certification is bestowed upon the joyous applicant.

Yay!

In that process there is a weakness — an unintended but unavoidable failing that dooms far too many applicants to disappointment, followed by retraining, followed by retesting, hopefully to success on their second go-round.

The price is high for this. The applicant’s confidence is shaken. Their belief in themselves is diminished. Plus, and this is no small thing, their checkbook balance shrinks unnecessarily.

When it costs more to accomplish less, there is a problem. That’s an immutable law of nature. Or, at least it should be.

This problem is universal, but limited. Many, if not most, of those who teach courses designed to lead their students to certification do their best to help their charges reach their goal. They actively participate in the process. They know how to explain the material they’re responsible for teaching in multiple ways. They don’t just dictate, they also demonstrate. They ask open-ended questions of their students in an effort to gauge understanding. They genuinely try.

Even these teachers, the best of the best, will be faced with students who don’t succeed on their first attempt at certification testing.

Perhaps nerves play a role. Maybe the student slept so poorly the night before their brain fog just won’t dissipate.

I once had a student go completely blank for an oral exam. An exceptional student, she was incapable of answering even the most basic question.

Why? Less than an hour before her practical test she witnessed an airplane crash while attempting to takeoff. There were no major injuries, but the experience disturbed her sufficiently to rob her of the ability to think clearly or creatively for a short period of time.

These things happen. Not often, but they do happen.

The bigger problem, as I see it, the one that is far more common and considerably more damaging, is the inability — or worse — the disinterest on the part of instructors to delineate between students who are qualified and students who are competent.

A qualified applicant has the hours of study logged. They’ve performed the requisite tasks. Their paperwork is complete, their bills are paid. They have, in essence, checked all the boxes.

This is not to say they are ready. Yes, they are qualified. They meet the technical standard for completion of the training. But are they competent? Do they have the confidence to perform under pressure?

Testing is, by nature, a pressure-inducing experience. Anyone who has spent time in the applicant’s chair knows this to be true. The difference between being qualified and being competent can be very small, but it is a critical distinction that should be discussed between teacher and student.

Ultimately the instructor decides, but the student’s voice should be included in the process.

When I stepped up from single-engine airplanes to multi-engine airplanes, I was excited. That Piper Seneca felt like the big time to me. It was bigger, more complex, with far more power than anything I’d flown before. I absolutely loved flying the Seneca. I wasn’t quite as fond of landing it, but my instructor assured me I had qualified for the practical test.

My CFI told me he was scheduling me for my ride.

I said, “No.”

I had met the qualifications. I knew that. On paper I was ready to go.

In my heart and in my head, however, I wasn’t. I lacked confidence. A whisper of doubt permeated my thoughts, muddling my thinking, and keeping me from assertively dealing with multi-engine operations. I wanted another lesson. One more flight before the check ride to really nail the procedures I would be expected to perform.

My instructor was a good guy. He taught me well and I’m sure he wanted the best for me. The system he was working under didn’t allow for an extra flight. Even though I was paying the bill, they were ready for me to spread my wings and go.

My feelings, my confidence level, my willingness to take that next test didn’t have much to do with it. But I stood my ground. I’m ornery like that. I insisted. They declined. I reiterated that I was paying for the lesson and for the test. I want one more lesson. They relented.

I passed that practical test on the first try.

It’s not true that the customer is always right. But the customer deserves to be both well informed and heard. The role of a flight school or a flight instructor, or any school or instructor really, is to provide the insight and support to facilitate the student’s success.

The goal should not be to finish in a finite number of hours. Or to keep pace with other students.

Education, the art of skill building, is a very personal experience. Each of us will learn and adapt at a different pace. We should not feel pressured or embarrassed that our progress doesn’t correspond directly with what the syllabus suggests. It is the role of the instructor and the school to make that clear to us. It is for them to build our knowledge, our skills, and our confidence as individuals.

If the goal truly is success, the clock, the calendar, and a fully filled out application form cannot be our guiding lights. Successful teaching is more nuanced.

You be you. A better, more capable you will result if you put in the effort.