A student comes off the line, pulls their mask and looks over at you. You nod and say “good job.” It feels like encouragement, but it teaches them almost nothing.
Why “good job” falls flat
I’ve been in this service a long time, and I’ve said “good job” more times than I can count. Most instructors have. It’s quick, it’s friendly and it keeps the line moving. The problem is that it doesn’t tell anybody anything.
Good job at what? Was it the size-up, the door control, the stream placement, the way they communicated with their partner? The student doesn’t know. So they guess. Sometimes they guess right. Often they lock in the one thing you were hoping they’d fix, because as far as they can tell, you just signed off on all of it.
The same goes for the other direction. “That was rough” or “you need to tighten that up” lands just as empty. The student knows you weren’t happy. They have no idea what to change.
Vague feedback is easy to give and easy to forget. Specific feedback is harder to give, and that’s exactly why it works.
What useful feedback sounds like
Good feedback names the behavior, explains why it matters and tells the student what to do next. It’s about what they did, not who they are. The best feedback I ever got on a training ground was short, plain and impossible to misunderstand.
Compare these two:
“Nice work on the attack.”
“You kept your stream moving and hit the ceiling before you advanced. That cooled the gases over your head and bought you time. Next rep, keep that same pattern, but call out to your backup before you move so they’re ready to feed you line.”
The second one takes fifteen seconds longer. In that fifteen seconds, the student learned what to keep, why it worked and what to add. That’s a lesson. The first one was a pat on the back.
When I’m giving feedback after an evolution, I try to hit a few points:
- Name one thing they did right, specifically enough that they can repeat it.
- Name the one thing that matters most to fix. Not five. One.
- Tell them why it matters on a real fireground.
- Give them a clear picture of what the next rep should look like.
That’s it. If you unload a list of ten corrections on someone who just came out of a burn, you’ll lose them by the third one.
Timing and setting matter
Feedback works best close to the moment. The longer you wait, the more the student fills in the gaps with their own version of what happened. If it’s a safety issue, you stop it right there. If it’s a technique issue, catch them as they come off the line or during the reset, while the evolution is still fresh.
Think about where you’re doing it, too. Fixing a skill in front of the class is fine when it helps everyone learn, and it usually does. But if a student is struggling or rattled, pull them aside. The goal is to make them better, not to make them the example. And when somebody gets it right, say so where others can hear. That shows the whole crew what the standard looks like.
Make feedback a two-way street
The mistake I see most is instructors who talk at a student instead of with them. Before you tell them what you saw, ask what they saw. “How did that feel? What would you change?” You’ll be surprised how often they already know. When they find the problem themselves, it sticks a lot better than when you hand it to them.
It also tells you something. If a student thinks the rep went great and you watched it fall apart, you’ve got a gap in their understanding, and that’s where your teaching needs to go.
And be willing to take some yourself. Ask your students what’s working and what isn’t. Ask the other instructors on the cadre to watch how you coach. If we expect students to take honest feedback, we’d better be able to take it too.
The bottom line
Students can’t fix what they can’t see, and they can’t repeat what nobody named. “Good job” feels kind, but it leaves them guessing. Be specific. Tell them what worked, what needs to change and why it matters. Keep it short, keep it close to the moment and keep it about the skill. That’s how a training ground turns reps into real improvement.
Stay safe, and train like it matters.
Eric Makowski
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