If standardized test scores are an indication of teaching ability, I will be judged and found lacking.
If these scores influence property values, housing prices in my neighborhood will not rocket upward anytime soon.
If they measure a child’s worth, the self-esteem of a number of eleven-year-olds is on the line.
Next week my students will sit down in front of laptop computers to take state-mandated standardized tests. Never mind that only about half of them are comfortable using a laptop. Never mind that four students read English at a second grade level, three have diagnosed learning disabilities, only one-fifth are fluent English speakers, and approximately one-third of the class is either homeless or living in substandard conditions. We are still expected to do our best, and do our best we shall.
Fifth graders are unpredictable creatures, however. Despite pushing students all year to read more, write better, and manipulate math concepts with fluency, I brace myself for the inevitable distractions and tiny traumas that affect a student’s performance on any given day.
Michelle, who delights in arguing with me, also loves to read. She may decide that the reading portion of the test is fun and interesting, or she may decide she’s mad at me and type the alphabet as an answer out of spite.
Alberto draws constantly. The margins of his regular chapter tests are generally filled with doodles. Scribbling reduces his anxiety. I don’t know how he will respond to an exam the margins of which he can’t adorn.
Sergio’s English is limited, his reading level is low, and his writing skills are abysmal. He loves to learn, and spends every free second trying to tell me what he investigated on YouTube about Antarctica or penguins or volcanoes or bees or why Pluto is no longer considered a planet. He asks me daily, “Can I show you a brain game?” When the time comes to write a paragraph, however, the words look like he threw the letters in the air and pasted them to the page in whatever order they landed. I’m not sure typing will improve his performance.
Paloma is a highly intelligent perfectionist. She meets most tests with a squeal, “Oh my gosh, I’m freaking out! I’m freaking out!” I remind her that she’s only allowed to freak out if the classroom is on fire, Spiderman’s arch-nemesis is coming in through our second-story window, there is an earthquake so severe that our classroom has fallen downstairs into the first grade, or I drop dead in front of her. At this stage of the year, even fellow students chime in, “Is the room on fire? No? Then calm down.” I’m not sure how this will play out during what is supposed to be silent, focused testing.
Brenda might make it to school for every day of testing, if she isn’t needed to stay home and watch her baby sister.
Even if she does come, her English is so limited that she once responded to a writing prompt with a list of fruits and vegetables.
Lunchtime increases our challenges. We are testing after lunch, which means that Jose may choose a testing day to see how many little cartons of chocolate milk he can drink, Alan and Andres will get into at least one fight on the soccer field, and Christian will sulk because I don’t let him bring a worm, lizard, or snail into the classroom. Marina will have a headache by mid-afternoon, the result of a long-term illness combined with a too-tight ponytail. The effects of Maura’s ADD medication will have mostly worn off. Fernanda will be pouting because her latest crush has spurned her, and Catalina will be nose-deep in a Harry Potter book until I nudge her and remind her that yes, she does, in fact have to take the test on the computer in front of her.
Testing is stressful for all of us, teachers and students alike, but there are tiny moments of joy. As in every school year, at least one student will blurt out, ‘I KNOW this!” Someone will ask, “Can we work in partners?” and I will laugh as I explain that despite the year-long emphasis on teamwork and collaboration, they’re expected to go this one alone. I can count on at least one student to beckon me over with an excited, “Teacher, read this passage! It’s so cool!”
To the outside world, standardized testing measures so many things: my worth, my students’ worth, the value of my school and district. In the microcosm of the classroom, it’s just one of many goals to meet, one that defines us to others but not to ourselves. We know we are kind, hard-working, and smart, and maybe, just maybe, if all goes well, we are good at taking tests.
