I was not a
good athlete growing up. No team ever
won because of my participation. Never
did I feel the joy of crossing the finish line first. In fact, one year in gym as I huffed and
puffed through my third of four laps to complete the mile fitness test the gym
teacher yelled, “alright, head back to the gym, Danielle is done.” I guess he assumed I had to be on my fourth
lap if the rest of class had finished so much sooner. In seventh grade I played on the D volleyball
team. Did you know they field D teams in
schools? I used to beg that the ball
would not be hit to me during softball.
I once won the game ball only because I agreed to go back in the game,
reluctantly, after someone got hurt. So, like I said, I was not an
athlete… but I could rock any
standardized test they threw my way. I
loved testing week at Bartlett Elementary.
Illinois was a big fan of the Iowa Basic which required losing morning
instruction for a week straight as we read random isolated passages about how
cameras worked or the history of movie theaters in America. I knew I could expect hours of quiet challenge
in which I would arise victor, not only because I would fall in the 96th
percentile or above on all sections, but also because I would finish most
sections with time to spare so I could sit back with my arms crossed as I
watched my peers struggle to bubble in guesses for the last ten questions as
the timer ticked closer to zero. When I
was in third grade I had to miss a Girl Scouting Christmas event to take
qualifying tests to be considered for a transfer to a gifted school with full
time advanced programming. (FYI – My
decision to not attend this school was entirely based on the fact that they
were dissecting cow eye balls on the site visit day.) When my friends bragged about the GS event
and what I missed, I retorted with, “Well… at least I’m smarter than you.” This attitude may have contributed more to my limited social circle than my lack of
athletic prowess, but I needed that identity.
I was smart. I was good. The test said so.
Having this odd emotional
attachment to testing and test scores makes my dissertation topic fairly
ironic. I am studying the tests used to
place students in reading intervention.
I argue that the tests often put the wrong kids in my class - mistaking those with behavior issues or
those with experiences outside the mainstream with those who have genuine
reading disabilities. I am finding that
the act of testing and measuring takes a mental toll on teachers and students
alike. These scores become reasons for
those outside to judge schools as failures, or even worse, for those who have
little knowledge about the science and art of teaching to meddle where they
don’t belong with policies and practices that will “SAVE OUR FAILING SCHOOLS”. While at NCTE these past few days I sought
out sessions that would fill me with knowledge and resources to support my
literature review as I begin finally putting pen to paper for this final step
in the PhD process. Among the best of
these resources was a speech by Alfie Kohn.
He has some pretty eccentric/controversial though refreshing ideas about
public schooling and homework and grading.
Many would take issues with the suggestions he makes for American
schools. However, the statements he made
about testing seem inarguably true to me.
He said that there is absolutely no reason to have a standardized test that
ranks unless it was important to you that there be winners and losers. And as long as we use percentile ranks to
determine proficiency, someone will always fail. That’s a simple truth. It is necessary to forming a bell curve. So really, everyone could be FINE and we
would still have failing schools and failing students.
To help you consider this truth,
let me paint an analogy using the NFL. Every
NFL team is made up of individuals who were one of if not THE best players on
their high school and college teams.
However, every season there are losers that are ridiculed by their
inability to bring home wins. Does this
change the talent that brought them to the field? No… it
is simply the result of competition. Now
I like a good football game, so I am not bashing competition for the right time and
place, I just question it in the classroom.
What does it do to my kids who are forced out of engaging career-like
electives to take yet another year of reading intervention? What does it do to them to see another “below
basic” on a piece of paper they are supposed to carry home to share with their
parents? I always wonder what happens to
the kid who learns about how percentile
ranks work and then looks down to see the word one next to his name. “You are the WORST reader who took this test…” Many of the people watching Alfie Kohn
alongside me were fired up and significantly more political than I am. They wanted us to do something about these
scores and the negative consequences they have on kids and schools. Others pointed out that we are a society that
loves quantitative numbers. I pointed
out that despite my research interests I take a strange satisfaction in knowing
I did well on those tests and anxiously await my daughter’s scores despite
claiming I won’t put much stock in them.
As the session with Alfie Kohn
ended, I checked my email. In one of the
more serendipitous moments of my life, I opened it to find a letter from the
gifted coordinator for my district. It’s
subject line said, “EEE students”. I
almost deleted it knowing that none of my students in reading intervention are
“gifted” so I didn’t expect the information to pertain to me. However, I clicked on it to stay in the Oakland
loop and quickly figured out Avery had qualified for gifted services and has
the opportunity to leave her regular classroom once a week to attend the gifted
center where kids engage in multi-disciplinary units - very hands on
experiences, that excite and engage. I
was immediately struck by the internal conflict of my pride and my resistance
to participate in a system that perpetuates some of the things I hate about
education. Aren’t all kids gifted? How can we explain to her why she gets to
go? How to we keep her in the mindset of
valuing learning rather than the score? How
can I make sure she doesn't brag at school events about how much smarter she is
than her friends?
I can’t say we didn’t know this was
coming. Despite my secret desire to give
birth to a future athlete, it is probably not going to happen. Look at their parents’ talents/interests…
Avery spends her recesses writing and directing plays complete with scripts and
costume/set designs. Tessa cries and
screams at the slightest discomfort.
(Though Maggie does love head butting peers and yells out ball anytime
she sees a football!) I have spent many
moments thinking about what I would do when the news came that my children
tested “gifted,” but in the end I didn’t think long. We will send Avery. She wants to go. She has asked to go. Sephus wants her to go. If I am honest, I want her to go too. I once asked a progressive professor what
she would do if she had a child qualify for gifted programming. She yelled at me like I was stupid, “I would
send them! And you should too!” She went on to explain that what we
ultimately want is the best educational experience for every child, and that
included my own children. I guess that’s
my concern. Why can’t all kids get EEE experiences every day? Why can’t all kids
get a high number attached to their biggest talents?
So now is the part where I normally
end with some sum it up in a sentence advice for living. I guess my continued belief that I have
wisdom or that anyone would actually take it is the fruit of the confidence I got
from scoring so high on all those tests all those years... But I really have no advice - just questions. If only I knew how to reset my mind and
reform a system that I ultimately benefited from. They don’t ask about that on the Iowa Test of
Basic Skills…
