Stupid Test

She said, “I graduated from the University of Utah, too!”

She’s a very Special Education teacher who is now teaching in Hawaii.  She came up to me to give me a hug and to tell me she enjoyed my little speech on stupid testing.

(Now, to be clear, the lawyers at NEA asked me to stop calling the tests “insane” since this is an actual medical condition and it may be offensive to insane people to be equated with the testing mania sweeping the country, so under legal advisement I have opted for the more technically correct term, “stupid”, knowing that it may offend technically “stupid” people. I apologize to them in advance.)

The gist of my little speech was that over twenty years ago as a 6th grade teacher at Orchard Elementary School in West Valley City, Utah, I was beginning to notice that people were giving standardized tests much more weight than they merited. I was beginning to notice that parents would glance at the portfolio of student writing and math work that I would assemble for each of my kids.

During parent teacher conferences I’d show the progress they had made in their abilities to communicate in writing and the pre- and post-tests in math that showed the skills they had acquired in multiplication, division and fractions, and where gaps remained and what interventions I was implementing to arrive at mastery before moving to the next level.

I had samples of art work on the wall and photographs of their Science Fair projects and their levels on the Governor’s Golden Sneaker Awards in physical education and more and more so they would understand how I assessed the success level for their child and how I had figured the grade on the report card for each subject area.

Then, I went over the computer print out that gave information on the yearly mandated standardized tests which were to be a broad overview of where each child ranked compared to other students who had taken the test. (i.e., if most students scored high on a question, a high score was the “norm”. If most students scored low on a question, a low score was the “norm” Normed tests do not measure actual skill levels, but only a relative ranking.)

Most of the parents’ questions were about the computer print out. They often didn’t understand that a percentile ranking was not a percentage correct. So I spent some time explaining that the 50th percentile was where 50 out of 100 students scored. 50 was the norm. A 60th percentile was above the norm. “So,” said one parent, “In your class 60% is above average? Isn’t a 60% a D in most classes?”

It was clear to me way back that what came off on a computer print off was going to trump my more comprehensive assessment of skill levels and the multiple ways I arrived at a grade for the report card, which might include book reports, essays, science experiments, class presentations, interviews, etc. My little speech was about how every year since I could remember, the standardized tests, which were only one, narrow line of evidence of learning, were becoming the only thing that mattered. And that this was hurting children.

My little speech was about how we, as professionals, had to continue doing what was right for our students – even with growing pressure to make our standardized test “number” by any means necessary. I told my audience to give the tests. But I told them not to give the tests any more weight than they deserved and not to pretend that they measured more than they were designed to measure, and not to ever, ever, ever accept shortchanging students by narrowing what it meant to teach and what it meant to learn.

So, the smiling, young teacher came up to me to tell me she had gone to the University of Utah and was now a Special Education teacher. And then she broke down and cried. Really cried. She held on to me and cried and said, “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

She had only been teaching a few years. She said, “I have to give tests that don’t make any sense at all for my students. They have profound disabilities. The tests make them worry to the point they seem frightened to take them. I see it in their eyes, and I feel like I’m hurting them.”

“I’m thinking of quitting and going to law school.”

I just held her and refused to give in to the tears in my own eyes, and I said in my best, stern, grown-up voice, “No. Forget about it. You love your kids, and they need you, and you are not taking the easy way out by going to law school. We’re going to convince the people who don’t understand.

We’re going to tell them why good teachers are fighting against stupid tests. We want smart tests. We want real assessments that give us and give parents and give students meaningful information. And you are going to be part of making this better.”

She stopped crying. And gave me another hug. And said, “Ok.”

Ok. She is going to go to NEA.org which will connect her with her Congressional representatives. It will connect her with the President of the United States. It will connect her with information about what’s working. What’s not. What we can do about it.

Ok. There’s no crying in baseball. There’s no crying in fixing stupid tests. Dry eyes, everybody, ok?

Onward.