A Question on Testing: What’s the Point?

My students – with their IEPS, modifications, accommodations, academic struggles, and all – just completed a three-day ELA test.

On day one, they did their best. On day two, they tried their hardest. And on day three, they slogged up the stairs, uninterested in and unmotivated by the prospect of facing this even one more time.

An hour and 45 minutes on day one. An hour and 45 minutes on day two. An hour and 45 minutes on day three. In all: five hours and 15 minutes across three days. Five hours and 15 minutes of silence, confusion, doubt, and frustration. Yes, they were willing to give it “The Ol’ College (and Career-Ready) Try,” but by day three, they had seen and had enough.

What will these tests show that we don’t already know? That they read significantly below grade level (by any standards, Common Core or otherwise)? That their writing ability doesn’t reflect their speaking ability or intelligence? What’s the point?

They were finished with day three by the end of day two. All they cared about this morning was that after today, this test would be done.

Do you think my students are the only ones who felt that way? Why do we subject them to so many hours? Shouldn’t, say, 20 multiple choice questions and two or three essays suffice? The kids are not interested or invested, so they’re not at their best.

Do these tests show the full scope of my students’ capabilities? Or the capabilities of others?

I think we all know the answer to those questions.

Fake It ‘Til You Make It…If You Make It At All

They’re silent. At least they got that much out of this. You can’t talk during a test, plain and simple. Even the slightest sniffle or throat clearing will be treated with suspicion.

Some of them are looking back to the passages – maybe they’ll pull it out. Sure, I know no one expects good grades on this year’s tests. But maybe, just maybe, these kids will pull off a shocker.

Or…maybe they know “What Good Test Taking Looks Like,” so they’re turning back, putting pencil to chin in a thinking pose, and underlining.

But I see in their faces that nothing here makes sense. The words are too long and too many. The questions are too boring and too many.

But they try. They’re too young to realize that, while the test is hard for many their age, it’s even harder for them.

What are they learning from this experience? You gotta fake it ’til you make it.

But with tests like these determining who’s smart and who’s stupid, how could they ever make it?

What Testing Does to This Teacher

I’ve written previously on the damage I see done to my students when they’re faced with a test on which there’s no way they can possibly do well. With all the hyperbole leading up to the standardized tests they take, and because they are virtually impossible to pass if you have a disability, my students are often left to feel worthless, regardless of what strides they made heading into the tests.

We’re into it now. Around this time, benchmark assessments and practice tests are du rigueur in my third graders’ worlds. And so for me, the cycle begins anew, just as it has since I started teaching special education: Kids make significant progress on their levels and terms -> kids forced to take tests way above their levels and terms -> kids realize there’s something wrong and made to feel worthless -> kids frustrated, disengaged, unmotivated, and upset.

GOOD TIMES!

Recently, I’ve sat and watched with my downcast head in my open palm as my poor 8-year olds have been made to sit in their chairs for unnatural lengths of time, like tiny little soldiers whose feet don’t touch the floor, thinking they have a clue about how to answer the questions in front of them, but demonstrating by their blank stares and nonsensical responses that they are lost. Can’t blame them.

Every group of students is different. These third graders are not nearly as talented or interested in math as last year’s class. They also have the added “bonus,” lucky little winners they are, of taking Common Core-aligned tests. Read: lots of multi-step, multi-operation questions, each one seemingly designed, with a little more vitriol than the previous, to invalidate English language learners and students with disabilities.

Bless their stubby pencils and little hearts, they try. They show work (whether it’s appropriate to the task is another story). They wait patiently for their friends to finish so I can read the next problem. They smile when they think they got it right.

And, in their stunted spelling (learning disabilities, you know), they answer a short response question by saying, “I dink dis test is to haid.”

What’s this do to me? It makes me sad. Makes me angry. Makes me mad. Makes me question myself. Makes me worry about unrealistic expectations. Makes me pity the kids.

One colleague had the best advice about how to deal with this: “Don’t look.”

When we’re all jumping off a cliff together, that’s pretty solid advice.

 

So, How’d Your Kids Do?

“How did your kids do?” and “What did you think?” were the questions on everyone’s lips this week, replacing the far more pleasant and important, “How are you?” and “What’s new?”

I digress.

As my colleagues and I spilled into the halls in the hours following the conclusion of each session of the three-day 4-6+ hours ELA test, everyone was eager to share their opinions (few of which were favorable).

On one point we could all agree: The kids did their best. Confronted with what many considered inappropriately challenging passages and ambiguous, misleading, culturally-biased questions, the kids tried to make sense of it all and tried to make the most of their lot.

For my students’ part, I am happy to report that no one broke down over the pressure that could have crushed them if they let it. Some kids finished quickly and put their heads down for 90 minutes. Others took most of the time afforded them. My student on the lowest reading level dutifully fought through the texts 10 or more levels above her current reading level and answered each question. Those who couldn’t comprehend certain questions accepted that they had to do their very best on their own and they put down responses nonetheless.

So, how’d my kids do? When the grades come in, I suspect they won’t be exceptional. But there is a certain amount of pride to be taken – both by them and me – in knowing that no one gave up. I have to applaud them for that. What more can I ask for?

 

Dear Students: On the Eve of Your First Test

Dear students,

Today, tomorrow, and Thursday, I will try to treat the day like I would any other. Only thing is, despite my attempts at geniality and mirth, you’ll probably notice the heavy and dark curtain of The Test draped on the walls of every classroom and evident in the halls of every floor.

So, it is likely that you will enter into a state of nervousness, even self-doubt, both of which will be exacerbated – depending on who you are – by the horror that stirs when you’re confronted, on your own, with a booklet of passages that masquerades as meaningful, enjoyable reading. (In your mind, you’ll try to reconcile why such a fun activity has to be hijacked and turned into such an arduous one.)

I know I’ll probably see your faces turn various shades of green. Your lips might utter statements such as, “This is too hard,” or “I’m not going to do this.” You might say you’re hungry, you’re tired, you’re bored, you’re hot – anything to get yourself out of the unenviable position of having your status as English Language Learners with disabilities be used against you in a poorly-conceived plan to make you “proficient.”

You don’t need a test to tell you if you’re “proficient.” Are you doing your work every day? Hey, you’re proficient! Are you prepared and ready to try every day? Guess what? You’re proficient! Do you give your best effort all, or even just most of the time? Well then, you’re proficient!

Some of you asked me if this test is important. That all depends on what your priorities and values are. If you, like me, value a positive, can-do attitude and realize that you’ve improved in all subjects, then you already know what’s important. It’s like I’ve told you and your parents many times before: it matters that you are improving. No test score will give us the full picture of your growth or abilities.

This morning, you’ll find some items on your desk that I hope help you through day one of The Test. Of course, there will be a pencil (duh, how else can you bubble?). I’ll leave a highlighter, as well, since I know that helps a little when reading those big bad passage article stories. And I’ll leave a Rice Krispies Treat with a little note attached, because I promised you a snack and everyone is probably going to need a pick-me-up this morning.

Listen when I talk. You’ll probably find that I won’t say, “Good luck” nearly as much as I’ll say, “Do your best!”

Yesterday, with the realization that the desks would stay in rows overnight and you would enter this morning into what was once your classroom (now a test room), you stared straight into the terrifying eyes of The Test, trembling in fear as it scowled at you from a hundred feet high. Many of you wondered if it would swallow you whole and destroy you.

Do not be distressed, dear students. You can slay that scary monster just by doing what I’ve been stressing all year: your very best.

What Does a Know-it-All Know, Anyway?

I’ve heard people suggest that, since I’m a special education teacher, I am also a saint. People have told me, “Those kids need someone like you,” and, “They need a good male role model.”

Of course, none of these people are political types or billionaires. The way these influencers see it, I’m exactly the kind of teacher my kids don’t need because I don’t add enough value. Full disclosure: I typed that sentence with a smirk on my face.

Instead of honoring my commitment to teaching a high-needs cohort (or the commitment of others who teach special ed, ESL, or in high poverty areas), the know-it-alls use the choice I’ve made to label me a poor teacher. It is both upsetting and laughably idiotic that they have perversely twisted the notion of good teaching so that the teachers who take on the hardest assignments are made to look like the worst teachers.

Which shows you just how little these know-it-alls know.

A Call to Action: Spread the Word About “Value”

My colleague Donna and I exchanged a volley of texts this weekend trying to figure out the next steps that could follow her post I dare you to measure the “value” I add, which, I guess you could say, has gone certifiably viral. That is to say, if you haven’t read it, read it now. Close to 10,000 people did this weekend.

As Donna considers the best ways to seize on the popularity of this inspiring and timely post by spreading it further, I ask that you do your part to spread it. The more people who read it, the better.

Donna has articulated a stand that teaching and results can’t be crunched into numbers. If you agree, please retweet, post to Facebook, e-mail to colleagues and administrators, and share on Google Plus. This message needs to be shared if we want to take back our profession!

Just for good measure, here’s the link again! Share it with everyone! I dare you to measure the “value” I add.

Dialogue on Data

This is part of a series of letters I am exchanging with a colleague of mine on a variety of education-related issues. It originally appeared on her blog, No Sleep ’til Summer. I will post my response on Tuesday, March 20.

Dear Matt,

cc: all passionate and concerned teachers

Recently I wrote a post, a poem of sorts, about the value-added teacher data reports. I was expressing my frustration with the fact that the positives and challenges of my job as a teacher of ELLs, (most of whom are newcomers or SIFE students) are not simply ignored by this data but blatantly devalued. By the overwhelming response I received from colleagues and strangers alike, including current and retired teachers and principals, I know I’m not alone in how I feel.

As we discussed this and our experiences with teaching test prep units, you said that the issue, as you see it, is that data is bastardized. I would like to dig into this a little more, not just because teachers rarely get the time and opportunity to really discuss and analyze the issues within our profession in depth, but also because this is an area that is heavily covered in the media with, unfortunately, a wealth of misinformation and leading to a misinformed public who has even less time and less tools for critically analyzing the questions to any meaningful extent.

The public needs to understand that teachers aren’t simply lamenting changes to their job, or an increase in responsibilities and work load without a corresponding pay increase. We aren’t simply complaining about “doing more paper work”, or opposing what some see as the “professionalization” of the teaching “trade”.

So, let’s take time to provide a means for analyzing and discussing these issues that publicly encourages the “higher order” thinking it so desperately requires.

I’m going to address some of the most common public questions and concerns in upcoming posts, and I’d like to invite you to do the same. And, you know what? I’d like to open it up and invite other teachers to also contribute a post or suggestion on common misconceptions they feel need addressing.

The Top 10 Things You’ll Hear in a Special Ed Class During Test Prep

10. I don’t know what to do.

9. I don’t get it.

8. This is too hard.

7. This is boring.

6. I can’t do this.

5. This isn’t real reading or writing.

4. Can we read books?

3. Why don’t we write anymore?

2. Why do we have to do this?

1. I’m having a terrible day.

To which the special educator can really only say, “Do your best.”

A Less Inhibited Use of Language

Something that often vexes me is the fact that my students sometimes are so intimidated by the threat of inappropriate word use that they’d rather stay silent or give up than speak to me (a proficient speaker of English and the authority in the room). The free use of language utopia that I hope to have is never going to happen until my English language learners become less inhibited in their use of the language. For this to happen, they have to believe that they will be allowed to speak free of judgement.

Yet, as we rode the bus through the streets of Queens yesterday heading to the Museum of Natural History, I had the rare opportunity to sit and eavesdrop on a conversation between two of my girls. I was pleasantly surprised to hear them engaged in a spirited discussion about the landmarks we were passing. One girl, who likes to talk and is not shy, seemed to be commanding the English language better than I can recall in the two years I’ve known her. Is there an untapped reserve of language in her that she uses with her friends but holds back using in academic situations because she is wary of being judged?

Teaching ELLs can be frustrating because the conventions of English – written and oral – are so multitudinous and laborious. It is hard sometimes to monitor growth and development. In informal settings, though, it is nice to see that growth is occurring. How, though, does that translate to what happens in the classroom?