I remember very well the first time after I had taken a standardized test, being praised by my mother. "You read as well as a twelfth grader!" my mother exclaimed, looking at the test results. I had never been so proud of myself. I loved reading, and it was the number one connection I had with my father, so this meant more to me than anyone ever could have imagined. I wasn't just a good reader... I wasn't just a "Blue Jay"... I was better than high school readers! In my head, it actually made perfect sense. I was always a child with a book in my hand, racing through a text. My father was an avid reader, and so clearly we were a lot alike.
The very next year I took standardized tests, and was beyond ecstatic. I was good at these tests! I could read anything! After all, I was reading at a 12th grade level.
I'll never forget the moment when my mom got those results. I had qualified, and was going to be attending, remedial reading. I didn't understand. I still don't. How had I gone from reading at a 12th grade level in 3rd grade, to needing remedial services in 4th? And I was the only child in the family that LIKED to read - what did this mean for that connection I had with my Dad? Although I wasn't thrilled about attending, I went, and only because the teacher was so kind. Within months I was discontinued from services. I didn't understand why. I still don't.
I don't remember performing as well as I was capable on a single test after fourth grade. I'm sure I did adequate, but I don't remember doing well. I do remember always questioning what was really being asked. I was never a child that could rule out more than one answer on a multiple choice test. And I always second-guessed what I knew and did the opposite. I would suddenly lose all confidence in myself when any form of a test was placed in front of me.
I vividly remember sitting in Global Studies 10 trying to take a final. I had written my name on the test, but beyond that I couldn't remember a single word. I didn't know about the times and places that were being tested - I had sat in class every single day, and had studied several nights in advance, and yet, none of this sounded familiar. Global Studies was an area that was challenging for me to begin with, and I knew that I needed to perform well because I had struggled on all of the previous tests. I could feel the teachers glare, as I often had, perusing the room. Panic set in, and it was all I could do to fight back tears.
I climbed into my mom's Black Cherry minivan, and the fear, frustration, and defeat poured out of me. "I don't understand why I can't remember anything when I take tests. I failed. I can't remember any of the words she has said all year." I cried the full thirty minutes home, and my mom instantly got on the phone with a psychologist in the hopes to figure out what was going on with her youngest (and favorite) child, as I prepared for attending summer school.
After a multitude of tests, and conversations with an amazing psychologist, she deemed that I struggled with anxiety - specific at this point was test anxiety. She was a bright woman who understood more than I ever said, and I imagine, foresaw the struggle with anxiety that would come in the future. She put into place a plan where I had extended time on regular tests, and an alternate location. My all girls, private, high school was more than willing to assist with this accommodation, and I quickly saw my grades begin to improve. I was touched by my Physics teacher, who on more than one occasion would come and check on me and my progress. She would reword questions if I didn't understand the language, or tell me to stop and think. She believed in me, and with that helped me to overcome some of the anxiety I had associated with testing. By the time I headed to college, I knew that I could and would be more successful. I knew that I would never do as well as my peers on a summative assessment that was typical to a classroom, but I had figured out enough to express my thoughts on anything written.
I still struggle with anxiety. I am prone to the tightening of the chest, and sleepless nights, during high stress situations. But I watch the occasional student, whom at the mere age of 11, can't put into words their struggle. I watch them understand, participate, and correctly complete their classwork and homework... And then I watch them fall apart on the tests. I hear his words when he says, "I know it until the test. And then everything... well, I just forget it all." I hear her words when she says, "They put so many words for each question, and on each page. Then I start to think I must not know the answer. I don't know what they're say and I forget everything I know, just trying to figure out what they are asking. Then I forget everything for the whole test."
It has been many years since I sat in school taking standardized tests. It is confusing to me that the same mistakes are being made at a state and a national level. Why have they not figured out that a standardized test is not the most informative measure of student ability? That in fact, it only measures that student, on that day, given the tested skill/strategy that the test creators deemed was most important?
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