JB's+Original+Draft+of+Expressive+&+Reflective+Writing

 What's in a Test?

I recall being nervous, but in a good way. It was finally time to see if I was highly-qualified material. As a prospective secondary education teacher, I had to pass state standardized tests in my major and minor subject areas in order to receive endorsements to teach the courses related to them. I opted to take both the English and history tests in one day, so I was looking at four consecutive hours of reading and filling in tiny holes with graphite. Knowing that my eyes tended to get lazier as time passed, I decided to take the one requiring the most reading first. I assumed it would be English, and it was, but it was close. The English test posed a fair number of questions relating to literary comprehension. Vocabulary, too. It asked defining questions about genres. There were opportunities for multiple demonstrations to correctly use grammar and syntax, and it even had questions concerning teaching pedagogy. Conspicuously absent: writing—I don’t mean in understanding the mechanics, but in putting those mechanics into practice. I remember reading select passages spanning from Shakespeare to Vonnegut thinking to myself that multiple choice is not a particularly effective way to test literature. How could I be certified as a writing teacher with no evaluation of my writing skill? Besides not being asked to prove an ability to put sentences together and to form a cohesive argument—thus implying the ability to teach others to do the same—I was frustrated by the lack of performance testing because it seemed that I could find kernels of correctness in virtually every answer choice. How does one select the “most correct” answer in literary interpretation? Regardless, I left that day feeling good—about both subjects.

Next came the waiting. Results were finally posted on-line six weeks later. I followed the link that came in my e-mail notification and read the results. I had passed both, which was exciting, and even though I didn’t consciously know I was worried about it, I felt a degree of relief. However, my satisfaction turned into puzzlement as I inspected the breakdown the testing service provides. The Michigan Department of Education decided it was unfair of teachers to be able to use their actual scores during job interviews (hmmm…), so the mandate came down a few years back that the tests would only indicate pass/fail and then award “+” signs in each of four sub-sections corresponding to a scale of one to four. If you received one “+” sign, none or very few questions in that area were answered correctly. Contrarily, if you received four “+” signs, all or nearly all of the answers in that section were right. On the English test, I received four “+” in three of the four areas: Meaning and Communication, Genre and Craft of Language, and Skills and Processes. In the remaining area, Literature and Understanding, I earned just one little “+” sign. I actually laughed out loud. There I was, a forty-year-old woman sitting cross-legged on my bed wryly laughing in disbelief to an empty room. I turned to my bottle of coke and asked, “Can you believe this?!” The bottle said nothing; there was nothing to say. I did think about it, though. I have to admit, it made me second guess myself for a little while. //I thought I had a pretty good eye for recognizing themes //, I’d think out of nowhere. The shower wall agreed that my penchant for close reading was one of my strengths, or so we both thought.

Once a couple of weeks distanced me from the test results, I began to doubt myself less and doubt the test structure more (and no, I wasn’t just trying to justify my single “+” sign). I was crippled by the denial to explain my thoughts in writing, to show the test the error of its ways. I’m kind of a cynical person by nature so it wasn’t a hard stretch to imagine the message this test was sending: “Look here, Teacher-in-the-Making, there is only one //official // way to approach literature, so get on board!” Never before had canonicity been so evident. For that matter, never, too, had the link between writing and reading been so clear.

What I’ve learned studying literature is that a reader’s response is derived in some part from the experiences the reader brings to the text. Also, it is hard for me to deny that the more a person reads, the better of a writer she will become—maybe not in the way she hoped, but better nevertheless. Reading and listening to the opinions and perspectives of others has definitely had an impact on how I approach a text. I tend to inherently look at a story (or movie) as a puzzle, and I look for the pieces in everything I read (and watch). I’m always searching for a foothold. I also think that not too much separates literature from popular fiction. It’s not so much that one limits itself to posing moral and poetic questions while the other exploits fears and tries to answer its own questions, rather they are what we make of them. Reading is not just escapism; it really is, pardon the cliché, food for thought. Being confronted by a text and having a reaction to its argument or situation—especially an adverse reaction—is the necessary thrust we need to move toward forming our own thoughts and opinions. I know that I can’t help but to take up every declarative statement as a challenge. It may frustrate my husband, but it helps me reach defendable conclusions.

I recognize that the world is not perfect and not all of us get to grow up to “be” President of the United States or ballerinas just because we imagine we can. What’s that idiom self-proclaimed über professionals like to tout? Ah, yes, he who can, does; he who cannot, teaches. Taken literally, the way most snobs mean it, it //is // kind of offensive. Taken figuratively, the way George Bernard Shaw meant it, I think, it’s quite true because mind and body are not always perfectly synced, and superiority of one over the other is nothing more than a matter of opinion and circumstance. Sure, not all of us are born with or practiced enough to make a living writing, and of those of us who are, not all of us fit into the brilliantly creative realm. I think I get which category I’m supposed to belong to—the technical communicator and teacher. After all, the Michigan Department of Education’s English test says so, so it must be true, right?