JB's+Draft(s)+of+Expressive+and+Reflective+Writing+2

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What's in a Test?
Have you ever anticipated good marks on a test only to be utterly dismayed by poor ones? If you’re like me, for days afterward your mind won’t give you any real peace. Someone asks you a question and you almost have to stop yourself from saying what's really being tossed around in your head. //I thought for sure I nailed it. How could I have been so wrong?// Most of the time most of us count ourselves lucky and for all of our minds' prodding, our internal conflicts get resolved. I've had my share of involuntary mental wrestling episodes in my academic career, but none quite as revealing as when I received my test scores back from my teaching certification exams. Well, that is exactly what happened to me when I took my teaching certification tests this past summer. I didn't do poorly by state standards--even by my own, really--except in one area that I did not expect.

On the morning of the test I recall being nervous, but in a good way : It was finally time to see if I was highly-qualified material. These tests would be my first justification that changing careers in my late 30s had been a good call. I had already completed the majority of the required coursework in my major (literature, language, and writing for teachers) and minor (history) subject areas, and I was looking forward to not only being able to say I passed the tests, but that I passed them earning the highest marks possible (hey, a girl's gotta get an edge in this job market somehow!). As soon as both test booklets were placed in front of me I went for the English exam. Unsurprisingly, it As a prospective secondary education teacher, I had to pass Michigan's state standardized tests in my major (English) and minor (history) in order to receive endorsements to teach the courses related to them. I opted to take both 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 multiple genres. There were several opportunities to demonstrate prescriptive use of for multiple demonstrations to correctly use grammar and syntax, and it even had asked questions concerning teaching pedagogy. Surprisingly and C c onspicuously absent: writing— and I don’t mean in understanding the mechanics ; I mean, but in putting those mechanics into practice. I remember reading select literary passages spanning from Shakespeare to Vonnegut thinking, //How in the world can I provide support for my interpretation without the ability to explain my choice in writing?// to myself that multiple choice is not a particularly effective way to test literature. //How could the Michigan Department of Education certify me I be certified as a proficient writer and ultimately a writing teacher with no evaluation of how well I could put together a variety of sentences or form a cohesive argument?// Despite my surprise, I left the testing site feeling triumphant. I was frustrated by the lack of performance testing because it seemed that I could find evidence to support my logic in virtually every answer choice. How does one select the “most correct” answer in literary interpretation anyway (the operant word being interpretation)? Regardless, I left that day feeling good—about both subjects.

Six agonizing weeks later my results were posted on the National Evaluation Systems' website. As expected, I Next came the waiting. Results were finally posted on-line six weeks later, and I eagerly followed the link that came in my e-mail notification. I had passed both the English and the history tests, which was still exciting despite my anticipation. A nd even though I wasn't didn’t consciously anxious know I was worried about it, I clearly was I must have been because I felt a degree of relief when I was finally and officially deemed highly qualified. However, my satisfaction slipped turned into bewilderment puzzlemen t as I inspected the breakdown of my English scores. I earned the highest marks in only three out of the four areas. //What is so bad about that?// you might ask. Here's what is so bad about that: Not only was the one area not the highest possible, it was actually the lowest possible! Yes; to this day I am still amazed by my results so it bears repeating: I earned the lowest score category provided for by the test in one of the four sections making up the Michigan Test for Teacher Certification in English. Apparently, I am only highly qualified in the areas of "meaning and communication," "genre and craft of language," and "skills and processes." As for "literature and understanding," well, there's probably a different label out there for me somewhere in the No Child Left Behind legislation. the testing service provided. The Michigan Department of Education only allows for a public disclosure of whether or not a person passed or failed supplemented by "+" signs to indicate how well that person performed in each of the four sub-sections. 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 “+” signs 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 can't really say how long I stared at the document in disbelief, I just stared. And then I stared some more, reading and re-reading every word on the page looking for the loophole that could explain the error in my interpretation. When it finally sunk in that I didn't suddenly lose the comprehension skills I learned in kindergarten, I reflexively began laughing at the irony of my stubbornness and asked my half-empty bottle of coke, “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 concluded that It occurred to me that the surprise and frustration I felt while taking the test was justified: I was crippled by the denial to explain my thoughts in writing, to show the //test // the error of //its // ways. Once I realized this, I was no longer under the mocking influence of the test results, which had been whispering in my ear at night, //Look here, Teacher-in-the-Making, there is only one// official //way to approach literature, so get on board!// Like a tidal wave that just keeps coming, I kept getting hit with realizations. Never before had canonicity and the benefit of writing been so evident. For that matter, never, too, had the link between writing and reading been so clear. This test made me realize how important the writing process is to organizing and justifying my point-of-view. It also reaffirmed my belief that a reader’s response is derived in large part from the experiences the reader brings to the text.

Sweeping aside my insecurity made room for anger to take over My insecurity slowly gave way to anger as I began to understand first-hand the problem with using standardized testing as an effective measurement of tests to effectively measure student performance. Surely the Michigan Department of Education must recognize that people's interpretation of a test passage will vary depending on their life experiences, values, and cultural biases so there can't be a generic one-size fits all to literary interpretation and understanding. All of my logical analysis notwithstanding, I still wondered how I was As I sat pondering this question, my spirits lifted for one brief minute as I considered the possibility that my experience was purposeful as an exercise in empathy. I knew better, of course, and as quickly as my hope rose, it fell, replaced by frustration and my old friend disappointment. How was I going to be able to teach literary interpretation so that my future students could pass such a test, if I could only earn one “+” sign myself? couldn't pass one myself.

I finally resolved this internal conflict by realizing recognize that the world is not perfect and not all of us get to grow up to "be" the famous writers or ballerinas of our childhood dreams just because we imagine we can. What's that idiom self-proclaimed uber-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 I think George Bernard Shaw meant it, it is quite true because mind and body are not always perfectly synced; superiority of one over the other is nothing more than a matter of opinion and circumstance, and both are necessary and inevitable in a balanced world. My experience with this test made me consider the possibility that not all of us a re born with or practiced enough to make a living writing the great American novel or the next clever ad campaign to go viral. Likewise, not all of us who end up teaching English are built for instructing students on the //real // meaning of Louise Erdrich's //Love Medicine // or Shakespeare's //Hamlet //. I think I get which category I’m supposed to belong to—the technical communicator and composition teacher. After all, the Michigan Department of Education’s English test says so, so it must be true, right?