JB's+Final+Draft+of+Expressive+and+Reflective+Writing

=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.

On the morning of the test I recall being nervous, but in a good way: 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 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 grammar and syntax, and it even had asked questions concerning teaching pedagogy. Surprisingly and conspicuously 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? // //How could the Michigan Department of Education certify me as a proficient writing teacher with no evaluation of how well I could put together a variety of sentences or form a cohesive argument? // Despite my surprise and frustration at being able to find evidence to support my logic in virtually every answer choice (//How does one choose the "most correct" answer in literary interpretation anyway? //), I left that day feeling triumphant.

Six agonizing weeks later my results were posted on the National Evaluation Systems' website. As expected, I passed both the English and the history tests, which was still exciting despite my anticipation. And even though I wasn't consciously anxious, I clearly was because I felt a degree of relief when I was finally and officially deemed highly qualified. However, my satisfaction slipped into bewilderment 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.

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 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 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 as I began to understand first-hand the problem with using standardized 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 I going to be able to teach literary interpretation so that my future students could pass such a test, if I couldn't pass one myself.

I finally resolved this internal conflict by realizing 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. My experience with this test made me consider the possibility that 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 communication and composition teacher. After all, the Michigan Department of Education’s English test says so, so it must be true, right?