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| Caution Not to Be Taken |
The clouds gather outside, darkening the late afternoon light. Natalie bites her apple and looks at the papers strewn across the dining room table. “I hate math,” she says to me, “I don’t see how any of this stuff is helpful, not even when I grow up.” We’ve had this conversation before. The “stuff” she’s referring to is a series of math packets, each with a list of specific learning objectives at the top and two to four pages of multiple-choice problems. I find it difficult to argue with her. She has these packets every night for homework, but lately she finds them more troublesome than usual. She didn’t perform well on a practice test given to assess her risk of failing the state mandated math test. So now, instead of working with the rest of the class, she is in a group with other struggling students. She, along with five others, must complete test practice packets for homework, along with small group practice during the school day. The test is two months away.
“Ms. G,” she says, “I am getting a really bad headache, and I feel dizzy.” For the past three weeks, I’ve noticed she says this often in our afternoon sessions. The doctor also thinks she has acid-reflux, in addition to the daily headaches. She is eleven years old. Natalie is a gifted child, is nonwhite, and comes from an upper middle class family. She thrives when she can create and explore and use her imagination. Although she struggles in math, she does well when she can manipulate objects, play games, and draw as she’s learning new concepts. She is then able to demonstrate her knowledge on paper easily. She needs more time and practice than her classmates to master word problems and algorithms, and she works hard to learn. But the constant daily flow of worksheets frustrates her. The teaching does not take her learning style into consideration at all.
I look at her and ask how things went in math today. “Ms. S told me I’m not mastering enough objectives. She says I have to do more, and that I have to practice every day for the state test because I have to get above a 95%. I am stressed. I don’t know if I can do it. And besides, my teacher doesn’t care about me anyway. She only wants me to do well so she can get her extra money.”
Here it is. Another example of the hidden costs to children from standardized testing. Teachers are evaluated not on best practice, but on test scores. The pressure to get the scores results in the test objectives replacing a curriculum that inspires children’s thinking and curiosity and a positive attitude toward mathematics. Teachers are offered additional money when children perform at a high level on the tests. The more the children perform, the more money the teacher gets. To perform at a high level, in the logic of this insanity, children who struggle need lots of test practice months before the actual test. No wonder Natalie feels bad.
Over twenty years ago, as a new classroom teacher, I believed that the methods I used to teach children were enough to help them meet any challenge, including tests. I studied and planned my instruction carefully, incorporating games and drama and math journals and problem solving and group investigations. I read books by Marilyn Burns and worked hard to implement her strategies and suggestions. I wanted my lessons to be meaningful for all the children, with their varying abilities and cultures and learning styles. For one project, I used construction paper and cut out oversize hands and told the children giants visited the room at night looking to eat pencil shavings and erasers. They left handprints in the mess of shavings on the floor. I gave each small group a hand and told them to estimate the size of the giant and draw him or her using bulletin board paper. Their thinking and reasoning and engagement in the process was astounding. The giants hung in the hallway outside our classroom, generating lots of looking and talk from students in other classes. Math was fun, for me and for them.
Two weeks before the test, I taught the children test taking strategies. I did not teach the test, and the children performed well because I had taught them to think and reason and explore mathematics every day.
Now testing has replaced teaching, high scores and money are more important than authentic teaching and learning. This not only hurts teachers, it hurts children.
Natalie puts her head in her hands. “I don’t like this, Ms. G,” she says, looking at the worksheet packets beneath her elbows. I listen and nod. There isn’t much that I can say. She is quiet for a few seconds and I say, “How about we get this finished. It’s not really hard for you, and then we can work on your project.” She smiles at this and picks up a pencil. When we finish, Natalie decides to work on a math comic book she’s creating to explain algebra equations. She’s invented characters that have a mission: to save the students who live in a bland world. All these students do all day is sit at desks writing the number 1 on notebook paper. “Math should be more interesting than that,” she says, “I mean Ms. G think about it, no one can live on just turkey sandwiches and mayo. Everyone needs variety. These kids need a bus to a creative math world.” I couldn’t agree more.
