This is the first of several posts I will be making to this blog from my manuscript Adventures among the Awesomes--A Boomer Teacher Memoir in hopes that they will give the regular reader the proverbial fly (ah, critical eye) on the classroom wall view.

15 April 2011 – A Testy Test

             Up to sixth period, it hadn’t been a great day, but it hadn’t been the worst either, and I know this year’s eighth grade is tough.

            The teacher’s notes warn the Soc class I will have for a only a 15-minute quiz is “very talkative,”` a euphemism for expect misbehavior, and I already knew T---  is in there -- she and the short kid who had messed the whole previous period accomplishing sweet nothing. However, they had not compromised the rest of the computer class.           

                T’s buddy takes a seat across the room at the back. His seat is the first desk inside the front door. This makes several other kids feel entitled change their seats, or so they tell me when I become aware of it. We waste nearly five minutes sorting that out, during which I remind them “This is your test-taking time we are wasting. You have only fifteen minutes . . .”

                “We had a test yesterday,” they claim, outraged.

                “You know I am a sub and I have to follow Mrs. O’s instructions.”

                “Then Mrs. O is bogus. We don’t supposed to have a test unless she tell us!”

                “You don’t supposed to give a pop quiz after you give a test.”

                “Aren’t supposed to. And you know that substitutes aren’t supposed to change teacher’s plans. Ms. O. may not even count this test, so discuss it with her.”

                This mollifies and I pass out the quiz, but don’t explain I suspect that it’s the standardized version of the test they took, and Ms. O probably wants to see how well they will do on it compared to the one she wrote. The language is challenging, and the questions abstractly constructed. I want to give them, as much time as possible., so I assure them I  will take the test of anyone who talks and he/she will get zero. They know the rules .

                The grumbling and challenging continues, leaving me no choice. I take the test of the boy at the front making the most noise. This puts a dent in it, but, doesn’t stop it altogether. I again remind them of test ethics.  One girl in the back row is complaining vociferously that the test is too hard and leaves me no choice – I take her paper.  This puts an end to the noise.    

                With less than five minutes to go before class is over, most students have handed in their papers and only two are still working but the talking resumes in decibels—mostly furious and insistent restatements of how unfair this test is. What entitles thirteen-year-olds to dictate to teachers when or what test to give?

I can just imagine what would have happened if we had tried a similar maneuver. This is part of what makes teaching so hard – the vastly changed standards. Ultimately, how much of this is a factor the comparative inefficacy of American education? The very people taking tests are deciding what should be on them! How many of these little twits will go home and complain to their parents?  And how many of them will call Ms. O, who is just trying to get a sense of how her group stacks up.

                “Not everyone is finished,” I say in a well-modulated voice “Please respect the right of your classmates to work in silence. Stop talking.”

                One of unfinished is a tow-headed girl who had been messing in the previous class and she yells at the top her lungs: “Yeah, SHUT UP, YOU Guys. This is ridiculous. I deserve the right to work in silence.”

One glance at her speaks volumes: she’s doing her best to keep from laughing.

The whole class is up for grabs – shouting insults back; she’s nobody’s favorite:

                “Shut up yourself. You could give a shit; yer flunkin’ anyway.”

                “Give us a break, B______ you can’t answer those questions and you know it.”

                She is yelling back at them, enthralled with the exercise and there is no point in trying to top their screaming, which can certainly be heard in the hall, so I am not surprised when the director of PLANS enters furious.

A pall of silence falls suddenly over the class.

                Ms. S__  the discipline coach, enters and begins upbraiding them for their disrespect, their lack of school pride in giving me a most unfavorable impression of the school and finally makes them get out another paper and write me an apology.

 The bell rings, but she makes the next class line up outside. I collect the apologies and we dismiss.

                On the way out, she explains there are some “problems” in this group.

                 “Problem was they didn’t want to take a quiz because they had one yesterday.”

                “They don’t have that choice.”

                “They apparently think they do.”

                She makes them all write me notes of apology, and I suppose there is a certain rationale in it, but I hate these letters because they are so perfunctory. What is the point if continually tell kids they are awesome and allow them to comment on everything.  What will they (or their parents)do tomorrow? Try to intimidate her out of using the test?  Iowa kids, who used to lead the parade of standardized tests, can no longer even take them!

                The final class of the day is uneventful, but I am not finished – I have crossing guard duty. I don the caution orange vest and grab the Stop sign, hustle out the front door and take up my position. In a couple minutes, the students begin flooding out to the crossing point.  

A girl, undoubtedly not an eighth grader, comes up and asks with a smirk, “How were things in Social Studies today, Ms. McDermott?”

               

Rubbing my nose in their rotten behavior. This is how hormone-addled thirteen year-old are allowed to treat teachers

Incensed, I stomp back into the school, grab the apologies out of my briefcase and scan them few are from kids who didn’t participate in the craziness to begin with are sincere. Most of the rest, puddles of crocodile tears. I rip them in half and toss them in the recycling

If this society wants to improve educational scores it has to reinstate the teacher and not allow teens to call the shots.

-30-

Keep critical eye peeled for crocodile tears.