No Test Will Tell If You’re A Good Kid

I have a student, K., in my second grade class who is one of the best kids (sweet, always reminds the talkers to “listen!”), but not one of the best students. His classroom teacher tells me he is doing well in Math, and that his reading levels have improved (though, honestly, I don’t see the proof), but his writing is still very poor. Much of his trouble seems to lie in lack of vocabulary as well as trouble with letter/sound correspondence (although he does know many sight words and is not one of the kids who forgets the word wall is there). And it appears he’s slowly starting to realize his problems are not good.

I’m not sure exactly how he began to realize his problems – if he was simply comparing himself to what the other kids were doing, or if it was because of treatment from his classroom teacher (who I have witnessed calling the so-called brighter kids “thick” and “lazy”). Whatever it is, he’s starting to feel the pressure.

We’ve been preparing them for the NYSESLAT test — which provides the same test and scoring standards for grades 2nd thru 4th! — where they’re expected to write an essay (which Teachers College doesn’t include in their curriculum), among other things they simply don’t know how to do. And today I decided to work a bit more on having them describe pictures using the words “First, Next, and Last”, which we had done before with relative ease.

Well, there was no ease today. The reading teacher was there who, truly, can be best described as a monster. She yells at the kids in a terribly condescending manner, talks extremely fast, and is terribly dismissive of their attempts at responses. It’s bad enough to be that way with native English speakers, but with ELLs, it’s simply incorrigible. I cringe every time I see her or hear her voice. She’s not supposed to even do NYSESLAT prep because she’s not licensed, but she is really over-bearing and I was in no mood to argue.

Her presence affects the whole room – which is like 10ft by 10ft with 16 kids and 3 adults when we’re all there – but I don’t know if this is why today it was all just too much for K.

I noticed that K, who has definite language deficiencies, began to tear up. So I took him out to the hallway where he began to sob. Body shaking, snot dripping, uncontrollable sobs. When I asked him what was wrong he said, “I can’t do this! I can’t do this alone!” Mind you, they had taken a practice test the week before that was even harder than the one they’re supposed to get. So, maybe he was remembering how it felt to take it. I had to explain one, that it’s okay if it’s hard – and that the test is essentially a way for me to learn how to teach him better. But he didn’t calm down until I told him that the test is just to tell us if he gets to work with a teacher like me next year. He audibly sighed with relief and comprehension. But I could tell he was still stressed.

No child this age should feel this much self-loathing* over his learning — this emphasis on performance that we place on the kids takes so much away from the actual pursuit of understanding these kids ought to have. What ever happened to wonder, to kids learning at their own pace, to “differentiation”??

*Some may say they’re too young to feel self-loathing, but I had a 6-year-old in first grade tell a classmate he hates himself because he can’t draw.