Many Standardized Tests do not Measure What they Should

Reason 2/5: Why Making the Atlanta Public School Teachers Felons Won’t Make a Difference:

Ever looked at a high school’s English curriculum? The objective strands look like a list of “shoulds”: Child will be able to synthesize primary and secondary documents. Child will be able to recognize post-war poetry elements. Child will be able to use punctuation properly. Child will be able to properly conjugate helping verbs. There are scores of these objective strands.  And on a standardized post-test, because there are so many strands, and they all need to be represented, each one of those elements gets usually just one question. So apparently using proper verbs is equal to recognizing Post-War poetry elements; worse, if the child misses the single question about verbs, then apparently he knows nothing about verbs, and I’ve taught him nothing about verbs.

A strand that says the child can develop a thesis and defend it with strong writing cannot be accurately tested on a multiple choice exam. So wrongly, in order to assess that strand, the child is asked to find the thesis statement in an offered essay. Test writers often do not spend enough time writing these questions well, and honestly, there really might be two or three sentences that could work as a thesis statement. As any good writer knows, essays don’t really have just one sentence that guides the whole flipping essay. (Tell that to the testing boards.) So, based on these standardized tests, a kid who can select a thesis out of a choice of four answer options, but not ever write an essay is deemed just as educated as the kid who writes well.

One year a major writing test that our county system gives to tenth graders had a major flaw. Over forty-five percent of the kids went down the rabbit hole created by this flaw and failed. Instead of retesting the whole population with a valid test, because there were already scheduled retests in place for kids who fail, the board did nothing about this flaw; they let the failures go on the children’s records and simply retested those students. The next year a new question was developed and applied. 85 percent of the kids passed on the first attempt. Suddenly, our county was bragging about how much better we were all doing as educators. LOOK how high this year’s scores trump last year’s! Aren’t we grand?   These scores didn’t represent what they are supposed to, at all.

So not only are objectives unbalanced in terms of importance, not only is success defined inaccurately, but we misuse the data collected.

How does the APS judge expect teachers and children to take any of these tests seriously when we know we are all being misrepresented?

Next up: Reason 3/5 Why Making the Atlanta Public School Teachers Felons Won’t Make a Difference:

The Tests Dumb down the System in General

Why Making the Atlanta Public School Teachers Felons Won’t Make a Difference

Good teachers don’t worry about being measured and evaluated. But I have to clarify, we don’t worry about valid, worthy testing, testing that actually measures what it says it will, and measures knowledge that is relevant. Right now those sorts of measurements don’t exist

The teachers from the Atlanta Public Schools system deserve what is coming their way. . .To a degree. Did they know at the time they were committing something immoral and unethical? Did they know they could lose their jobs and careers? Yes. They had to. Did they know they were committing a racketeering felony? Probably not.

Elementary school teachers are not famous for being overly educated. Yes, I know plenty who are sharp and brilliant. But too many of them graduate from local paper mills with low entry and exit standards,; they earn what many college students know is the least intellectually challenging degree offered (if not the most tedious):a Bachelor of Education. (Face it: a course called The Theory of Education is never going to be as challenging as Thermodynamic Chemistry, nor Math for Children as deep as Legal Statistics.) So more than likely, those fraudulent APS teachers didn’t think clearly enough to wonder if they could be arrested.

What law did they think they were breaking? None. I’d bet they believed fraud laws were all about money and theft. Silly them. But then when they were arrested, they didn’t believe they’d go to jail, be convicted. 21 of 36 defendants admitted they were guilty before trial. Of the eleven remaining, only one of the accused took the D.A.’s bait to plea bargain down his sentence. The other defendants took their chances and went to trial. AND then, after being convicted and called Felons, when offered a chance to bargain again for their punishments, no one took that offer either. They believed perhaps they could go win an appeal? On what grounds?

I understand that sometimes when one feels righteous, one doesn’t want to knuckle under. I also get that sometimes the plea bargainer affects the outcome of those who choose to go to trial. But ultimately, these folks did commit fraud. They did racketeer. And they did so for financial gain (their incomes.)

And my bet is that they did this with impunity because this sort of illegal manipulation is overly common. It’s the “everyone is doing it” defense.

Here is my beef:

The judge thinks he is helping the children of our future with his severe reaction of long jail times. Perhaps. But the system of testing, and performance-for-pay is so broken, has so many flaws and loop holes, that his ruling barely makes a ripple in improving the structure. Yes, it might stop a group of teachers and administration from sitting around a table and openly defying the rules in the future. But that doesn’t mean the testing currently in place is now going to help the children at all anyway.

Five Serious Reasons why:

  1. There are still plenty of ways to cheat.
  2. Many Tests do not Measure What they Should
  3. The tests dumb down the system, in general.
  4. The children rarely fail anyway nor get remediation even if they fail the test.
  5. The tests can be manipulated to fire or secure workers who don’t deserve it (see number 1)

Teachers know this, so it is hard for them to feel supportive, patriotic, even ethical when it comes to testing. It’s like being asked to take the gossip on FB or Nightline as serious.

Let me break this down in a series of Four separate posts, if you care. This knowledge is important for anyone who can affect the political machine called education.

Reason 1/5: There are still plenty of ways to cheat.

These Atlanta folks got caught because an AJC reporter who was paying attention began to wonder what this one elementary school, a school that had for several years in a row gained in their scores by leaps and bounds over its comparable sister schools; if the gains were real, why wasn’t APS requiring the sister schools to do whatever it was that the “successful school” was doing, the reporter asked. But there was no difference in anything they did. And from there the story began.

Someone at these sister schools blabbed. See, teachers shift schools, though they are still employees of the same system. They develop allegiances and conflicts with former bosses. Someone who used to be in the law-breaking circle ratted them out. But even if the tattler hadn’t come clean, there is an independent group that can take the scantrons from the tests and do a comparative match. Too many erasures in the same places? Too many kids getting number 36 right, when number 36 is predicted to be the question that only half the kids will know? Hmmm.

So cheat method one is to literally change the answers. APS did this as a group. But there can be one principal who does this him/herself in the wee hours of the night. Who would know if no one is auditing the scantrons?

When I have had to proctor high stakes tests, here is how it has often worked. I go collect my testing materials. I sign them out. I get a box with a particular number of scantrons, pencils, test directions, test booklets. I sign something that says I won’t even look at the test. I administer the test. And at the end of the testing period, sometimes at the end of the day, I return all materials.

BUT imagine Student Bobby is the first to realize there is an odd typo in test question 32. Then Suzy. I’m not supposed to look at it. Do I go ahead and try and help them decipher the question? George shouts out the answer anyway. I have to report this “aberration in the testing environment.” Glancing at the questions to see if it is ethical to help overcome the typo, I realize George is wrong. He might be shouting out the wrong answer on purpose because he is a brat. Who knows? Do I help? I don’t know. But either way, I could easily tell everyone the answers.

I’m supposed to proctor everyone else’s students, not my own, in order to “maintain the integrity of the testing environment.” In otherwords no favorites. But I’ve been around the school and community for a long time. The kids all know me. I’ve taught some before. I taught their siblings. I hate this test. I go ahead and answer their question when they get stuck and try to get them to “figure it out” with hints. They are so stressed out. . .am I less or more ethical than the convicts from APS? This method of cheating could show up on an audit, but probably won’t because it is one class set of tests.

I return my boxed set to the administrative helpers (teachers who are not supposed to be teaching any of the test takers currently, so they won’t be tempted to cheat.) They pass it along to the testing administrative secretary, who supposedly locks it up for lunch until the testing administrator comes back, and they count all the booklets triple times, sign a bunch of documents, and lock them up for the night; someone from the county delivers them to a central location later when absentee kids get a chance to take their test.. At this point, three separate people besides me at the least have touched my tests, and each has had the chance to change answers without me knowing. (Did this happen to any of the APS crew?) An audit might be able to catch this one too, though it cannot tell anyone who was responsible.

Or kids themselves, knowing the proctor doesn’t know who they are can send in another kid to take their tests. One kid takes the math tests, the other the LA tests. We don’t check IDs and you’d be surprised how few students will rat on each other.

Plus, every now and then, we get to proctor our own kids, especially if the tests are given online. These labs get used over and over for tests through the day, and kids will literally write the answers on the desks for the next incoming group. Kids have pens with cameras in them now, too, and can sometimes pass along whole test pages. I’ve heard of teachers who will write certain answers on the board without drawing attention just to see if the kids will notice. And some do. “Hey, look. . .24. A.” Of course, these accusations can never be proven after the fact except through an audit, or a confession, which a school system never asks for.

But here’s another way many teachers can cheat. At my school, teachers are assessed by the jump from a pretest score to a post test score of a set of kids. The system decides what this group of kids should be able to score once they have learned. The closer I can get them to that score, the better. BUT it is even more rewarding for me as a teacher to have a huge jump. So if my illiterate kids score a 12 on the pretest and a 70 on the post test, this is better for me than my gifted kids who score a 91 on the pretest and then a 98 on the post test. And guess what, since the pretest is not “secure” I get to give it to my own students.

I’ve known of teachers who literally tell their kids to “Christmas tree” the pretest. It takes two days to give. I’ve also known of teachers who give it one day, and if the kids don’t finish, oh well. SO those cheating teachers look like they are masters when the post test comes around, because obviously, the kids will do better on the post test which gets averaged into their grades than the pretest they were told to Christmas tree. And guess what? Noone wants to dig into my accusations of this unethical behavior, though auditing pretest scores , might easily show what I am describing.. I cannot prove it after the fact myself if the accused won’t confess.

Again, the “everyone is doing it” defense makes it hard for teachers to put any serious belief behind testing. The judge’s harsh punishment of these teachers, though warranted, as affected this beliefminimally.

Next up: ”Reason 2/5 Why Making the Atlanta Public School Teachers Felons Won’t Make a Difference: Many Tests do not Measure What they Should.’”

On Being Licked to Death

A few years ago, I admitted to my husband that had I known we’d have to spend this much time with his Mom, I would never have married him. I think he loved me a little less after that, but I don’t care; I still mean what I said.

My Mom says my irritation is just an in-law dynamic. Should your Mother-in-law or daughter-in-law be perfect you still would find her irritating. I mean Mom can reorganize my spice cupboard without permission, send me sixteen articles about how to parent, nag me about haircuts, and all just washes right off me. I love her that much. But should my MIL bake me a batch of macaroons. . .try to give me a magazine subscription? I’m rubbed raw.

My mother-in-law is sweet, generous, outgoing. . .a woman who gathers friends like lint. She’s NICE, GODDAMNIT. However, also needy, passive-aggressive, and dishonest, she is a stress-inducing conundrum I can’t solve. To make matters worse, she wants to be around me All. The. Time. If it were just that she wanted to spend more time with her son, fine. I’d be happy to send him over every so often. But no, she has to win me over, and no matter how nice I am to her, she knows she hasn’t.

My husband? He doesn’t fully understand my annoyance because their relationship is so profoundly different from mine with her. When he visits her or she visits us, he quickly disengages in some manly way, getting involved in a handyman project, or disappearing into a sports broadcast. She is sensible enough not to bother him then. So she turns to me. . .

Let me begin with an analogy. We recently got a puppy, a sweet submissive female. We already have a grand Alpha Male, a Picardy Shepherd who struts around the house showing off his regal mane. Well, the puppy , being submissive, wants to lick his face. He can’t stand it for more than a second or two. He growls at her, sometimes nips her. This only makes her want to “submit” even more. Now she’s jumping, and licking, pawing and licking, grabbing his face with her paws and licking. He’d probably have to kill her to stop her.

My Mother-in-law is licking me to her death.

My birthday was earlier last month. A few weeks before, my MIL called me late one afternoon. I was napping and didn’t catch the call. Tony came home from work. HIS cellphone rang.  His sister was calling to confront him about how their Mom had been trying to call me, and why haven’t I called her back. See. . . MIL called only once, waited less than an hour and then drew my sister-in-law and husband into a triangle to discuss not only why I am avoiding her callS, but what they are planning to do to me on MY birthday.

MIL wanted to drive over and get me, take me to SIL, and then to Tony’s job site to lunch, a thirty mile tour. SIL thought it would be better to come to me, leave my husband at work, and do lunch from my house. At no time did any of them ask and include me in the plan. I was just the bad guy in the back ground avoiding (supposedly multiple) phone calls.

I handled it by letting them know that I had other plans.   His family thinks birthdays are national holidays. Should we need to do anything else on “their day”, we are committing a family crime, even if it is OUR birthday. His mother pressed on, so Tony decided I was going to her house later in the week for dinner. (We’ll address his decision making issues at another post.) So to make them all happy, I complied.

She wasn’t going to relent.

Driving home after my birthdaty meal, Tony said, “Well. . .don’t you think that was a nice visit? I think it’s more relaxing when it’s just us and her.”

I wish I could blow steam out of my ears for real. I finally said, “I really think you don’t get it. She simply doesn’t treat you the way she treats me.” (His sisters once told me that my MIL had issues with the fact that my husband looks so much like his Dad, my MIL’s long gone ex-husband. Maybe this is why she handles him with more distance.)

“She pretty much leaves you alone or you disappear.” (This time he found that her new satellite radio system needed tweaking.)

“Me, she just can’t fucking leave me be. Everything is complicated. Everything is a push to hear praise or to insert herself. . .” He seems to only know I’m serious when I trot out the F word.

I go on to describe this: Upon arriving she always, ALWAYS tries to kiss me on the lips. I’m fine with the hug. But even the kiss on the cheek seems pushy to me. When did Americans get all lippy? Some men can get away with it. But my MOUTH? That’s reserved for my husband and, for a time, my sons when they were young. Once the boys were uncomfortable, they stopped. But no matter what sort of deflecting I do, head ducking, arm blocking, my MIL is going to land that kiss on my mouth or at least near it if she can. I am not exaggerating. And not a quick peck. A full, lingering smooch.

Why don’t I tell her to stop? Because I once told her something along those lines years ago, and at the next gathering all I heard whenever someone else arrived was a loud repeat of my “directions.” The passive aggressive wench. I don’t need her to yell out to everyone who meets me: Don’t kiss her on the mouth, she hates that. So instead I deflect and hope she will catch on. Eventually.

After arriving, I find a spot on the sofa that is comfortable for me. With my disability, I cannot sit just anywhere. I’m happy where I am. MIL pushed me to try this pillow, that pillow, this chair, that chair. No matter how many times I said that I am fine, she found something else to suggest. Finally, she asked Tony to go upstairs and bring down the chair that. . .Tony told her no. She shut up.

She served Tony some iced tea as I poured myself some water, which is what I always drink. Tap water and ice cubes, perfect. She jokingly asked if I had something against her special water that she filtered and refrigerated just for me so it would be cold. (That’s fine.) I dump out the tap water and reach for the filtered. She then stopped me. . . “Or did you want bottled water?” (No, whatever). “You do. You want the bottled.”  I told her to just give me whatever she wanted to give me. (Jesus! I think in my head.) I finally received a glass of water and returned to my spot on the sofa. Again I get a push to at least use this special pillow that she retrieved from her bedroom. Then when I said,  “No, no, that hurts,” as she was shoving it behind my back against my will, she asked if, maybe, I wouldn’t be able to use that pillow at home. I told her no, but maybe Tony could, throwing her a bone. She set it aside for later.

She began her typical peppering of questions for which she rarely waits any answer before the next query. And her questions always go toward the negative. WHY? Not because she is negative, but because if you answer the personal negative things, then well, she must be close to you; she is in “the know.”

Did my son finally get a job, did my Dad let my Mom come over alone like Mom wants, or did he have to accompany her, is our friend still dating THAT woman?   Tony puttered away in the back ground while I was on the hot seat, not wanting to share any of the answers with her. The information was not her business, and it makes her feel unnecessarily close. If you ever mention a struggle with your boss, it will be a question she asks you forever. . .and she will repeat and twist what you have said. Silence is the best option, but an impossible option.

She served us an appetizer of exactly seven wings to share. . . From this new place she discovered. She went there earlier today to pick them out just for us. Just a little something. . .How are they? (Good.) Really? It wasn’t a lot of trouble, she admitted. She just thought it would be a nice change. What did we think? (Yummy.) Are you sure? Mom did a good thing? (She talks about herself in the third person.) There are some spicy teriyaki, a few lemon pepper, some garlic basil. . .what do you think, a good selection? (Oh, yes. You done good. Really.) A friend of hers suggested the place, and MIL just thought perhaps a quick run over there that afternoon was a good idea. We were worth it. Yummy? Yes, yummy? (Sigh).

I kid you not. Every kindness she performs is met with a neediness that no amount of compliments can fill. I once thanked her eight separates times because she bought me a taco at Taco Bell. Tony has tried to teach me to say thank-you once, and let her just hang there when she asks for more. That’s tough when someone asks you a direct question. I’m still learning.

The worst part was that we all knew that these were probably wings that some neighbor had brought over the night before. She and her local retirees like to gather for drinks, lots of drinks, and a little food. These were some leftovers she served rather than thinking about an hors d’oeuvres, which is fine by me; I don’t care if you serve me peanuts or nothing. My complaint is the lie she tells so she can seek the praise without the work.  I mean: who goes across town to select seven wings for three people?  But we all have to act as if this is exactly what she did just for us.

She realized suddenly that she has some sparkling water. She pushed this on me, though I verbally doubt that what she is showing me is water, and I remind her how satisfied I am with simple water.. The bottle she found looked like artificially sweetened, flavored soda water. And after she happily served me some, that is exactly what it was. Some sort of diet soda, which I hate and she knows this. I try to drink it. (Sigh.)

When she wanted to make “whatever you want” on my birthday, I relented and suggested Linguini with clam sauce. She had made it for me before. I love it, I knew hers was good, and I thought it was cheap and easy. I was wrong.

When I make it, I use two cans of chopped clams, Olive oil, a few cloves of chopped garlic, the juice from the cans, and if I need, milk. I might add lime, or parsley or basil, or parmesan, should I have some on hand. She however met me at the door already telling me that she had been prepping this since yesterday. She bought a special kind of clam (still canned, just much more expensive), bottles of clam juice, the expensive kind of linguini (?), fresh this, fresh that, cream, and, as she explained, “hand shredded artisanal parmesan”. What should have cost her 7 bucks for an entire meal, probably was forty bucks, and I better know it and acknowledge it, by God. She pressed me to follow her, and notice all the stuff she is “trying” this time. Her meal was tasty, but I would have been just as happy with something less complicated and costly.

But My MIL has a reputation for making things so much more complicated than they need to be. Of course, she then offended me by serving me about a half cup, and my husband a mounded 3 or 4 cups. Did I mention how passive aggressive she is? Then later, when my sister-in-law called, MIL again detailed the meal she cooked and asked SIL if she can bring some of “Mama’s special homemade linguini with clam sauce” over to my SIL’s husband. No. “ReallY?” she said, “Well, I guess I can send it home with Tony for his lunch tomorrow. How disappointing.” See, she had already scored with us. She was hoping to score with the other in-law, too, off the same meal. And of course, she did not send any leftovers home with us.

I noticed several books, each with book marks on her coffee table. (She has a tendency to purchase the recommended things, place book marks in them as if she is currently reading all of them, and then never break the spine open, ever.) There was one I was interested in. Here’s how the conversation would go with my Mom or any of my friends.

Me: Are you reading this? Do you like it?

Someone else: Yes. When I finish do you want it?

Or

Someone else: Yes. I’m finished.

Me: Do you mind if I borrow it?

Someone else: no problem.

Then It would go into my purse  to be returned later with a warm thank-you. Instead this is how it goes with my MIL:

Me: Are you reading this? Do you like it?”

MIL: What? That? Oh, are you interested in it? I thought it would be really good too.

Me: Can I borrow it when you finish?

MIL: Um, do you want to read it?

Me: Yes. Are you finished (I mean there is a bookmark half way in it.)

MIL: Do you want the other one, too, look at this one? (Holds up another)

Me: No, no, just this one, I’ll take it when you are finished if you don’t mind.

MIL: I just had heard such good things about it.

Me: Yes, have you started it? Do you want to finish? (I really don’t want her to give it to me if she is actually still reading it.)

MIL: Oh, take it now. Take them all. Here. . .(and then led me to review the books lined on her table and then in the guestroom. I’m encouraged to take any of them.)

MIL: I’m so glad that we can now exchange reading material, that I can give back to you, too. It’s nice that I have some books that you want to read instead of the other way around.

Me: (Thinking) huh? (Awkward).

I guess I have given her books. From the looks of it, my Mom has also given her books. But really, what is going on in my MIL’s mind isn’t about reading. It’s about sharing. It’s about having one more thing inserted in my life where I am obliged to thank her and lean on her. And I still don’t know if she started reading that book or not.

She remembered to ask about my painting, as she always does. Oil painting is something I do to relax, to feel productive and creative. It is personal. But she tries to save jars for me, and then constantly asks me how “her jars” are doing, like they are former pets. Has she been Helping? She demands to know. Uh, sure, I guess.

She found a used canvas for me. I think she did. For all I know she bought it to put up in her house and then suddenly thought, hey, she could give it to me. She buys framed artwork (prints or old office décor) with a compulsion, so it is hard to know. But that’s fine. Free canvases are good. But they aren’t really free. They come with the price that she can now tell everyone how she helps me with my art. She has inserted herself here.

Meanwhile, Tony was still puttering with the radio.

I glanced in a House Beautiful magazine while MIL was in the restroom. I found a roasted carrot recipe I’d like to try. Anyone else, I’d say, “Can I copy this? Or can I tear it out?” End of story.   I told Tony later that I actually considered ripping it out when she wasn’t looking and stashing it quickly in my purse, so I wouldn’t have to go through the inevitable push and pull.

When I asked, she joked about how the recipe was too important, she just had to keep it because of the Tide detergent ad on the back. Haha. Then she ripped it out, placing it in front of Tony’s eyes. “See? This Ad. I have to keep it. Haha.” Then she agreed that I could have it if I invited her over when I cook it, “Promise? Promise?” She wouldn’t hand it to me until I promised.. Then she begged to give me a subscription to that magazine, which I don’t want. I’m not an interior decorator. At all. She dragged out old copies for me to take home, and tried to push ANOTHER subscription on me. . .for a completely different magazine.

Aren’t you tired for me, yet, Readers?

I’m exhausted by now and just want to leave. And on top of all of that, she is always very handsy, especially if she has had cocktails, which she was enjoying that night, hiding in her “tea.” She will rub my shoulders, caress my arm hair. Kiss my cheek again (only because I won’t give her my mouth) or the top of my head when she walks by. Hug me spontaneously with a full bodied approach that is too familiar and sexual for me. Again, she barely touches Tony.

Tony finally stopped puttering. She pushed coffee on us. Dessert. We go through the same complicated dance. Rejecting the cup of coffee is as difficult as getting one.  Tony finally said, “Mom, forget it. We don’t need any coffee.” She then made a big production of giving me my birthday present, a gift card to a store where I like to shop. She spent waaay too much money on me, more than she can afford, denting her limited savings for retirement. I worry. Then she flourishes dramatically when adding a bag of macaroons on top of my present. (They aren’t my favorite, but somewhere she got it in her head that I like them and thus, she bakes them all the time in huge batches. ) I was happy, but again, I had to acknowledge all the hardwork she put into them first, before she actually let go of them.

She gripped them firmly, asking, “Isn’t it nice that I can do this for you now and then?” And though she made it sound like they just came from the oven, there was a freezer burn to them that lingered. I don’t mind that at all. I do mind pretending that they were just made. For me.

Finally, we prepare to leave, and Tony and she did a dance over the weird pillow she wanted me to take. Tony finally realized it was one she currently uses and said, “No. No, you use it, you keep it.” She shut up.

She made a big production of enumerating all the things we are taking with us. Thank-you. Thank-you. Thank-you.

So when driving home, Tony said, “That was relaxing”, I nearly punched him.

Mom tells me it drove her crazy when her own mother-in-law-my Nana- would stand waiting for a pot of water to boil when Mom made spaghetti. “Like I might miss it or something. . .” says, Mom. Or when Nana, while eating a piece of mom’s cooking, would tell Mom how she would teach her to make a pie crust “right” one day, a crust you could chip a tooth on. Maybe Mom is right. In-laws are naturally grating.

I wish, like my shepherd, I was allowed to bite my mother-in-law on the nose.