Testing the Teacher

Saturday, September 12, 2009
This morning my peaceful slumber was once again interrupted by the grating blare of my alarm, and while it was not to wake me for single serving service in a public school, it was definitely school related. Weeks ago I signed up to take the teacher-certification test in Social-Studies. This was recommended to me by a number of colleagues who had realized I was only certified to teach History. While this distinction is a bit ambiguous in my mind (not a bit actually, I think it’s f’ing ridiculous) I signed up for the test. In doing so, I shelled out $160 (it would have been $130, but apparently a month in advance is considered late registration) and committed to an 8:00 AM start time. For the record, this is the sixth of such tests I have taken, for a grand total of over $900 in testing fees alone. Granted, the first two were in a different state, but considering that each state makes their own requirements I had to start over at the beginning when I moved. At east I didn’t have to do my student teaching again.
So the morning of the test rolls around, I roll out of bed, shower, etc. and roll up to the test site 15 minutes early. In my mind 15 minutes should be enough to find some parking, meander into the school, and wait to be seated. To my dismay I’m met by a line of cars at a standstill extending out of the ½ mile access road. Come to find out , the genius team behind scheduling failed to account for the fact that both football and baseball games would be starting at the same time as the tests, so the parking lots were overflowing with not only bleary-eyed teachers, but annoyed parents (Go sports-rage!) and oblivious kids.
As my admission ticket says that those who arrive late may not be admitted, panic begins to set in, and I scramble for a parking space, nearly hitting a family led by what appeared to be a midget in football pads (it turned out to be middle school football). I rush across the parking lot, into the building, and up against a cluster of teachers and teachers-to-be ironically milling about in the school commons.
As we wait for a sweaty woman (I’m talking sweat-lodge sweaty) to point us to our testing rooms, I begin musing with the person beside me about the method and purpose of the test. Our conversation is predictable, and it leads back to a common belief that these tests are yet another annoying hurdle for the state’s educators. Drawn in by our comments, another neighbor makes a comment that the test has nothing to do with teaching. To be fair, the testing board does not claim that it measures teaching ability, in fact it explicitly states that the purpose is to “…demonstrate that teachers have the appropriate subject knowledge for their teaching assignments.” My new friends and I agree that even to this end, the tests seem sweeping and unfair. It becomes clear that we feel as if we’ve been standardized; placed on a bell curve; churned out by a machine. Essentially, the test holds us to a standard by which we can be judged (districts want to see scores, not just know you have passed), meaning that our future assignments depend not on performance, but on a number. In my mind, while this is the way of the world, it is also incredibly ironic as all of my teacher-preparation classes have stressed the importance of performance-based assessments, as traditional means of assessing (such as tests) hold students to an unfair standard without accounting for individuality.
Our conversation ends with the squaw of a radio, and we filter into our testing rooms about 30 minutes late. Another 30 minutes later I finally have the test open in front of me, and a bubble sheet on my right hand. The test is 110 questions long, and I wear out three pencils in the process of completing it. The items are presented with the normal, make you second-guess ambiguity of multiple choice questions, but are generally straightforward for anyone with a passing knowledge of social studies. What scares me is the idea that people will see a number on a scale, and incorrectly assume that it represents my ability to teach. Just as teachers often look at test scores as representative of a student’s ability to learn, it is a myth that needs to be done away with. Either that or I need to kick the tests’ ass so it’s not an issue.