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The meaning of life

02.04.10 | school | 14 Comments

When I was in 10th grade Honors English (Mrs. Dart), we read To Kill a Mockingbird. It’s an easy read, and a compelling story: I read it that first night. Then I went back to school and realized we were only supposed to read one chapter a day, and we had to fill out a lame, lame, lame worksheet every day to prove we’d read it. I hated (HATED) going back and filling out those stupid worksheets. (In (expletive) HONOR’s English, for crying out loud.)

My AP English class a couple years later was a million times better, and worth the price of admission to public school. Mr. Olsen stood at the front of the class, strumming his guitar and reciting poetry. We read books and wrote essays. I learned how to argue a point with evidence from the text, and to love poetry even if I did recognize the rhyme and meter. He was a Dead Poet’s Society-type of teacher, without the Robin Williams creepiness.

But was it worth suffering through two years of Mrs. Dart’s “honors” to get one year of Mr. Olsen’s sublime rendering of the William Carlos Williams verse?

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

I still remember the tune he wrote to accompany it. I can’t recite the poem without singing it the way he did. His favorites were Dylan Thomas, John Donne, and Bob Dylan. I loved books before him, but all of my appreciation of poetry comes from those first fifteen minutes of class every day when we read our way through the anthology of poetry and discovered The Silken Tent, and Emily Dickinson. I did my college thesis on Emily Dickinson’s poetry.

We went to Sally’s parent-teacher conference last night. Mrs. W. loves Sally, and Sally loves her. Sally is helpful, cheerful, bright, blah blah blah. Sally’s grades were all A’s and B+’s. Dick and I being who we are, and one of those B+’s being in reading, we wanted to know why. Sally didn’t read at age three or anything, but once she did start reading (at seven-ish), she caught up right quick. In the past month she’s read A Wrinkle in Time, Island of the Blue Dolphins, and the second Percy Jackson book.

Mrs. W. pulled out Sally’s DRA form and showed us where she’s at a fifth grade level for fluency, speed, and vocabulary, but lost points on comprehension, summary, and reflection. Fair enough. Those are important things, only it turns out the lack is in her comprehension of the test, not the text. I pointed out that the questions were poorly worded (asking for a “list” but expecting “list and describe”) and that a summary by definition means that you do not include every single detail. As for reflection, I am beginning to think that she is even more literal than I am, because she answered the question accurately, concisely, but apparently not reflectively enough to satisfy the district rubric.

Much worse though, when we were discussing this and Sally protested that she likes to read fast to find out what happens next, Mrs. W. said that the point of all this is to get you ahead, so that when you’re in fourth grade they don’t knock you back from a level 34 reader to a level 28. And I said:

HOLD THE (expletive, but only in my mind) TRUCK, lady, the point of all this is for you to enjoy reading a book.

I was pretty outraged. I know I probably started it by expressing concern over a B+, and probably lulled her teacher into thinking I cared what freaking reading level the district rubric assigned to my daughter (as if that matters in any way), but really, she can read whatever-the-heck she wants, and I only want to know if she’s really having a problem understanding what she reads — which, as far as I can tell from her re-tellings at home of the books she reads and her reasons for liking and disliking them, she doesn’t.

There are two things here, and I explained to Sally last night that knowing how to read and enjoying and understanding a book are one thing, and deciding to play the game of testing and school is another. If you’re going to play the game and take tests and go to school, you have to learn not what the best answer is, but what the test answer is. You can read for fun, but then you’ll have to go back and look for the details that will prove that you have read it. Eventually you will train your mind to pick up the kinds of details that teachers (and districts) like to ask about to easily and superficially gauge comprehension.

It’s fine. I reconciled myself long ago to the discrepancy between knowing something and testing well. And, if I may say so, I can teach her how to test well. And I will, because I want her to enjoy school and college and a profession of some sort.

But something in me rebels. I don’t like explaining to my nine-year old that her teacher at school cares more about how her answer on a poorly-written worksheet compares with the unstated and murky expectations of a central office than about whether or not she is enjoying herself reading books.

It’s not really a last-straw type of thing for homeschooling, but last night it felt like it.

totally unrelated, but fun to read

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