The Parable of the Chickens

In the case of standardized testing, we have somewhat of a chicken and the egg scenario where it is difficult to determine which issue came first. Certainly since the beginning of public education, it has been deemed necessary to have evidence of learning so as to separate the good eggs from the bad eggs. Therefore, some politicians or businessmen (what’s the difference?) got together and decided that they must test students to see who was to sit at the governors’ tables and who was to work on the farm to fetch them their eggs benedicts for breakfast (Smith p. 61, Bracey p. 42 & 113, Garan p. 7 & 15). For want of a better way of comparing one egg to another, standardized testing was born, and for want of better testing results, teaching to the standardized test was born, and for want of the best teaching toward the tests, scripted curriculum became part of the “solution,” and all for want of someone to step forward and say “Stop! Wait just a minute here! This isn't the education I want for my children!” (Bracey, p. 15) In fact, the parents who could have and should have said “Stop! Wait just a minute – etc.” didn't think to come forward because they were too busy fetching those eggs and thinking surely the politicians and businessmen knew better than they did. (Garan, p. 3) And when it appeared that the politicians and businessmen might be wrong, the farmers turned their attention to the chickens. (Bracey p. 22)

                Teachers, meantime, tried to teach. For a time, they attempted to hide in their individual coops and avoid the wrath of the farmers, tried to help foster a love of learning in their students (Smith p. 28) because they understood that “useful learning doesn’t take place when we separate it from our normal lives and knuckle down to serious study (Smith p. 13).” Increasingly, however, the pressure was on for teachers to teach to the standardized tests by virtue of wishing to remain employed and receive funding from the government for their schools. (Garan p. 28 & 84) If teachers have not bought into the official theory of learning, then they have certainly been forced to bow down to it. (Smith p. 29, Garan p. 12)Now it seems more and more students are taught in batches with scripted texts via computer feeds (Garan p. 85, Smith p. 73) to save money and, when they are thoroughly conformed, run out of the buildings on conveyer belts and packed into egg cartons to be shipped to various stores for consumption.

What is behind this mass production of eggs?  Smith and Garan say that the politicians and businessmen are not, in fact, attempting to improve education with their standardized tests and curriculum, but actually deliberately producing students who are trained not to think, question, or break the status quo. Meantime, bad eggs are generally reabsorbed by the chickens and used as fodder.  (Bracey p. 113) These “bad eggs” are the students who have been made to feel as if they are not part of the “literacy club.” As such, they need their sense of self worth to be reinforced, and this is done by “engaging them in activities that they find comprehensible, interesting, and confidence-building (Smith p.36).” As an undergraduate, one of the teachers I interviewed referred to this as “blowing sunshine up their asses,” I suppose because it didn’t meet the rigorous standards imposed upon us by the traditional theory of learning (Smith p. 69). And, frankly, I think Smith’s classic theory of learning sounded suspiciously like fun to that teacher, something I imagine he hadn't had in a very long time. (Smith p. 2) To his mind, students needed “more rigidly controlled” environments – when what they really need is more time, more help, and more encouragement (Smith p. 64). This teacher felt I had “bought into” a fantasy world that Ferris State University had fed to me in which there were no farmers, and the chickens were free to do with their eggs as they chose.

                Happily, there are experts who have researched how eggs grow and develop best, and really there is no magic or fantasy about it. Smith, Garan, and Kohn talk about how people are under the misconception that learning is achieved through some rigorous, contrived effort to memorize isolated facts, which the standardization movement surely would support in the minds of parents, students, and the occasional misguided teacher. (Smith p. 5, Garan p. 36 & 142, Kohn p. 7) It is from this vision of education that worksheets stem, although Garan rightly points out that they only “require low-level basic skills instead of high-level creative thinking” and that students can “quickly tune into the worksheet format and can often complete the skill pattern that’s required without thinking (p. 77).” I get the mental image of a group of eggs underneath a heat lamp rather than individually cared for by the seat of some chicken’s pants. Smith contends that standardized testing is not necessary because “you can see whether people are learning by observing what they are doing (p. 61. Kohn, p. 6 ).”  Smith adds that “classic learning” best takes place within a meaningful context without need of rote memorization at all. (p. 5) Israel Sheffler furthers this idea by speaking of education as “the facilitation of understanding, the development of taste and discrimination, the stimulation of curiosity and wondering…the growth of a thirst for new ideas and visions of the yet unknown (Bracey p. 43).”

 Another important point that Smith and Bracey both make about the eggs is that they really are not all alike, and learn best when someone takes the time to discover their individuality and teach to it. (Smith p. 36, Bracey p. 187) Smith and Garan agree that it is important to include students in their own education, be honest with them, to listen to them, and to “discuss the pressures of school and guide them through it (Garan p. 61).” If this is not done, the eggs think that they are not “part of the club,” and develop the impression that they don’t wish to be. (Smith p. 28) In my experience, these particular eggs often get labeled as “bad,” and are truly not included in the educational experience, neither by administrators, teachers, or even their parents. They are considered what Garan terms “the losers” in the standardized, high-stakes environment of schools. (p. 34, Kohn, p. 16) Smith views this as a sad commentary on how the classroom “that can’t cope with students of different mental, physical, and cultural abilities is a microcosm of a society that doesn’t respect such differences (p. 99).” Toward some solution to this problem, Garan talks about teaching students to work in groups and “assume the responsibility for their social as well as their academic behavior (p. 112).”  There is a responsibility for the teacher to create a safe environment where students can explore their ideas and emotions verbally and in print without the fear of red marks or poor scores for not getting it “right.” As an educator, I have strived to provide a safe, creative environment for every classroom I have entered, in nearly every lesson I have taught. You cannot imagine the unparalleled joy I felt upon getting an opportunity to teach as I had been trained and to find out that it all worked. There are few things in life as rewarding as finding out what inspires a student and enabling them to use that to their advantage, and no scripted curriculum or standardized test can do that for you.

                When I accepted a “permanent” substitute teaching position at a middle school late last year, the first thing I noticed as I walked the halls was that they were plastered from wall to wall with student-generated posters transcribed with anti-bullying slogans. This seemed promising. My mission, as I had chosen to accept it, was to teach the second half of To Kill a Mockingbird “to” the Eighth Grade Reading class. (The first half had already been covered by the previous two “Permanent” substitutes) I soon found that in this school, the test had essentially become the curriculum. (Kohn, p. 29) I was given a calendar (My Teaching Bible) and a Magic Binder which included all my “Lesson Plans,” consisting primarily of worksheets and standardized tests to go with each chapter (Garan p. 84). These two tools, I was informed, were specially designed to coincide with the standardized testing and would practically teach the class for me. All I had to do was maintain discipline.

                What I actually encountered was a room full of bored, angry, distrustful students who had been “reading” To Kill a Mockingbird independently since October. It was now mid-March. Most of them did not remember any of the events of the first half. They told me that their previous substitute had told them that it was admittedly boring and not all that important that they recall every last detail of the first half of the novel, since basically all it was doing was setting up characters and describing where the main characters lived. Shaken, I checked my calendar to see what “The Bible” said we should be doing on March 17^th. It read, “Read Chapters 12-15.” I flipped through the book until I found the quote I wanted and read loudly, “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view--until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.”

                They stared at me blankly.

                I put “The Bible” in a desk drawer, ran to the front of the room where I could see everyone better and sat down on an empty table facing the class. Thirty suspicious eyes glared at me, daring me to ask them to read Chapters 12-15 quietly at their desks. “Let’s play a game,” I said.

                Thirty pairs of eyes looked studiously indifferent.

                “I’m going to tell you two horrible lies about myself, and then one thing that is true. Then I want you to guess what is the truth about me.” I told them about the time that I was stopped for not having my lights on at twilight and a mouse had made a nest of my proof of insurance. I told them about my modest career as a published poet, and how my cousin used to stalk Michael Jackson before his security got too tight. They all bought the poet story, so it was with great pleasure that I informed them that a mouse had, indeed, eaten my proof of insurance. 
“Now I want you to tell stories to me,” I said, “Make a game of it – see how many of you can fool me. If the majority of the class tricks me, no reading homework today.” Most popular game ever – even more successful than 7-Up. One especially smart tyke asked me afterward how they were ever supposed to trust me again now that they knew what a convincing liar I was. I told her that it was because they were going to learn that, while I am a good storyteller, I am also one who cares. Beginning with those anti-bullying posters. I’d learned a lot from our game that most of the class may not have picked up on. I learned that some kids had foster homes, some of them had only one parent, some of them hated reading, many of them were poor, and a lot of them were being horrifically bullied despite all the signs. Because of these observations, I was thrilled that we were going to be reading To Kill a Mockingbird. But I didn't tell them that. I told them that because they were such great storytellers too, we weren't going to do any reading tomorrow, either. We were going to do one of their favorite things: An online personality quiz about themselves.

                I found out a few other things that day. I found out that I had 130 students and only 25 copies of To Kill a Mockingbird. I found out that I didn't have regular access to the computers, and that there were only eight of them in the lab. I found out that my overhead screen that connected to my computer was missing and would not be replaced before the end of the school year. Why? Well, some said it was for lack of funding, for want of good standardized test scores in the State of Michigan. I didn't have time to worry about why. I made copies of 130 Multiple Intelligence Tests and Interest Inventories. I called the public library and the college and the ISD and also contacted a personal connection to see about getting more books in the classroom.

               The next day, I told the students that I couldn’t teach them because I didn’t know them yet (and they couldn’t learn from me because they didn’t trust me yet), so we were going to do these tests and then go from there. I found out that even though D----- had a bad reputation as an Emotionally Impaired kid with a temper, he was very artistic. I found out that even though A----- was disruptive and constantly grabbing for attention, he had excellent leadership skills. I found out that even though B----- was the worst bully in the school, he actually had an acute sense of justice and an eye for the big picture. I found out that even though R----- came from the resource room, he loved history. S----- was known as a failing student with poor social skills who had just come “out of the closet,” but he had an amazing sense of the dramatic. My theory had not changed since undergraduate school: If I “blew sunshine up their asses,” my students were going to learn better than they ever had before with all their worksheets and cookie cutter curriculum. I didn't have enough books, so I sat up each night typing out Reader’s Theater. I held auditions and I paired up kids according to their skills. I differentiated instruction so that group members all had different projects that came together as a whole grade for them.

With our first group assignment, the class decided to test me with bizarre disruptive behavior, primarily led by A-----. After class, “A” was posting signs all over my bulletin boards that said, “A is Awesome!” and “Everyone Loves A!”  I called him over to my desk and told him that I really admired his leadership skills and was wondering if he could help me get the class on board with the Reader’s Theater, because I was pretty sure there was a great part in there for him, and we weren't going to get anywhere if we didn't get started on it. End of problem.

Soon I had “D” making sets that correlated with descriptions from the novel, “B” demanding to play Atticus Finch because he admired his courage, “R” making elaborate speeches as Judge Taylor and also doing research on the historical background of the novel, and “S” happily all set to be my special actor chosen to play the part of Boo Radley because he “understood what it meant to be an outcast and misjudged by people who didn't even know him.” He even led an activity where everyone drew on the board their vision of what Boo Radley must look like, based on Jem’s description from the novel. Imagine their eventual surprise and S-----‘s personal satisfaction when they found out what a wonderful, if eccentric, person Boo Radley could be – once you really got to know him.

                In short, everyone really got excited about that book. I even caught “A,” who considered himself a non-reader, reading it outside of class in the hallway during lunch because, as he put it, “We’re reading it too slow in class – I want to find out what happens!” 

The toughest part of the entire experience was when we did the courthouse scene. There were students on one side of the courthouse tallying up the evidence against Tom Robinson and there were students on the other tallying up the evidence for him – And to my amazement, the majority of the class were not good enough at predicting to realize that Tom Robinson was going to lose. I had kids throwing their scripts across the room. Poor “D” just put his head down for two days and refused to speak to me. 

Two of the best things that came out of this experience: 1.) “B” apparently went on facebook and publicly apologized to “S” for judging him “without walking in your shoes first,” and 2.) All of those kids knew that story when it was time for their final test. I must admit a personal victory for me was when the student with autism was struggling to answer questions based on his feeling and opinions, I got with the special education teacher and created a test that covered significant facts instead --When he found out he'd passed it, he looked briefly right into my face and shot me a quick smile. It was the first time he’d ever made eye-contact. 

Significantly, whenever I felt rushed for time and used the handouts from the Magic Binder instead of tailoring lesson plans to suit my students, they did poorly on those same tests. On handout weeks, students had to memorize the information covered on their worksheets and then spit them out for the test. They were much better at remembering information that they had drawn, acted, laughed over, or debated in groups. This information they compiled into their long term memories, and I imagine many of them will never forget it, just as I will never forget the teacher who had me dress up as Socrates, lead a debate about social justice, and tell my classmates what it’s like to question authority and drink hemlock for it. I think Bracey held it best when he quoted Mann: “If you teach people right… they will love to learn (Bracey 177).”

Did we finish the novel at the time “The Bible” dictated that we should?  Did we do every worksheet in the Magic Binder? Does it really matter? Nobody cares but the farmers. In a sense, I have raised more questions than answers; questions like “What constitutes learning or educational success? How do we measure this?”  It takes more than just a good egg to figure out the answers to questions like that, let alone think to ask them in the first place: It’s time the chickens came out of their coops and started asking these questions again, for the sake of the eggs.