Is Standardized Testing Actually Measuring What We Think It Measures? A Teacher’s On-the-Ground Perspective
Last Tuesday two months into state testing season, I stood by my 4th grade classroom door sipping cold coffee, watching my students file in for their second straight day of 45-minute multiple-choice sections. All the anchor charts we’d built together this year were rolled up in the closet, the kids’ art was taken off the bulletin boards, and every desk was spaced 6 feet apart per state rules. The hum of the white noise machine droned over the room, and half the kids had that tight, wide-eyed look they get when they know something big is supposed to depend on this.
Milo was the first one I noticed. He was erasing so hard at question 12 that the edge of his answer sheet tore clean through. When we broke for 10 minutes halfway through, he wandered over to me, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, and said his brain just wouldn’t work. He told me his mom quizzed him on fraction multiplication every night after dinner for two weeks, and he’d helped his 6th grade cousin with homework over the weekend, but that question about the train going different speeds to two different cities just felt like it was written in a different language.
I gave him a peppermint from the jar I keep by my desk, let him squeeze the stress ball I hide in my drawer for moments like this, and told him to skip the hard question and start on the next one. A week earlier, I’d watched Lila, who writes 10-page graphic novels about her rescue beagle during free reading time, stare at the state writing prompt for 20 minutes. The prompt asked her to write a persuasive piece arguing why schools should have more recess. She wrote a great story about how recess helps fidgety kids focus when they come back to class, but she didn’t structure it into the five-paragraph opening-body-conclusion format the automated grading system looks for. When the practice scores came back, she got a below basic.
For years, I’ve heard parents and policymakers talk about standardized tests as an objective measure of what kids know. We assume a good score means a kid is ready for the next grade, a bad score means they need extra help. But after 12 years in the classroom, I’m not sure that’s true anymore. What these tests actually measure is a whole list of things that have nothing to do with how much a kid has learned this year.
They measure how well a kid can tolerate sitting still for hours without talking, drawing, or getting up to stretch. They measure how well a kid handles stress that’s framed as life-altering, even when it’s not. They measure whether a kid can pick the “correct” multiple-choice answer when their own answer is more nuanced, or whether they guessed right when they didn’t know. They measure whether a kid had a full breakfast that morning, whether they slept through the night without being woken by a sibling or a noisy neighbor, whether their family could afford to take a week off for test prep tutoring over spring break. None of those things have anything to do with how well they can read a chapter book or solve a real-world math problem.
I know we can’t get rid of these tests overnight, so I’ve started sharing small, concrete steps with parents and other teachers that take some of the distortion out of the process. For parents, the first thing I tell them is don’t change your routine for test week. I’ve had so many parents make big special pancakes the morning of the test, buy brand new fancy pencils, and talk about “how important this is” all week. That just tells a kid this is something to be scared of. Instead, eat the same cereal you always eat, go over the same homework you always do the night before, and instead of saying “do your best” (which every kid hears as “if you don’t do well, you let me down”), say something specific: “After this test we’re going to get your favorite ice cream and go to the park, no matter what.” That takes the pressure off right away.
For teachers, small changes help too. I do two minutes of stretching between every section, even when the manual says it’s not allowed. I let kids keep small stress balls or fidget spinners under their desks as long as they don’t make noise, because I know a kid who can wiggle a little is going to focus better than a kid who has to sit completely still for an hour. I remind them every break that this is just the state’s worksheet, not a test of how smart they are.
When scores come in, the best thing you can do as a parent is compare the score to your kid’s actual daily work. If your kid gets a lower score than you expected, pull out three recent pieces of their class work: a writing assignment, a math sheet, a project they worked on. If their class work shows they understand the material, the test is wrong, not your kid. Call their teacher and talk through what you see, don’t just sign your kid up for extra tutoring based on the score alone. Last year I had a parent who did this, and instead of wasting three months on math tutoring her son didn’t need, they spent that time working on 15 minutes of low-pressure test-taking practice once a week, which is all he needed to feel more comfortable the next year.
A few weeks ago, Milo brought the recycling-sorting robot he built over to the classroom for our invention fair. He explained how he calculated the weight each motor could handle, how he adjusted the code to sort plastic from paper, and answered questions from half the class about how he got it to work. Everything he explained was math and coding skills two grade levels above what we teach in 4th grade. His test score from earlier this year says he’s approaching grade level.
I still have to give the tests every year, it’s a state requirement, and I still don’t have a fix for the larger system. But I know what’s real when I see it. A test score can’t tell me that. I just wish more people knew that too.
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