Is Standardized Testing Measuring What We Think It Measures Anymore? A Teacher’s Perspective
Last April, I proctored our state’s third-grade ELA test at the elementary school where I teach, and I spent 20 minutes watching Mia twist the rainbow loom bracelet on her wrist until her knuckles went white. The question in front of her was about a short story where two friends rescue an injured turtle from a storm drain, and it asked test-takers to pick the main theme.
Mia had written her own personal narrative about rescuing a baby snapping turtle from our playground mulch just a month before. She’d stayed in at recess to sketch the turtle, added three paragraphs about how scared it was when the kids first picked it up, and clearly communicated that the core of her story was that even small, scary creatures deserve care. But here, she couldn’t pick between two multiple-choice options: “Always help animals in need” and “Friends work together to help others.” She erased her first choice so many times the paper tore at the edge. I couldn’t tell her which one was right—testing rules bar any kind of hint, any clarification. When the time was up, she still hadn’t filled in a final bubble.
After the test, during our after-snack free time, she wandered over to my desk and said, “I knew what the story was about. I just didn’t know which answer they wanted.” That line has stuck with me all year, because it cuts straight to the question I’ve been turning over: Is this test actually measuring what we think it is?
I’m not just a teacher; I’m a mom of a seventh grader who loves building skate ramps in our driveway. Last year, he scored “below proficient” on his state math test, even though he can calculate the correct slope for a ramp in his head faster than I can with a calculator. He ran out of time halfway through the open response section, not because he couldn’t do the math, but because he kept double-checking his work to make sure he got every step right. When we talked about it later, he said, “The questions don’t even ask about the thing I know how to do.”
That’s the disconnect I see over and over. We think standardized tests measure how well a kid can read, think, and do math. But what they actually measure most days is how well a kid can navigate the weird, picky rules of standardized test questions. They measure how long an 8-year-old can sit still without talking or fidgeting. They measure how good a kid is at not overthinking, or how much time their school spent drilling test format instead of teaching actual content. A kid can know how to analyze a theme, know how to calculate slope, still end up with a score that makes everyone think they’re behind.
This isn’t just a rant against testing, though. I’ve seen test data used to get extra reading support for kids who really need it, and that matters. But for parents looking at that score when it comes in the mail, it’s hard to know what to do with it. After Mia got her score back last spring—she ended up “below basic” in reading comprehension, if you can believe it—I sat down with her mom for parent-teacher conferences. Her mom was ready to pull Mia out of after-school art to start twice-a-week reading tutoring, because she thought Mia was struggling and hiding it.
I pulled out Mia’s turtle narrative, pulled out the end-of-unit reading assessment I’d given two weeks before testing, where she’d correctly analyzed theme in three different stories and got a 92%. We talked about that moment during the test, how she couldn’t pick between two equally plausible bad options. We didn’t end up ditching art. Instead, we made two small, concrete changes. I add three multiple-choice practice questions to Mia’s morning work two days a week, just to get her used to picking the “best” answer instead of only the right one. Her mom asks her one question a night when they go over homework: “What do you think the test-maker wants here?” That’s it—no extra tutoring, no hours of boring test prep.
That’s the practical stuff I tell other parents and new teachers, when they ask what to do about testing. First, when you get that score, don’t panic and make big changes before you cross-check it with three weeks of your kid’s actual class work. If their daily assignments, quizzes, and teacher-led assessments show they get the material, the test score is wrong, not your kid. Second, if you want to practice test skills, don’t do full-week cram sessions that burn kids out. Do three to five questions a day while you’re waiting for dinner to cook, or in the car on the way to school. It’s low-stakes, it doesn’t take time away from the stuff that actually matters, like art or recess or building ramps. Third, if the score feels off, ask your kid those three simple questions: Did you have enough time? Were the questions weirdly worded, or did you not know the stuff? How tired were you by the end? Those answers tell you more than the number ever will.
We’re heading into testing season again this month. I still have to proctor the test, I still have to send the scores home, I still have to talk parents through what it all means. There’s no big fix coming any time soon, as far as I can tell. The system still relies on these tests to sort kids and rank schools, even when they don’t work the way they’re supposed to. But for parents and teachers, we don’t have to take that number at face value. We can look at the kid in front of us, at the things they do and say and make every day, and know that that’s the real measure of what they know. That part doesn’t show up on any test, and that’s the part that matters.
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