Teaching to the Test

In high school, I took seven AP tests. I'm not saying this to brag or even to promote the American system of education. Rather, I think it ruined me.

I spent the better part of my education preparing to take tests. In tenth grade it was European History: copying outlines off the blackboard, highlighting all of the important people and events in the textbook, not taking a moment to discuss, debate, or create. Later it was Calculus and Spanish and Physics. In Physics we hardly did any labs. Instead we took notes and crunched numbers and practiced multiple choice. You get the picture. So when I realized that in my classroom all we were doing was preparing for one test, I felt pretty bad.

We made the final English test on Tuesday morning, and after that point we were able to teach to the test. Class time was devoted to reviewing the vocabulary words appearing on the test that no one could remember (desk seems to be a particularly difficult one), phrases learned the first week and promptly forgotten (I am lost), and the oral questions I am going to ask today in my loud, over-articulated way.

Where's the fun in that? When are these kids ever going to need to say, "I make the chair in the cemetery with the mother?" They're most likely going to use English when they run into a tourist on the street or in the market. And when someone asks, "Where did you make this?" they're not going to respond, "In the cemetery with the mother."

So I let them have a little fun. Towards the end of class, Zoila asks me how to say "feo" in English. I made a deal with her: you tell me who you think is "feo" and I'll tell you how to say it English. She giggle shyly, unwilling to let me into the summer school gossip circle. But it doesn't matter how silent she stays; her over-eager friend answers for her. "Diego!" she shouts, referring to an older boy who came for the first two weeks of class and never returned.

"Ugly," I say. "Feo means ugly." I make her stay in for recess, the cost of curiosity. She translates a variety of sentences featuring the word ugly, starting from the simple "Diego is ugly," to the more complicated and less sensical, "I like to run with ugly dogs."

These sentences didn't discourage her; she asked for more. "How do you say guapo? How do you say bonito?" Her friend leaks the fact that Zoila thinks Nelson is handsome. We go over several sentences, concluding with, "I like handsome boys." I think it's a good example because it demonstrates the way that adjectives are placed before the noun in English, rather than after like in Spanish.

She's furiously scribbling it all down, wanting to remember, not because it's going to be on some test, but because she has a secret she wants to share. I can imagine her out on the rusty blue swings, telling some boy her feelings in another language.

The Cast of Characters

As my time here is coming to a close, I'm starting to think more about each kid's personality than whether they're going to do well in the class.

First I would like to introduce Nelson. He stands out because he is a sixteen year old among eleven year olds. We've been working on question words this week, and whenever I get to him during our oral review, I am shocked to hear "I have sixteen." Since he's older, he is at a much more advanced stage of puberty. The other day I caught him rolling up his sleeves and examining his muscles in class. The boy next to him, one so little that his feet hardly touch the ground, poked them, perhaps out of jealousy. I just ignored him, embracing a little bit of chaos.

This little boy is also worth introducing. His name is Vidal, and he doesn't take his backpack off during class. Him and his even tinier best friend Diego can't sit still during class and constantly bicker with each other. When they start picking at each other's hair, we ask, "Is Diego your dog? Then why are you petting him?"

We also love to tease Kevin. He is very smart and very loud about it. When he finishes a task early or whispers the answers to another student, he begins to chant "Es facíl. Más. Más," in a fairly apathetic voice. But if he gets it wrong, he's in big trouble because we begin mocking him. That gets a smile and several minutes of attentive silence.

Our other smartest kid, Jenny, is the exact opposite. While it's clear that she's naturally gifted, she also has the best study skills ever and is only too eager to do what she is told. She stays after school for extra help even though she understands way better than anyone else in the class. Last week she finished the test and the post-test activity before time was up, so I told her to draw. She looked at me blankly and asked what to draw. I told her to just use her imagination. After a few minutes she calls me back over to show me several little illustrations perfectly labeled in English. She reminds me a bit of me when I was little, so I want to tell her to dream more and to gain some confidence.

I hate to say it, but none of the other girls are terribly memorable. They are all giggly, hate speaking in class, and love clinging to my elbow. I wonder if this silence and uncertainty is a product of their indigenous culture, or if this is true of girls this age all across the world.

The only thing that really sticks out about them is the way they run screaming across the playground when Kevin chases them. It's a behavior that I believe is recognized across all cultures.