Armageddon Tomorrow

No, its not an asteroid. No, its not the rapture. No, its not World War III. Its that damn TAKS test. And, I'll be glad when its over.

I don't know what ticks me off more... my kids, 24 hours before the test, muttering nonsensical words such as "left angle" or the State of Texas and my school district for making me treat this like it was the freakin' Manhattan Project.

I can be completely honest when I say that if the winning envelopes to the Oscars were stored in my classroom on test day, the winners would continue to remain a secret. The accounting firms of Coopers and Lybrand, Arthur Anderson, Chip and Dale (or whoever it is) have nothing on me when it comes to security.

Furthermore:

• Oppenheimer could've done his research in my classroom.
• Put the Ark of the Covenant in my classroom and good ole Indiana Jones wouldn't have been able to touch it.
• Bill Belichick couldn't get his video cameras anywhere NEAR my room. (And the shades are drawn too).

Anything in my classroom that could be considered the least bit likely to give a student an edge in figuring out the answer to a test question, has been covered. Even things that have no potential whatsoever to give a student an answer have been covered (my bookshelf). I mean, after all, you never know when a kid looking at the bindings of the books on my bookshelf might be able to figure out that you multiply length and width to find the area of a rectangle. And of course, you never know when a kid actually might care THAT much to actually LOOK for an answer on the binding of a book on my bookshelf.

But, never fear. Security abounds even outside of my classroom. Trips to the restroom occur with escorts in order to make sure that kids don't talk about the math test when they leave the prison that is their classroom. You never know when a kid actually might care THAT much to actually ASK the 10-year old at the next urinal if he remembers how to determine if 2 fractions are equivalent.

And, of course... there is the cafeteria. When it comes time for lunch, classes must walk in lines to the cafeteria in pre-determined routes (as to not disturb other testing classes). I imagine presidential motorcade routes are formulated in much the same way. And to top it all off, the actual dining area is closed. Students must eat in the classroom under the strict supervision of their proctor. Because, who knows when a kid actually might care THAT much to actually ASK the 10-year old across the table what answer he got for question #12 when he would much rather chunk a tater-tot at his friend 2 tables down? Who am I kidding? By the time they got to the cafeteria, nobody would even remember what question #12 was about!

And what usually happens after lunch? Recess, right? No, not on test day. God forbid letting them break a little tension and take a little mental break, right? First of all, the playground is much too noisy for classrooms that are nearby. Other classes are still testing at that time. Nevermind that the playground is as wide as 2 blocks. I'm sure that moving to an isolated corner of the playground wouldn't be too disruptive to the closest classrooms. But, who knows when a kid actually might care THAT much to actually SAY, "Tag, you're it, and by the way...don't forget to line up your decimals whenever you're adding or subtracting decimal numbers" to her playmate.

It's all just a little too "Soup Nazi-ish" for me. Some will pass. Some will fail. I can assure you though, that it will not hinge on whether little Johnny got the answer to question #12 from his friend in the bathroom, cafeteria, or playground.

It hinges on whether the kid actually cares THAT much to really LEARN when given the opportunity.

And of course, that onus lies mostly with the parents.