No Child Left Behind
Greg Shafer
Mott Community College
Member, Education Advocacy Network

“I’m not smiling, and I really love to smile. This is quite disconcerting, indeed,” said Parker Welton as he gazed around his office. The room was filled with a collective consternation as the group of English teachers pursed their lips and looked down at the gold carpet. They had listened to their principal’s words of concern, and the problem was as clear as the black circles on the Scantron sheet he held. It was finals week and a potentially successful year at Jefferson High was in jeopardy simply because of a couple of rebellious students.
 
“My first inclination is to send the little monsters packing,” continued Welton as he folded his hands together and peered imperiously at the gaggle of perplexed English teachers. Finally, Mrs. Grandy, the department chair, stirred, roused from deep thought by the impending catastrophe and spoke: “I still suggest that we offer them another chance to take it. The state allows us that option, and before they do so, we can have a conference with their parents, stressing the importance of standardized tests and the way it will impact our reputation as a school.”
 
“But they will refuse,” interjected Mr. Donalds, a first-year teacher who was just beginning to appreciate the magnitude of these tests. “They keep talking about their rights. Well, what about our rights? What about the school’s reputation?”
 
“I think I have a solution,” replied Welton as he rose and began to walk around the room. “Yes, our problem is the kids. They seem to believe they are above these tests. They’re simply incorrigible.”
 
“Would you like to have them called in?” asked Mrs. Grandy.
 
“Yes, we shall confront them one last time before resorting to more punitive measures,” said Welton ominously.
 
Moments later the two teenagers slogged into the large office, clothed in the same ripped jeans and baseball caps that had epitomized their persona for four years. With little formality, they dropped sullenly into chairs and breathed a deep sigh that indicated impatience. They had been here before.
 
“You like to write, you two do, perhaps a little too much,” began Welton as he circled the room in a slow, methodical manner. “You also like causing trouble for some very hardworking teachers in the high school. Why is that?”
 
Silence. The boys looked at the carpet and then at the ceiling, but never at the eyes of their principal.  Welton pressed on. “Your essays, as you undoubtedly know, were bound to be failures. Did you do this so as to undermine our school’s efforts to receive the best evaluation in the state, or were you simply seeking attention? Why would you two be so bent on subverting all that we have strived for here at Jefferson?” Welton’s voice rose as he delivered the last syllables. Indeed, his performance was making more than a few of the faculty cringe. Still the boys sat in quiet equanimity, chewing gum and gazing out the window at the scene in front of the school.
 
After a bit more cajoling, Billy Markus, the taller of the two miscreants, finally spoke up. “What can I say? I like to write and the test seemed kinda—stupid. I mean, I don’t want to write in a mold. It offends me, since I do want to be a writer someday.” Next to Billy sat his friend Jack, who shook his head in affirmation. “The test is insulting. It’s not writing. It’s an exercise in obedience,” he said in a soft voice.
 
“But this is the format that assures us…ah, you success.” Welton was more pleading now as he looked down at the boys and grimaced. “We have spent years learning these tests and how to teach you to pass them, boys. This is how your high school comes to be evaluated by newspapers all across this state. Do you want your high school, your alma mater, to be impugned for low test scores?”
 
Again there was an uncomfortable silence, which was finally interrupted by the ring of Welton’s intercom. It was his secretary. “Mr. Welton, it’s the parents of the two boys. They came as soon as they heard the news. Want them to come in?”
 
“Send them in,” Welton said. “Now we’ll see what your parents have to say about this,” he eyed the two as if they were about to rob him.
 
The door was flung open and the parents rushed in with worried looks and quick smiles of apology. In silence they sat down next to their boys and addressed Welton.
 
“We came as soon as we heard. Is it true? Did our two boys fail?”
 
“Yes,” said Welton, as he resumed his stately pacing, “I’m afraid the schools’ efforts have been undermined by your two boys, who think that writing whatever they want is somehow more important than, than—our school’s reputation.”
 
A moment of awkward silence again followed, as the parents looked with bewildered concern at their boys. “Jack, this could have been the first time a high school ever got such a high overall rating on the test. Don’t you want to be part of that?” asked his mother leaning towards him, a look of maternal concern on her face. Jack sat, expressionless.
 
“Let me share with you the assiduous work of our English Department,” said Welton as he walked over to his desk and retrieved the special file on test preparation for the school district.
 
“You see,” he said in more fatherly tone, “the writing test has clear and predictable parts. A logical introduction with three parts is required, for instance. One must begin with a clear opening that broaches the topic of the essay, followed by two to three explanatory sentences, and then a tersely written thesis. The body paragraphs have been modeled after the old five-paragraph theme that was so helpful for all of our teachers in decades past. There is the required topic sentence followed by three supporting sentences, and then the required transitional statement. The conclusion, we have found, should be a quick summation of the paper and never be more than three sentences. In fact, we have never in our studies, witnessed a high score from a conclusion that was more than three sentences.”
 
Welton was finished and he leaned against his desk, directing his eyes at the parents. “As I’ve said,” he added, “this test has been studied by our staff in an attempt to garner the highest score possible and earn our students thousands of dollars in scholarship money. Why won’t your boys cooperate?”
 
The quiet that pervaded the room was deafening.
 
“You better have a good reason for this one,” said Mr. Dirkson, Jack’s father.
 
“Perhaps it would help,” continued Welton, “if we displayed some of the award-winning compositions that have been crafted since the test became mandatory. It might help you to better appreciate the value of this new curriculum.”
 
Within seconds, the department chair had risen and was distributing the essays that were used as models from the standardized test results. “These are real snappy and disciplined little numbers,” suggested Mrs. Grandy as she circulated the prize blueprints to each parent. “These papers are uniform in their adherence to the expectations of the test. If you’ll notice,” she said in a proud finale, “they demonstrate complete disinterest. One can hardly tell that a person wrote them.”
 
Silence reigned as the parents read the essays, replete with the predictable openings, the logically sound thesis statements, and the box-shaped paragraphs. “They’re wonders of uniformity, of education,” added Grandy as she sat back down.
 
Finally, Jack’s mother, a diminutive woman, mustered a reply. “If I may,” she said, “what’s wrong with deviating from, from the formula a little bit? I mean, isn’t that a good thing? Wouldn’t that be creative, kind of innovative? Isn’t that what good writers do? I thought that was a good thing, but you’re telling me it isn’t?”
 
The group of teachers smiled in unison, as Mr. Welton walked around his desk and sat down next to her. “Let me explain,” he said as he forgave her for the comment. “It’s been quite a few years since I’ve been asked that question. Hmm, where do I begin? Well, let’s start by reminding ourselves that it’s much harder to attain an exceptional score on a standardized test if the kids are writing in all sorts of crazy and unfamiliar formats. It tends to rattle the test readers and indicates a lack of discipline. These people, we have to remember, have thousands of tests to grade, so they don’t have time to spend with, umm, creative deviations.”
 
For a moment Welton paused as if looking for a way to explain a nuclear reaction to a two-year-old. “And, of course, we must remember, tests are designed to measure a singular standard of good writing, so it seems rather inefficient to teach various styles when we have established a structure that is correct. This isn’t something that kids do. It’s something they fulfill. It’s already been established for them. We just ask the youngsters to follow the path we’ve laid out. Is that so difficult?”
 
As Welton finished, Mrs. Grandy fished an essay from the pile. “This is one of the best openings I’ve read,” she stated.  “Listen to this:
 
The three reasons why I want to be a writer are because it allows me to express myself, because it permits me to search my creative spirit for my topics, and because it fulfills my desire to be an artist someday.”
 
Mrs. Grandy finished reading and set the paper down, “You see, they get extra points if they use parallel structure, so we encourage it. If they have no spelling errors, they also pick up some valuable extra points,” she added.
 
The teachers nodded their heads in unison as the smiles finally emerged from the previously tense setting.
 
“One thing’s for sure,” said Mr. Dirkson as he smiled. “That’s clear writing. It just sounds so mechanically correct—so, so…so disciplined.”
 
“Yes,” said Welton as he began to collect the essays and return them to their master file. “That’s what we have aspired to here at Jefferson. It’s what all of the states are doing and soon teachers’ salaries will be based on these test results. We all want accountability, don’t we? Well, now we have it.”
 
Again there was a moment of silence as all gathered their thoughts. Finally, after another few minutes of quiet looks and whispered comments, Mr. Dirkson looked over at his son. “I knew you would get yourself in trouble with all of that poetry and fiction writing. How’s that going to help you on the job? Spend one night with me down at the plant and you’ll see I don’t ever write stuff like that.” For a moment there was silence and then Mr. Dirkson said,  “What do you think about that request, son? Can you see your way to take the test again and help us out?”
 
In a moment, Billy’s father was asking the same question of Billy. For an uncomfortable few seconds, all eyes were focused on the two boys. “Yeah, why not,” said Jack after another pause and look at his notebook. “This test really has nothing to do with writing anyway. I guess I don’t know why it bothered me so much in the first place.”

“Yeah,” Billy agreed. “It really has nothing to do with me.”
 
“Here, here,” said Welton, smiling broadly. “Here’s to our alma mater and success on the test,” he said and clapped enthusiastically.
 
“Yes,” said Mrs. Grandy as she also rose with a smile.  “Let’s not forget the reason we’re here—the state test and the struggle for high scores here at Jefferson.”
 
“Here, here,” added the other teachers, who congratulated the boys.  Disaster had been averted.