The-Words-That-Must-Not-Be-Spoken

In the Harry Potter series of books and films, the baddiest of the baddies, Lord Voldemort, is so dreadful that he is often referred to as “You-Know-Who” or “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.” He strikes such fear in the hearts of others that the mere utterance of his name is completely terrifying (not to mention, what’s up with that creepy reptile nose?).

In education in Texas, there’s another word that provokes similar fits of terror in young and old alike: STAAR. The pronounceable acronym of our state test—in addition to its not-too-distant high school cousin, EOC—raises the pulse rates of all who hear them.  

I would like to add STAAR, EOC, AP Test, final exam, MAP, and the name of every other high-stakes test to a list of Words-That-Must-Not-Be-Spoken.

What would happen if teachers never mentioned the names of those assessments until a few weeks before they took place? What would happen if no educator ever told kids, “You’re going to need to know this for the [insert name of test here]”? What would happen if we completely eliminated any language that insinuated that what we are teaching or practicing is important solely because they have to know it to pass a one-day, three-hour ordeal nine months from now?

Here’s what I think could happen:

Teachers could teach meaningful lessons focused on the TEKS and guide students toward rigorous content-area habits of mind that would prepare them for much more than just a test. And, because the learning was guided by the assessed objectives, they would be prepared for the test without preparing for the test!

Students might believe that what they are learning matters beyond one silly test because they see the usefulness of the learning in a real-world context.

Learners wouldn’t be beaten down by mind-numbing practice problems, fake multiple choice items, and tedious bell ringers swiped directly from released tests or test-prep workbooks. Instead, they could move away from a multiple-choice world of predetermined responses and enter a realm where students get to generate their own answers.   

Students would believe that their teachers care about their learning, not just about their standardized test scores.

School could be fun. Did I just say that? Fun? I did. Fun! Or if not fun, at least not miserable.

Students who are worriers—and there are more than a few of them out there—won’t spend the majority of the school year paralyzed by anxiety as they endure the 150-day countdown to the Big Test.  

A week or so before the test, teachers could tell their students, “By the way, there’s an end-of-course exam coming up next week. The reason I haven’t already mentioned it is that I’ve been so busy teaching you things that it slipped my mind. No need for you to worry about it. You’ve got this. I’ve prepared you. All you have to do is show them what you’ve been showing me all year.”             

It’s kind of an exciting possibility. Let’s make a pact. I won’t say the Words-That-Must-Not-Be-Spoken if you don’t say the them. We can teach what we’re supposed to teach, make learning exciting, create a culture of happy scholars, and have a fantastic school year.