It's State Testing Week in our school this week. In Virginia, it is called the SOL. How appropriate. In my high school, there's an anxious buzz in the air. So, to entertain the kids in English class, my team teacher assigned an "Open Letter" assignment. I wanted to write one as well while the kids were working. I had the perfect topic.
Dear SOL,
Look at you. I mean,
I wish I could believe in myself like you. Go on with your bad self. Thinking you are just so generous with your detailed
directions and assorted choices. I especially enjoy the way you add a simple s
to the end of a word in your directions to throw each and every kid into an eternal
panic. "Which of these statement(s) are true?"
Cute. Real cute.
How about we talk about the God complex you carry around in
your thinly papered, dreadfully drab booklet? I mean, if you’re going to hold a
student hostage for hours upon hours, don’t you think you could pep up the
experience with an uplifting color palette. Or snacks? Or water? Even prisoners get
food and water during their stay. Perhaps with all the money you bring in, you
could attach a care-package…a goodie bag, if you will, to the tissue-paper-thin
booklets.
I mean, what’s up
with those things? You’re a multi-BILLION dollar industry and you can’t afford
better paper that doesn’t rip at the slightest grasp. But thanks so much for
allowing us to write in them. WOW! That is so "green" of you to repurpose the
booklet as scratch paper, too. But maybe, just maybe, you could rethink the
quality like I stated in the above sentence. Since your tests are so daunting
and picky, I obviously have to take the time to work out calculations and such.
Eventually there will be a moment that I will need to erase if I worked a
problem incorrectly. Due to your water-soluble pages, I end up making a crater-sized hole in it even
before I start to get serious. NO worries. I didn’t need to see the ENTIRE
calculation I just did. No, really. I like to start from square one when you’ve
already thrown my stomach into a blender. I know, I know. I have ALL DAY. How
thoughtful.
On the topic of your thoughtfulness,
thanks so much for telling me I’m worth earning my graduation status if I reach YOUR set
score. Four-hundred points and you’ll
allow me to move forward? How can I ever thank you? But what’s up with the
grading? Those 399s are a maddening. I mean…really…ONE point short. You can’t just
give me the one point? Even convenient stores will loan me the penny from their
plastic “borrow a penny” container. Perhaps you should consider having a “bank”
of contributed points. Kind of like the “sick bank” at work. That way, if my friend knocks it out of the
park with your coveted 600, she could lend me just ONE point. Who needs a
perfect score anyway? It’s not like you send me a party in a bag if I score a
600. Please. You can’t even print the booklets on something that can maintain
solid form for more than a testing period. Or a snack. Or water for heaven’s sake.
Perhaps you need to look up what the word "worth" means. In my book, my worth is measured by those that KNOW me. Those people that
see me each and every day. Those people that cheer me on in all aspects of my
life. Those people that guide me in school and make sure I don’t burn down the
Chemistry Lab. Those people who take the time to read what I wrote. Those
people that are in awe of my woodworking skills. Those people who come to my
games, ask how my weekend was or just
listen about my bad day. Do you know that?
NO. All you know is that your scores prove I’m not the
best writer. Or a historian. Or a chemist. Congrats! But are you able to see how I’ve work tirelessly with
teachers in order to achieve the ridiculous goal you’ve set? Do you know that I
have a plethora (bet you LOVED that word) of qualities, that if added all up on
a point scale, would blow your 600 out of the water? Nope. You don’t. You think my worth is a number. A score.
Your narcissism is overwhelming.
All I ask is that you eventually disappear into
thin air. You don’t need to let us know where you’ve gone. Just go. I can’t say I’d miss you. At all. Like, EVER.
Thanks for the memories.
Every High School Student in Virginia