More Than a Score (33 page)

 

 

 

 

Long Island Opts Out

My Story of Resistance

I would rather die than go to school.
These words of despair, uttered by my then third-grade son, changed the course of my life.

As a child I was always around educators. My father was a high school physics teacher. My sister became a special education teacher, my other sister a school psychologist. I myself taught for six years at an alternative high school, for kids who were in danger of dropping out or failing to graduate. It was there that I learned firsthand what teaching to the individual child could do to turn a student (on whom most had given up) into one who took pride in completing high school and graduating with a diploma. I feel that the biggest tragedy to come out of this mess is that we ignore the educational needs of every individual child. Too many education reformers have lost sight of how important it is to treat children as individuals, and to understand that success cannot be measured in any one single way.

My decision to act was in fact brought on by witnessing firsthand the changes in my then eight-year-old son. These changes began a few months before the third-grade tests and continued until the day he was informed he would not be taking the fourth-grade exam, a little over a year later. My son has never been an emotional child. In fact, I would generally have to pry any expression of feeling out of him. He became a child who cried at night over difficult homework, had frequent stomachaches (which his doctor believed to be caused by stress and anxiety), and begged not to go to school in the mornings. On more than a few occasions he stated, “I would rather die than go to school.” This obviously caused me tremendous panic and worry. I was determined to get to the bottom of why he was feeling this way. I spoke with the school psychologist, the teacher, the principal, and the superintendent. All of them alluded to how there was a big change in curriculum, the tests were new as well, and that he may just be reacting to all of these changes. The final straw was hearing that my son was being offered “Academic Intervention Services” to prepare him for these new tests an hour before school, twice a week, for two months. I posed this offer to my son, and words cannot describe the anguish that came out of my unemotional, now nine-year-old child. It was at that moment that I decided I was finished with this testing madness. I did not even know I could opt him out at this point. I simply knew that my son would not be taking this test.

My research began. First, I spoke with every educator I knew. My sister was the first stop. I asked her, “What are these tests even for?” She responded, “They serve absolutely no purpose other than to evaluate teachers like me.” I asked my friend who was a third-grade teacher; same response. I asked teacher after teacher and the responses were similarly frustrated with the overuse of standardized testing in our education system today. I began to get the sense that these teachers were not only relieved to be asked the question but also that these tests had made them angry, dejected, and sad.

My research continued. My sister and I had another conversation in which she told me about a Facebook group she had stumbled upon for upstate New York on which some members posted about having successfully opted out their children from the state assessments the previous year. We both agreed that if it were in fact true, we would follow suit. My next course of action was to speak with my principal and the school psychologist, as I had been working very closely with both of them on helping my son get his smile back. I informed them I discovered that in fact my son did not have to take this exam, and that I would be looking into the specific details on how we could successfully pull this off without harming my son, the teachers, or the school.

I expressed very plainly that I felt it was unethical to evaluate the teachers based on my son's test scores, and that I trusted our teachers to evaluate my son, not corporations, politicians, or testing companies. They fully supported my decision and pledged to honor my parental rights.

I was relieved by the support of the school, yet something still just didn't feel quite right. I had now ensured that my son would not have to participate in these tests, but as I heard my friends in the schoolyard discussing their fears over the looming April assessments, I knew it would not be right if I kept the information about how to opt out children from the test to myself. I began the careful process of talking to my close friends about what I learned and what I was planning to do. Some were not on board at first. Some thought I must have had some bad chili and was obviously delirious. No way could this be what is actually going on. I tried not to bombard or pressure them, but I showed them articles I had found. Articles like the one written by the Principal's Group on how APPR was affecting the classrooms. A letter written by the Wantagh principal to his district parents on the harmful effects of high-stakes testing. Articles written by Carol Burris, an award-winning Long Island principal. Slowly my friends got on board. If they hadn't, that may have been where this story ended. Instead, watching how fired up they became, I decided to go even further. My sister and I once again met to discuss my plan for making my own Facebook group, similar to the one we had seen from upstate New York. I needed a way to spread this information beyond just my own district, but I wanted the information to be specific to my community in Long Island.

And thus the Facebook page “Long Island Opt Out Info” was born. Now came the really hard work. My friends were added. Their friends were added. Then friends of friends were added. Within the first week we were up to a few hundred. By the end of the second week we were close to a thousand. All the while, we (me, my sister, and other educators and parents who knew the relevant information) were continuing to research how we could successfully pull off a large-scale boycott of the upcoming tests. Much was learned from the parents in upstate New York who had already been through this process. I would frequently contact Eric Mihelbergel and Chris Cerrone, who ran the New York State group, for advice on the details of opting out. I was very careful not to post any information on the site unless we knew for sure that it was accurate. My sister and I pored over State Education Department documents, NCLB waiver documents, RttT information, Title 1 information and guidelines, assessment administration guidelines; everything and anything we could get our hands on that would allow us to accurately inform parents what their options were for shielding their children from these abusive tests.

Around the time we hit about four thousand members, a few weeks before the test, some issues came up on the Facebook page. While most people were cordial, friendly, and respectful of opposing opinions, some were not. With that many people (strangers) involved, arguments can get out of hand. There was a clear divide between the people who believed that Common Core (CC) was the source of the problem, and those of us who believed excessive high-stakes testing tied to teacher evaluations was the source of the problem. Whenever someone would post something in reference to ending high-stakes testing, those in the CC camp would attack. I myself was verbally attacked for not putting CC at the top of my list of things I was fighting against. It was during this time that I considered throwing in the towel.

I had also been speaking at PTA meetings and forums around the island, and while I found that I have a natural ability for public speaking, in those early days the stress before speaking was almost unbearable. I lost about ten pounds just in that first month, and I was already on the thin side. Sleep was not my friend, and pretty soon I looked a bit zombielike. I had to dig up my fifteen-year-old makeup concealer to cover up the lovely new dark circles under my eyes. I would panic before posting something for fear that it would turn out to be incorrect or that I would be criticized. I was not used to being in the “public eye” and even started being recognized in public places. It happened very fast and I was not quite prepared for it. When it all started, I didn't have the slightest idea that it would get that big or go that far. Problems on the page continued even as we continued to grow. There was quite a bit of infighting, and I did not like the negative turn the page was taking. I had to make a decision whether or not I could handle all of this, whether I was willing to devote the required time to making it work, and whether I could make the page something I could be proud of.

I decided to regain control over everything. I restated our mission publicly on the page, changed the settings of the page so that I could approve each and every post, and explained to everyone that I would ban people from the page who could not show respect to others. Again, these same people attacked, called it censorship, and some jumped ship and created their own Facebook pages. Those who continued on our opt-out page had a clear understanding of where I stood and what the goals of the group were, and we were able to focus on the task at hand: opting out of the state tests. The week leading up to the tests was a blur. Eighty percent of my day was spent fielding questions, calling school administrators, and managing the page. My children had the fortunate experience of eating takeout food every night for a week!