Small Things That Make A Big Difference by Lisa

A few weeks ago, my child stepped off the school bus quietly, and grabbed my hand to walk home with an uncharacteristically quiet demeanor. He is usually bouncing, with his backpack unzipped and bubbling about new facts he’s learned - or about how he doesn’t quite trust the new facts he’s learned. In my mind, he is a tiny excited professor, with his black-rimmed glasses and constant skepticism about my extremely thorough and age-appropriate answers to his constant stream of questions.

All became clear, however, when he handed me his yellow assessment folder, which housed a math test where the mark didn’t reflect his (above grade) knowledge. Curious, I reviewed the test with him and discovered that he completely missed the second part of a question, didn’t check back of the page thereby missing another question, and didn’t understand what a third question was asking - and didn’t ask for help. When I asked him about the test, it was clear he didn’t receive the support to which he was entitled, as per his Individualized Education Plan (IEP).

I could see the deleterious impact of this test on my otherwise happy, curious and engaged child and my chest tightened; what was a frustrated mama to do?! Breathe with me for a second, as I switch from mama mode to teacher mode.

In assessment, we want to ensure that what we end up measuring is actually what we intended to measure. Sometimes, because of implicit biases of its creators, the measurement instrument itself (e.g., the test) creates unintended “noise”, obfuscating the results. In standardized testing, for example, questions framed outside of one cultural set of norms result in poorer test scores; just a small change to reword it in a familiar cultural context, equalizes scores. This is just one example of one type of assessment bias, and because it holds to a single state of what is expected (an assumption that makes little sense in schools today), it unfairly discriminates against those unfamiliar with it.

In the same way, the classroom teacher wants to measure math proficiency with the test. But, if a child doesn’t understand or even see the questions, the resulting scores don’t measure proficiency with math. In the case of my child, the test measured, for example, his ability to hold a second instruction to a question in working memory, which we already know is impaired due to ADHD. Clearly differentiating the separate instructions through format, layout, numbers/letters or by highlighting is one small change that would help my child to demonstrate his proficiency at math, allowing the test to now measure what it set out to measure.

Given that the purpose of the assessment is to determine if my child knows and understands the math content and can demonstrate it accordingly, accommodations are in place to ensure any barriers that create “noise” in the results are removed. His accommodations include having the teacher go over/mark up the questions with him individually during the test to ensure he sees and understands all the questions. The same accommodations might apply to ESL students, for example. In addition, his accommodations include receiving a test that is laid out more clearly and formatted differently, where specific word cues are highlighted in some way, where there is a clear visual cue (such as an arrow) to indicate additional questions on the reverse side. The same accommodations might apply to a student with a visual impairment, for example. Additional small changes for assessing him include that he can be tested verbally, be assigned a scribe, take the test in a separate room and take additional time to complete.

Now, back to mama mode.

When my son came home that day, he dejectedly handed me his yellow assessment folder, head down and shoulders slumped; the sight of which broke my heart. But it wasn’t just this one test, anymore. The repeated experience of getting poor test results back, especially in subject areas in which he excels conceptually, had been chipping away at his confidence, self-esteem and self-efficacy. He was starting to dread school, and losing motivation to bother with schoolwork. The actual mark on this math test was never my concern, nor the impetus for acting. Rather, it was the excruciating realization, as both a teacher and parent, that schooling was destroying my child’s seemingly unquenchable thirst for learning.

I gave him a big hug and told him that there was a mistake with the test, and that it wasn’t set up in a way that allowed him to show his teacher what he actually knew. He seemed relieved that it wasn’t his own failing. I asked him if he’d prefer the teacher verbally test him on the questions he missed, and he lit up.

I sent an email to the teacher to ask if accommodations had been given for this test, and asked her to make one small change by re-assessing him verbally for this subject matter. Teachers, just like our children, are doing the best they can, and a gentle reminder, in the context of the partnership that has been consistently nurtured all year, is both kind and helpful, if your child isn’t getting the support they should be. Teachers have deep expertise in many areas, but you are the subject matter expert on your child’s needs. It is likely you hold key information that, once shared with the teacher, can make a world of difference to both teacher and student. You are your child’s advocate, cheerleader and protector - and your involvement in your child’s education is your right.

The next day I received a note from the teacher thanking me for the reminder about testing himverbally. That afternoon, he bounded off the bus, raced into my arms, yellow folder already in hand and head held high; my tiny professor had aced the test.