Three days of state testing. This time, science. I'm proctoring in the LGI (that's Large Group Instrucution / Institution). Fifty two kids. Yesterday, during the first test, one of the students used his test book to draw an extremely large image of female genitalia.
Then, he was all work, all business; like he needed to draw a really big vagina before he could settle down to the task of testing.
But he was too on task; taking too much time on a set of test questions that should've only taken him minutes to complete. He's that smart. Probably could be #1 in his class; worst case, with minimal effort, #4. He's that smart.
Testing is a joke for him; a big political cluster-fudge developed by morons, distributed by fools, and proctored by mental midgets.
So there was little to no surprise that the forty minutes of "on-task" writing turned out to be less-than scientific.
Oh, the vagina stories! Labia haikus. Uterus-inspired sonnets. Reports from the vulva. And every poem, every story, dealt with some form of visitation, from guests alive to guests plastic.
Needless to say, he refused to take the second test today. I doubt he would spend as much time crafting such vibrant, detailed prose about male anatomy.
I will miss you, vagina-drawing boy, but in truth, that sentiment is as sincere as your approach to every facet of school.
In the meantime, I'll think about the other fifty one students. They deserve as much attention, as much support, and as much positivism that I've seen heaped upon you over the years from every one in this building.
There's only so many times you can shove a vagina in our faces.