My daughter is in the process of applying to vet schools. It’s a highly competitive field, and though there is currently a national shortage of veterinarians, there are only so many slots in each university’s program. Maybe because I was Riley’s teacher for so many years, I feel extremely responsible for her performance in college, and I have a hard time not being protective of her future. There are so many things I’d like schools to know about her, things that test scores and transcripts won’t tell them. I seriously had to fight the urge to write to them and tell them what the transcript won’t! Rather than be that mom, I wrote out what I would say to the schools admissions office if I could.
I wish Riley’s application could tell you that she’s a hard worker, that as a young dancer with seemingly little natural ability she trained with great discipline for years until she finally achieved leading roles in her senior ballet performances.
I wish Riley’s application could tell you that she worked so hard, she danced most of her senior year on a broken ankle, which resulted in such pain and frustration in her freshman year of college that she made very poor life decisions, was placed on academic probation, and ended up having ankle reconstruction surgery.
I wish Riley’s application could tell you that she recognized the bad choices she’d made her first semester, and then disciplined herself to study and work hard to pull up her grades to where they are now. It’s a long climb from the bottom. She has fought to pull herself up out of her GPA hole.
I wish Riley’s application could tell you that her mom, who was her teacher for most of her elementary and high school years, likely over-emphasized faith, character and personal growth over test scores and grades, possibly putting Riley at a disadvantage for future academic pursuits.
I wish Riley’s application could tell you that she has worked several part-time jobs while in college, while also navigating the emotional toll of the pandemic and relationship struggles.
I wish Riley’s application could tell you that she’s loved animals from the day she was born, and she will do whatever it takes to make it in this field.
But those things aren’t objective, are they? How do you measure character traits like hard work and determination? How do you measure someone’s intuitiveness and wit? I understand the tendency to feel as though we need to have an objective measurement to assess the academic fitness of prospective students applying for rigorous programs of study. And yet, are we certain that tests themselves are always objective? Could it be that they give the illusion of objectivity but in reality only offer consistency?
Writing for the National Education Policy Center, Steven Singer argues that standardized tests demonstrate only how well you think like the test makers. “What we take for objectivity is actually just consistency.
Since we give the same tests to every student in a given state, they show the same things about all students. Unfortunately, that isn’t learning. It’s like-mindedness. It’s the ability to conform to one particular way of thinking about things.”
He says, “Objective means something not influenced by personal feelings or opinions. It is a fact – a provable proposition about the world. An objective test would be drawing someone’s blood and looking for levels of nutrients like iron and B vitamins. These nutrients are either there or not. A standardized test is not like that at all. It tries to take a series of skills in a given subject like reading and reduce them to multiple choice questions. The answer does not avoid human influences or feelings.
If you’re asking something simple like the addition or subtraction of two numbers or for readers to pick out the color of a character’s shirt in a passage, you’re probably ok. However, the more advanced and complex the skill being assessed, the more it has to be dumbed down so that it will be able to be answered with A, B, C or D…..it assesses how well the test taker’s influences and feelings line up with those of the test maker. If they aren’t thinking like the test maker, they are wrong. If they are, they are right.
(https://nepc.colorado.edu/blog/standardized)
It would be my hope that institutions of higher learning would come to realize that determining which students get accepted and which do not based on a series of “objective” measures like test scores and grades is not only quenching students’ desire to learn, but it’s also preventing some from achieving their dreams and never fully reaching their potential.
Those are the things I’d like to say to the people reading her application. Of course, I can’t say those things. And so I pray. Come to think of it, the desire to say those things to the schools is the desire to be in control of Riley’s future, to act as though I know what’s best for her. It’s an attempt to put faith in myself, in my ability to persuade someone, in Riley’s abilities as a student and as a person. Ultimately, that is displaying a lack of trust that God is in control of Riley’s future. He knows what is best. Can’t He work in spite of whatever shortcomings I fear schools will see? If He’s big enough to uphold the universe by the word of His power (see Hebrews 1:3) can’t He be trusted with every detail of our lives?