First was a sick satisfaction at grading a retest. It's a requisite and it's required to give the exact same damn test to the exact same --mm-- buffleheads who move past plain stupid, past unlucky, to ardent and willful numbskullery.
Dumb is getting a 10 out of 20 after spending six weeks on six lines of dialogue that are hashed out in 4-option multiple choice questions. I'll post the test later.
Unlucky is anything from 5-10: at that range, the kids are just guessing. But to get 3 or 4 out of 20 when the entire test is a variation on 1) what is your name 2) how old are you 3) where do you live 4) what do you like? takes a special drive toward underachievement.
Enter the odd sort of joyous revulsion when test after test dropped from 5 or 6 to 4. FOUR out of TWENTY on the retest! And of the few dozen that started from a 4, only 3 improved: a 6, 8, and 18. And of the remainder, at least HALF of the people who scored 20% on an ABCD multiple-choice test dropped.
Think about it. Considering the scope of the language, what does it take to get 2 answers right, especially since these kids have been studying-AND PASSING-English for at least seven years?
I laughed and cheered out loud when I graded a paper worth one point.
The other instance of a horrible joy came while playing my recorder. It's a perverse thrill that I can play the hell out of the thing and get a full, rich sound all through the range. Especially in the stratosphere.
But even as I cringe away from the aural icepicks, I love the feelings and emotions upholding the sounds, love that I'm creating such movement, and don't flinch even as I promise myself to buy the first alto or tenor recorder I see.
Sent from Brutus the iPad
I'm glad you found an instrument that 1) fits in any car, 2) doesn't bother the neighbors and 3) doesn't require a gold mouthpiece to keep your lips from falling off.
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