How do you quantify writing? Personally, I think it’s impossible to categorize someone’s writing into a numerical score based on a set of truly objective standards. However, the District 24 school district seemed to disagree with me, because between kindergarten and the second grade, P.S. 229 had a peculiar system in place to evaluate a student’s reading and writing capabilities beyond the classic multiple choice standardized exam.

            Everyone started at a reading level A, and over the course of four years, would be promoted to higher levels until they reached the level Z. Every two months or so, we would be individually taken out of class by the classroom teacher to complete some readings and verbally answer some questions about what we read. Following this assessment of open-ended prompts, you would either be promoted to a new level, remain at the same level, or be demoted. During the start of the second grade, I was settling into the new classroom and getting to know the new teacher I had, Ms. Longo. Low and behold, assessment time rolled around.

            “Vic! Can you come here?” Ms. Longo asked from the secluded book corner as I was sitting at my desk “diligently” working on my worksheet. I walked over next to the cozy bookshelves filled with classics like The Magic Treehouse and tried to get comfortable in the extremely small stool. After giving me a short reading passage, Ms. Longo asked me some questions about what I thought the character was feeling in the scene, why I thought the character was feeling that way, and more. The questions felt more open-ended than usual, but I still felt that I was answering them correctly. While telling her my thoughts, I was thinking about how she wasn’t reacting to anything I was saying, maintaining a poker face, but I wrote it off as something I was misinterpreting. After a couple of minutes, the assessment ended without her telling me if I was right or wrong, and I was feeling pretty good about my answers.

            About two weeks later, the end of the first marking period rolled around, and I was eager to get my report card and see if I could use my grades to get some extra screen time. At the end of the first grade, my report card was relatively good, so I had high hopes for this new report card I was about to receive. My school used the 1-4 grading scale (1 being the lowest and 4 being the highest), and on my report card, I usually saw mostly fours and some threes.

            “Settle down, class!” Ms. Longo exclaimed in a deep commanding voice as she walked around the classroom handing out the orange manilla folders that determined if we cheered or cried that night. Being overly energetic, I wrapped my hand around the cold steel desk leg and gripped tightly in anticipation. The sound of heels clicking against the hardwood cut through the sound of chatter from my classmates freaking out or celebrating about the grades they got until I finally saw the infamous orange manilla folder outstretched in front of me. Automatically, I tuned out everyone as I held the surprisingly rough folder. After undoing the cheaply made metal fastener, I meticulously pulled out the flimsy piece of copy paper that held my grades and screen time hostage.

            A two?! I thought to myself, how did I get a two?! I couldn’t believe my eyes. Not only did I now lose screen time instead of gain it, but I started to question my own capabilities. During the assessment, I felt like I conveyed my thoughts in a clear manner with explanations that were easy to comprehend, but it seemed like my teacher disagreed. What made me question my abilities wasn’t the score itself, but rather the decline in score compared to previous report cards. In my eyes, this new score told me that I was slipping and that I was simply just bad at reading and writing now.

            Although I did pull up this grade the following marking period, my mindset changed from that point onward. The fun was sucked out of reading and writing, because all I could think about was how to improve my grade. How do I improve my grammar? How do I follow the rubric better? These thoughts always crowded my mind in English classes moving forward, killing any interest I had in reading and writing. I understand the need for grades to quantify progress, but I wish that it was done in a way that focused on how to help me rather than ostracizing me for my failures.