It is officially the season of “Testing—Do Not Disturb” signs, silent hallways and graveyards of bookbags outside doors. If you walk through any school hallway right now, you’ll feel the quiet but heavy tension hanging in the air. The colorful bulletin boards are covered in blank butcher paper, and the walls that once held anchor charts, word walls and student work are bare. State testing season is back, and the air in our communities and classrooms is thick with expectation.
For parents, this time of year means navigating the unexpected dread of a third-grader who tells you, “Mom, I got tired of reading, so I just went to find the answers.” (Yes, mine literally told me that.) It means the nightly mental math of deciding if skipping soccer practice translates into more rest and better scores, and the delicate morning dance of ensuring everyone has breakfast and is in the “right headspace” before morning drop-off.
For teachers, this is a season of pure endurance. There is the exercise of pacing the room for hours while working hard not to look at screens, all while ensuring students remain focused. They offer silent smiles of encouragement while carrying the internal weight of knowing that these few hours will be used to measure a year’s worth of their professional heart and soul. Then there is the Herculean feat of keeping a classroom full of students, who’ve been stationary for half a day, silent until the rest of the hall is done testing.
But it is the students who carry the heaviest weight. They’ve been told since the first days of the school year how important these few days of spring are to them, their teachers, their school and their community. It is a narrative woven into every daily lesson. The “Mississippi Miracle” rests in deliberate clicks on their iPads. They are the protagonists of a national success story.
State testing season amplifies stress, expectations and self-doubt.
So here is a bit of a pep talk for all of us.
To our teachers: You are doing a magnificent job. Your impact goes infinitely further than a data set. Tests can’t measure the kindness a student showed a friend on the playground because you taught character. It doesn’t recognize the confidence you instilled in the neurodivergent child sitting alone in the corner who finally feels seen in your classroom.
To our parents: You are the anchor that your children need. Don’t allow them to drift into anxiety. Simply remind them that they are capable and supported. They need to know that regardless of the score, you are their biggest fan. Ten years from now, our children won’t remember their test scores. They will remember that when they were “tested out,” they were met with a hug.
To our students: You are so much more than a score on the test. You are budding artists, athletes, journalists and dreamers. The test may measure your progress but not your potential. It cannot report on the resilience you show when you master juggling on the soccer field or a plié in dance practice. You are showing courage just by showing up and doing your best, and we are immensely proud. The miracle isn’t in the score on the iPad, but in YOU, the brilliant student behind it.
So in the coming weeks, let’s all take a breath. Let’s lead with a little extra grace and a bit more patience. This season matters, but how we move through it matters even more.
This MFP Voices opinion essay reflects the personal opinion of its author(s). The column does not necessarily represent the views of the Mississippi Free Press, its staff or board members. To submit an opinion for the MFP Voices section, send up to 1,200 words and sources fact-checking the included information to voices@mississippifreepress.org. We welcome a wide variety of viewpoints.
