" More Than a Test Score"

When it comes to standardized testing, children either view it as a good thing or a bad thing. Either their scores will help them in the future, or it will make them suffer yet another year in another sad attempt to make a good score. From A.C.T.’s- C.S.A.P.’s, kids have been under the standardized testing blanket all their lives. The scores can mean funding for schools, or getting into decent colleges for students who aspire to hold a nice job one day. The country focuses so much energy on testing that it often loses sight of the issues that hide in the creases of this testing blanket. If the school scores poorly, does this mean that it will be another long year without new books? If a child scores poorly, does this mean another year with self-doubt in their abilities? Does it mean they will not make it into a good college? Removing all standardized testing would relieve the stress on so many individuals. Colleges would have to look at future students’ effort, rather than their test scores. State governments would have to pay each school an equal amount of money so that all schools had proper learning tools. Standardized testing appears as a thorn in the country’s side that needs removal, and fast.

CSAPS. The very sound of the word can make any third through tenth grader muster up their gag reflex. CSAP stands for “Colorado Student Assessment Program’.Seems rather self-explanatory, but this test does not take place over a single day. It’s a weeklong program that takes away from student and teacher class time. Teachers and principals urge their students to take the testing seriously, for the schools funding stands at stake if the scores do not meet state standards. Putting children under pressure to make good grades so that they can afford new history book the next year seems unfair. Schools need sufficient funding right now to meet the children’s needs. The government rewards the high-scoring schools with a good wad of cash, and leaves the low-scorers in the dust to search for their own money. Schools that do not score so well need the money to improve their educating process. Tests like CSAP do not only punish schoolteachers, but their students as well, which is why they need to be remove from the state education curriculum.

Money doesn’t stand alone as an issue. Making children feel like they aren’t worth it appears to have come from standardized testing. Unfortunately, in America, people do not seem to value hard work in other fields like sports or the arts alongside core skills like math, reading and writing, history, etc. Schools are forced into teaching in a very left-brained, logical and concrete form of teaching because they must follow state rules. This doesn’t give the more right brained, creative thinkers a place to breathe, and a chance to grow. A teacher in this very school mentioned the fact that the country is losing its creativity and abstract thinking to standardized tests like CSAP. Scientists, doctors, and mathematicians hold high status in this country, and that is not a bad thing. But what will the country do when they need someone to think up the next technological advancement for the military? Sure, any scientist can do this, but all scientists need abstract and creative thinking in order to accomplish their jobs. The whole, “yes means yes” and “no means no” thinking needs to be tackled now, and thanks to standardized testing, the future looks grim for a creative America.

Upon receiving their test scores, kids will instantly compare themselves to others around them. If they got a high score on the English portion, but a rather low score on the math portion, they might continue to score poorly in math, and grow in English. Why? Kids take the fact that they did not do so hot on math and immediately tear themselves down about it. “What’s the point in even trying? I’m never going to do good in math.” They will not take that test score and think, ”Oh! Maybe if I push myself harder, next year, my score might get better!” These tests are given in a time of adolescent and pre-teen insecurity, and making kids see that they suffer in one area, especially on tests that receive such high status will make them feel that they can’t do anything right. Sad as it sounds, it’s all very true.

When high school students begin their search for colleges, they must have their A.C.T. and S.A.T. scores to apply. Colleges literally look at these scores first, and then decide, based on the scores, whether or not a kid is worthy for their school. This seems rather unfair, especially when to every kid, there is a background and a reason for their test scores. A kid who did average on their A.C.T.’s or S.A.T.’s may have a problem with taking tests. Maybe they score quite high on classroom assignments and discussions, but when a test comes along, they just can’t seem to make the grade. Or maybe a kid simply does poorly in academics, yet they excel in athletics or the arts. Colleges look at these factors after they look at test scores. In fact, test scores tend to be asked for first before extracurriculars. If testing were removed from the education system, colleges would have to get to know their potential students, rather than just look at the scores and pass or fail them based on those criteria.

A lot goes into a single child. They can have a gift in one thing, and no gift in the other. Maybe acting is their forte, yet science sits center stage as the antagonist in their school performance. Maybe the kid scores well in football, but not as well in reading. Does this make the child any less talented? This country needs to rethink their education system. If children really are the future, then standardized testing is doing a great job in depleting the future. Kids need encouragement, and school need money. Testing only makes accomplishing these goals that much harder.

What a Steal!

There it sat. The last Christmas teddy bears on sale for $3.99, sitting on a destroyed Dillard’s rack. The woman eyed her surroundings, nerves on the rise, suspicion leaking from her pores. The lonely jeans were meant for this woman. Taking a step forward, her eyes darted to another flurried woman to her left. She, too, wanted these jeans. Within an instant, an all-out race began toward the rack. Swimming through crowds, tripping over small children, and falling over strollers, anything to get to that bear. Three feet away, two feet away, one-foot away- both women dived like lionesses, hands and arms stretched, and growls and grunts irrupting from their throats. But the bear disappeared from sight. Lying on the ground, the two women stared around ferociously until their pupils landed on a woman who had slipped off with the last Christmas teddy bear.
Black Friday, the shopping day to end all shopping days all started with the post-World War Two era. Most department stores back then had to order items several months in advance in order to get them by the holiday season. After the war, the department stores has ordered way too much, and when Thanksgiving rolled around, they would try and get rid of some merchandise. This would also help fight the debt that these stores seemed to have around this time. Why has this day traditionally arrived after Thanksgiving Day? The holiday season truly begins with Thanksgiving because people have come to realize that Christmas, Chanukah, and other holidays are coming soon, and the frantic panic sets in. ‘Does Aunt Marge own a pearl necklace? Does Andy have a pea-coat already?’ Department stores and other mall shops, little boutiques and even grocery stores notice the panic, and plan out drastic sales for worried shoppers. They will send out little mailers in the mail, and put inserts in local newspapers the day before and on Black Friday so that shoppers can compare which stores have the better deals. Some sales start early in the morning, some do progressive discounts, where the percentage off an item increases hourly or bi-hourly. Twenty-five, fifty, seventy-five, even ninety percent off deals for bed sheets, fruitcakes, and limited edition Febreze sprays can be seen throughout shops on Black Friday. Register lines back up and wrap around stores. Employees run around trying to keep the peace and make sure their valued customers do not lose their minds. These sales save many from spending too much on holiday presents, and happening across a new book for only five dollars can be quite exciting as well. Because the massive surplus in items after World War Two, and the sales that developed from that surplus, people have been flocking to stores for next-to-nothing deals on gifts.
The biggest problem is when people see great deals on items, they often get a bit crazy. Some will even spend the money on items that they would have never bought before, only because they are on super-sale. Plastic flamingoes with Santa hats, paper napkins with pine trees on them, and socks in bulk packs; if they’re on sale, people will buy it. Based on this thought process, stored catch onto this and advertise amazing sales, and when Black Friday ends, the stores are rolling in the cash. This year, shops are under pressure to create the best deals ever, because the recession has taken quite the toll on the American public. Because the sales and the people, it has become known as dangerous. In fact, last year on Black Friday, a Wal-Mart greeter was trampled to death by sale-thirsty shoppers. He opened the doors, and was flattened because the shoppers had to get to the sales, and they had to get there fast. Along with this man’s death, four others were injured including an eight-month pregnant woman. The views on human attitudes were questioned that day. How could a crowd risk so many lives to save money on an iPod? Stores all over America hire more security officers just for Black Friday, but even excess amounts of officers cannot stop a crowd’s fury for cheap stuff. The question is, will it be worse this year? Will the recession make people even more malicious over shopping? Black Friday sales have introduced a prime example where humans can take on savage attitudes in the name of gift giving.
It all started with post- World War Two holiday sales, which led to decades and decades of worried shoppers. These shoppers created a day where people either love or hate it. Love it: the sales are to die for! Hate it: death and utter destruction can occur if one is not careful. The crowds, and the exhaustion, death, and sales that come from Black Friday can make anyone both enjoy or resent the day after Thanksgiving. Driving around town to early bird specials at Kohl’s and Gordmans, fighting for that last teddy bear at Dillard’s; Black Friday brings out the best and the worst in human nature. Human’s flock to sales like flies on trash. If a crowd can kill a single man just for a sale, then yes, human nature has a right to be questioned. Black Friday sounds fun, and really, its not that bad, but when someone is killed, or when two women fight over a mere teddy bear that might just sit around and collect dust on a child’s bed in the future, then where is the fun in that? Black Friday: it’s no longer just a shopping day; it’s a shopping day on steroids.

"Raindrops revised"

I was three years old. Outside my Washington apartment was a swing-set. But it was raining. My cabin fever had set in, so I asked Mom if I could play outside. After a five-minute debate on the conditions outside, she let me go. With my shoes on, out the door I went. The world was dripping with emerald and dew. At the swing-set was a boy. I stopped and waited, remembering that it was polite to wait, to be invited. He then looked at me and garbled, “You going to swing or what?” Immediately I was on the swing next to him, my legs performing in a pendulum motion.Just then, the boy looked above my head in horror. I lifted my head and saw a huge, ugly spider. I slid off the swing, and like a knight, he crushed that spider with a stick. Tearing at the web, the silk enveloped the stick like cotton candy. After saving my life from the spider, he dashed home. Hot on his heals, I cried, ”Come back my hero!: My first crush was not long lived. After a quick chase, he slipped into his apartment, locked the door and stuck his tongue out at me.

This memory foreshadowed my future. To this day, I am terrified of spiders and I still do not have luck with the men. I suppose the moral of this memory is “Along came the spider that sat down beside her, and she frightened that poor boy away.”

Kanikanihia’s Love Versus God’s Law

In the event that a new culture comes into another culture’s territory faces a challenge with drastic changes. Experiencing new cultures, using scare tactics to sway lives, and teaching new ideas all curve an ancient culture. All these, combined with receiving an award such as eternal life with God transformed an entire Hawaiian village. The movie “Hawaii” showed how all these processes changed an entire culture. Occurrences such as this have happened several times throughout history.
One way to influence a culture can happen through experience. The only way to understand the culture can come about when one lives like a native. One cannot comprehend an entire race based on previous assumptions. Reverend Abner assumed that all Hawaiians had savage ways and did not understand anything intellectual. He found out, when living amongst the natives, the people simply did things in a different manner, and did not contain any savagery. Abner and his followers landed on the shore to an excited and welcoming crowd. Women and girls hopped on the American boat and greeted the newcomers, (all mostly shirtless). This happened like an everyday thing for the Hawaiians. They had always had a welcoming bone in their bodies that the New Englander’s viewed as “savage”. Reverend Abner viewed this as taboo, and managed to find a way to convert the Hawaiian’s into Christians using their thought processes.
This has occurred so many times throughout history. When the English settles in North America, they had a goal to change the Native’s ways in social and religious aspects. If they resisted the change, they were killed. They either had to change or die from resisting. The English folk had grown up in a different world, one that they saw as “correct”. In order to achieve “correctness”, people had to accept Christianity as the prime religion, they had to own land, and they had to obtain an important role in society at some point. The Native Americans certainly had nothing to do with Christianity, they refused to own land, because all land was meant to share, and yes, they did have prominent members in their tribes, but not prominent members in societies. This had to change, because the English settlers would simply not have it. To explore a culture unlike ours can bring about change in the person’s perception in other people. Abner, with his ways set in stone, still managed to understand that he could not change an entire culture. But he continued to teach his ways, only to those who wanted to listen. If Abner had acted like the English settlers, an entire culture would have almost died out.
Another way to sway a culture comes through scare tactics. Reverend Abner seemed to have this mastered and alarmed many followers with fear. He flat out told the Hawaiians that if they did not believe in Christianity, they would forever fry in eternal damnation, taunted by the Devil himself. The Hawaiians could not practice their old ways, such as carrying out incest, worshipping multiple Gods, or even wearing small clothing amounts, for if they did, they would die and go to Hell.
At around the same time in history, many settlers in the United States had made their rounds, trying to convert all Native Americans to the “American” way, or they would be forced to. With events such as the Trail of Tears, Natives got shoved around for who they were. The settlers in America had a plan for expanding the land, but the Natives acted as a pustule on the plan. The pesky Natives had to get moved somewhere in order to move to the west. Natives had to be moved to new places in order to make room for expansions. If they converted, they could live through all the turmoil, but if they did not, they would be moved.
Manipulation can also come from teaching. People can teach anyone with an open mind pretty much anything. Abner and his colleagues used education to teach the younger, Hawaiian children God’s word through storytelling and average, everyday reading and arithmetic. The children, easy to persuade, had an effortless time compared to their elders, for they had open minds. If applied to today, children from all over can obtain information that others from different backgrounds feed them. Telling a youngster something mind-boggling can make that child believe it. God’s word and the Bible stories amazed the Hawaiian children; therefore they deemed God and the Bible as real.
Abner and his associates managed to do some good for the Hawaiians. When the sailors came along, they acted in a raunchy manner and raped a few girls. Their ocean life did not proved their sexual needs, so when set loose on an island full with women, they could not help themselves. Abner wiped those ideas from the sailor’s minds. He explained with force how wrong rape was, and convinced the Hawaiian women to no longer flaunt their stuff for these sailors.
Abner also inspired his wife, Jarosha, to have more sympathy toward children. With the baby with the spotted face’s birth, tradition held that these babies had a curse. This meant that it had to die. Jarosha and her people were not use to this idea, and convinced the Hawaiians to allow these babies to live, despite their birth defects. Jarosha saved several kids from death.
Cultures do influence other cultures through drastic changes. “Hawaii” proved this as obvious. Reverend Abner may have influenced a culture, but the culture also influenced him. Abner learned to have an excepting heart, even if it took his wife dying to make that happen. He had learned to embrace people with God, rather than scare them with God. The Hawaiians accepted the Americans with open arms and taught the Americans the same idea. “Hawaii”, once again, modeled how culture can win over another culture.

Flight of the Muslim

It was September of 2004. A man with graying beard, dawning a long robe in very neutral coloring and a twenty-one year old daughter were boarding a plane bound for America. After going through security, he settled into his seat, preparing for his visit with a woman who called herself Dolly Parton. With his fantastic background in music and his recent religious switch, he was ready to take on yet another step with his life, but all that would change abruptly. After crossing the Atlantic, the plane made an unexpected stop at Maine’s Bangor International Airport. Was this just a pit stop? This man with the beard did not pay attention to any reasoning for the stop. He sat back and relaxed, waiting to continue on his journey.

When the plane parked, a few rather stern looking guards walked back toward the bearded man. Concern soon made its presence when the guards removed the man and his daughter from the plane with haste. Confusion set in when he was taken to a room with FBI agents. They had a few serious questions for the bearded man. What about his meeting with Dolly? He was going to be late, and he was supposed to be in Nashville soon.

The questioning began: Why do you think your name is on the Border Protection List? What are your connections with Muslim terrorist groups? After all
the questioning, he was told he was refused entry into the country, based on the fact that he was on a terrorist watch list. The next day, the bearded man and his daughter were sent back to London without much of an explanation for what had happened in Maine. The bearded man did, however, have a small connection with a terrorist group. He was, in fact, accused of supporting a fundamentalist terrorist group. Whether that is actually true or not was in question, but it was enough to ban him from Israel. Whatever the motives may have been, he is officially not allowed into the United States because he is on the “no-fly” list.

In contrast, the bearded Muslim man also has connections to charities and today is called a humanitarian. He started several Muslim schools in London without the funding of the British Government. At the peak of his musical career, he gave up music and sold all of his material possessions, and ended up giving up much of his earnings to children’s charities in third-world countries. His work in countries such as Bosnia, Iran, the Sudan, Palestine, and even Indonesia has been considered nothing short of saintly. His songwriting continues to this day. He mainly writes music for children and the Muslim faith. It seems that this harmless man was misunderstood. Although his past has been invaded by controversy, the bearded man, who had once captured the entire world with his voice, and his music has done everything to promote peace, love, and kindness amongst all nations. His support for any sort of terrorist group, fact or fiction, does not persist. The bearded man in a long neutral colored robe, is Yusuf Islam, the man who once was a folk artist with top performers like Jimi Hendrix. But the rest world may know him by his stage name, Cat Stevens.

My Adventures with the Whale

I was racing through the lava pit. On my left was a cross-eyed, purple rabbit holding a balloon, and to the right, a shoe flapping his tongue. The gate standing before me would allow me to gain access to the creature that stole my carrots. A narwhal with a severed horn held the keys to the gate. I asked him in a hurried tone,” Please, let me through! That whale stole my carrots!” In a timid fashion, he handed me the keys and boomed” You may pass.” In through the gates I stepped, and-

Oh. What is this puddle I’m laying in? Is this- is this drool? Once again, I have woken up in a lake of my own spit. Well, isn’t this perfect? Then I realize that my arm has fallen asleep. My fingers feel fatter than normal, so I lift my arm to empty my poor hand of the excess blood that was pumping through my veins. My eyes remain open as I take one deep breath, and smile. I can feel a supple, and inviting comfort embrace my feet. The barely noticeable, vanilla scent warms my senses as I turn and curl up in a thick blanket and manage myself into the fetal position. This is my preferred place, the only space where I can dream my worries away. Inspiration for future paintings begins here. This is my bed. It may come to a surprise to you.
Most often write about far-away places, some may write about sights they visited in their childhood. But my bed is my get-away. Where do I go to do my homework? What the one place I resort to when I cannot take any more stress from the day? My cozy, twin bed is my oyster.

My bed is an antique. When I was seven-years old, my grandma presented me with an antique bed made from a darker wood. The headboard has a flower bouquet painted and glazed right where I lay my head at night. The bed is about one hundred years old, and I think when my grandma set up that bed for the first time, I felt some connection to it. Whenever I laid in it, I felt as if someone was watching over me. Most do not believe me when I say this, but I can see spirits and ghosts. That bed must have a spiritual connection, because when I lay in my bed, I immediately feel someone’s presence. I am not afraid though, because I know that whoever is there is just watching over me. My bed has a story that I wish I could find out.

This bed is where I dream. The dreams I have are drawn into a sketchbook. That sketchbook inspires my art pieces. I do believe that dreams have a lot to do with my artwork, and I can thank my bed for that. One of my most recent paintings has a young girl glancing in the faces of several, human figures that closely resemble the muscle-bodies found in anatomy books. The young girl looks innocent, but is awaiting her doom. This painting derived from a dream I had at the beginning of this year about a young child facing several people that did not have good news for her. I do not, however, know what the bad news was. But, my bed does influence my dreams. If my bed weren’t as comfortable as it was, I think that my dreams would be non-existent, seeing as I would be tossing an turning the whole night trying to get comfortable, rather than soundly sleeping and enjoy the moving picture in my head.

When I get home from a trying day at school, my bed is what I immediately flop down upon for either a quick nap, or even to just read a great book. If I have a great deal of homework, I sit back against my pillows and crack out the books. The peace that bed brings to me alleviates the stress from the day so that I can muse over the work in front of me with ease. At times, though, I find myself drifting off to sleep. I will wake up two hours later and notice that I had accomplished nothing from my homework assignments.

I roll over onto my back and stare at the ceiling, waiting for myself to become drowsy again. I can hear my clock ticking on my wall. I shuffle onto my left side to see what time my alarm clock reads. It is 3:46 a.m. With a lengthy sigh, I return to my back and stare at the Chinese lantern above my head. My comforter is lying loose on my body, and grazing the sides of my face. That same vanilla fragrance brushes my nose, and my eyes are beginning to get heavy. I hurry to adjust my pillow, and then curl up into my fetal position with the comforter wrapped tightly around my body. My head stirs around in my pillow until it has the utmost support for a good night’s sleep. Once I am satisfied, I begin to breathe in deep. With one, final yawn, I start to drift into a uninterrupted slumber. Let the dream I was having carry on.

Now where was I? Ah yes. In through the gates I stepped, and there before me, stood the whale. He was a great beast, colossal in stature and covered in water beads. “Mr. Whale. I want my carrots back!” I shout at the whale. With a booming shriek, he opened his whopping mouth like a Pez-Dispenser and the carrots began to pour out in great heaps. When the whale finished his episode, he turned to me, gave me an enormous smile, and continued on his way. He flopped off into the sunset, and several white Sea gulls flew behind him. I returned to the gates with my bundle of carrots. The narwhal locked the gate behind me and told me to be on my way. I obeyed and walked back the way I came, past the talking, but now sleeping shoe, and past the purple bunny with a balloon. The lava pit was now one big, black rock. I turned to say goodbye to the bunny and the shoe, but I tripped over something rather peculiar. It was a- beep, beep, beep, beep. I turn over to switch off my alarm clock.

Raindrops on Roses and Spiders on My Swing

Raindrops on Roses and Spiders on My Swing

I just wanted to play outside. The rain slapped against my apartment’s windows, as it had done all day, and soaked the outside world of Tacoma. That was always the case in upstate-Washington. I was three years old and all dressed up with nowhere to go. Mom was taking care of my brother, Zane and I had colored every single coloring book into a wax overload. My teddy bears and dolls were as bored as I was. But, even after all the provided entertainment, I still wanted to play outside.

A swing-set was situated in the middle of all the apartment complexes, next to a couple of drenched trees and several rain puddles. My cabin fever had hit its peak, so I asked my busy mom if I could play outside on the swing-set. She said yes after much debating. “It’s still raining Karley. Wait until the rain stops!” But, being the darling princess I was, I finally got my way. I threw my shoes on and dashed out my door. The rain splashed against my face, and every step I took involved a sudden “splishhhh” from a water-filled pothole. Everything around me gleamed in emerald and jade, coated with dew. It was the perfect day to fly on a swing.

There was a boy, who at the time seemed ages older than me. He was probably only six years old, but that was a whole three years older than me. The time concept was not completely developed during my third year. Once I had gotten about five feet away from the glorious swing-set. I stopped suddenly. I was taught not to invite myself into other people’s business unless they said it was okay. So there I sat, staring at this boy that was in his own world. After what seemed like ages, he glanced down at me with an annoyed look and garbled,” You going to swing or what?” Almost immediately, I was on the rubber seat right next to him, ready to feel the adrenaline from the swing. I moved my body and legs about in a pendulum motion and got myself going. After about a two-minute struggle, I was up in the air, kicking the leaves from the tree’s branch nearest to me.

I pointed my feet into the air and let myself hang loosely onto the ropes. The sun was starting to poke his shiny face through the clouds. As the light hit the tree, the leaves seemed to glow with the same delight I had in my heart. I kicked a branch full of foliage and watched the water droplets free-fall toward the earth. The boy next to me was acting like a rocket ship, squealing the phrase,” Blast off!” every time he moved outward. I watched the mud and grass zip beneath me, and my shoelace was hanging limply; the threat of my converse slipping off my foot loomed, but I did not care in the least bit. I was happy.

The rain was starting up again, when I heard a short gasp from the boy next to me. Startled from my dreamlike concentration, my eyes darted to his with worry. The look on the boy’s face was nothing short of terror. My body went from slack to stiff with concern. “What’s wrong?” I asked. His eyes were gaping at the chains above my head. Then he lifted his hand and pointed upward. I slowly gazed at the unknown spectacle directly over me. There, hanging on a thin, perfectly knitted web, was the biggest, most disgusting spider I had ever seen. Keeping my eyes glued to the spider, I slowly slinked myself off the swing onto the grass, and crab walked backwards in sheer dread. The boy leaped off his swing and grabbed an extra-long stick. With a look of valor, he jabbed the stick into the web with gusto. The web enveloped the stick like cotton candy, with a spider dangling from the tip. He then whisked the stick away, but the spider managed to repel off the stick onto my swing. Next, the tricky arachnid floated onto the ground, and revved forward into a spidery sprint.

Squash!

I jerked my head toward the noise to see a yellow-ish puddle with spider legs. I felt my mouth frown in disgust at the display. He seemed proud of his work, and turned to me in triumph. “There. I’m going home. Bye!” Then he started to skip toward his apartment. I have to say, I think that was the first time I had experienced what all my friends were talking about: a crush. I picked myself up off the ground, brushed myself off, and then sprinted after him. He was my hero and he had saved me from impending doom. “Wait! Wait!” I cried. The minute he saw me chasing after him, he broke out into a complete dash. I ran faster and faster, but the boy was too quick for me. He ran into his apartment and slammed the door behind him. Then he stuck his face into the window and laughed. I had been defeated.

For the half hour that followed the chase, I whined and shouted at the apartment building, begging the boy to come out and play with me. If some unsuspecting soul were to walk by this scene, a young girl asking a building to play with her, surely they would have thought I was insane. But that meany-head continued to ignore my request. My voice was beginning to ware away, and my lungs were tired as well. After another ten minutes, I gave up and loped home with sorrow.

This early memory of mine foreshadowed my future. To this day, I am absolutely terrified of bugs with eight legs or more. Also, I still do not have a whole ton of luck with the opposite gender. I suppose the moral to this memory is, “Along came the spider that sat down beside her, and she frightened that poor boy away.”