4/16/18to4/17/18PSSAMathTestMr.Kochis-7thGradeReading4/18/18Day3ATB:What’sGoingOninThisPicture?

Type 1: After looking closely at the image above, answer the three questions below in one paragraph. Answer in Google Classroom 1. What is going on in this picture?

2. What do you see that makes you say that? 3. What more can you find?

https://nyti.ms/2vrDglwActivities:1.Type1:ReadtheCollegeApplicationEssaysofNick,Aaron,NigelandZach.Chooseyourfavoriteessay.Inoneparagraphexplainwhyitisyourfavoriteessay.AnswerinGoogleClassroom.2.CompleteTenPercentSummarySheetfor“QuadrupletsOfferCollegesPackageDeal,HarvardandYaleBuyIt.”SeeWorksheetbelow.FinalanswerswillbesubmittedusingGoogleForms.3.SearchforNYTimesarticlesforyourFoundPoems.Obj.1.Evaluatecollegeapplicationessays.2.Summarizeanonfictionarticle.

NICK

“Wade. Wade. Wade. Wade,” shouted my football coach as he called roll at breakneck

speed.

“Here,” we sounded in unison.

A chorus of laughter erupted. Every day, the coach made this joke, and every day, the

whole team laughed as if it were the funniest thing ever. I never found it funny. But I always

smiled and laughed, as if to fool them into thinking that sharing a last name with three other

brothers, all born in the span of ten minutes, was something to laugh about, rather than

something I’d struggled my entire life to reconcile.

When people learn that I am a quadruplet, their eyes widen. Women invariably say,

"Your poor mother." Neighbors, teachers, and friends seldom use my first name. They

perpetually refer to me as “one of the Wade boys.” Or they say, “Wait, which one are you?”

People think of me less as individual and more like one in a set of matching luggage. Because

the world did not see my individual identity, I grew up thinking I didn’t have one. It would take a

long time to form a clear sense of self, to be something other than a Quad.

My quest to establish my identity started in high school. Clubs looked like the answer. I

joined Latin, Tech, Robotics, Art, and Spanish Clubs. But they all felt like fillers. Only one club

remained. The Cultural Club. Why would I want to want to learn about other cultures when I

couldn’t even figure out my personal culture?

But, it felt like my last option to be more than just one of the Wade boys.

The Cultural Club gave me direction. It incited a curiosity that could only be satiated by

learning about the trials and triumphs of people worldwide. I began to follow all things

international relations. Since conflict in the Middle East often made headlines, the Cultural Club

became involved with aiding Arab communities. We volunteered and created care packs for

refugees abroad. As a personal project, I began working at Cincinnati's refugee resettlement

agency.

I wanted to continue building upon this foundation. But how?

Arabic was my answer. I studied independently, but I felt it wasn’t enough. So, I scoured

the web. Eventually, I dug up the email of a Foreign Service Officer. Her advice led to a State

Department scholarship to study Arabic in Morocco. When I was accepted, I was ecstatic.

For the first time in my life, I would embark on a journey completely independent of my

brothers. I would be going to a place where no one knew about my multiple birth status. In

Morocco, I wouldn’t be “one of the Wade boys.” I would be free to establish who I was, and who

I could be.

I was caught off guard in Morocco. I found myself immersed in everything, from the

food (a really cool mix of French and Arab cuisine) to race relations (being African-American, I

was called Obama more than my name). I got bitten by a beggar on the street and fell off a camel

in the Sahara, all while trying to learn the notoriously difficult and beautiful language that is

Arabic. I did all of this not as a Quad, but as myself.

Back home, I sat with my siblings on the porch, reveling in the glory of the last evening

before we returned to school. We laughed and joked, trading stories from the summer. In that

moment, I realized that while we share genes, a name, and a love for one another, we didn’t

share everything. My experiences, Arabic skills, and ambitions were mine alone. As I sat with

my brothers on the porch that evening, I realized that I could get more joy out of being a Quad

now that I was better at being Nick.

AARON

“Yes, Nigel?” the teacher said. I lowered my hand and glanced back at Nigel’s vacant

desk. He had stayed home sick that day. Realizing her mistake, the teacher laughed sheepishly.

“You all look so alike," she said. "There’s no way I’ll ever be able to tell you apart.”

“I have braces,” I replied with a metallic grin. “Nick and Nigel wear glasses. And Zach is

the tallest.”

It was no use. We were four boys who shared one face.

Being a quadruplet had its perks. It gave me an instant identity as a “Wade Brother.” It

also made me something of an expert at sharing. We share birthdays. We share bedrooms. We

share a 2006 Toyota Camry. More importantly, Nick, Nigel, Zach and I share a struggle to

establish ourselves as individuals. Growing up, I felt as if I were a detail that people overlooked

in favor of some bigger picture. To a few, I was Aaron Wade. To most, I was “one of the

Quads.”

Music taught me that my brothers and I don't share everything. One day, while we were

roughhousing in the basement of my family’s old house, I caught sight of something I had never

noticed before: an old, dusty, upright piano. I walked over to the instrument and mashed down

on its keys, watching in astonishment as the notes evoked a cascade of colors in my mind’s eye. I

pressed the keys again, this time glancing back at my brothers, who took no notice. I was

perplexed. How could something so wonderful fail to captivate them? For the first time in my

life, I had found something that was entirely my own.

With the help of my piano, I began to forge a self-image that was undiluted by

circumstance. Even more accessible was my voice—I sang so much that my brothers grew to

despise the sound of it. “You sing and dance around the house constantly,” my mom commented.

“Why don’t you perform for anyone else?”

I was hesitant, considering that my only audience up to that point had been my brothers,

whose reviews were less than positive. But my mother was right. There still existed a disconnect

between my personal and public identities; I couldn’t help but wonder if performing was the way

to reconcile them. So I signed up to sing at my school’s talent show.

The audience grew quiet as I walked onto the stage. “Is that a Wade?” I heard someone

remark. Struggling to keep my nerves at bay, I tapped my feet to the cadence of the horns in

Stevie Wonder’s “Sir Duke.”

Then I started to sing.

The words came out shakily at first. By the end of the first verse, though, the weight of

my anxiety had been lifted. There was no audience, as far as I was concerned. There wasn’t even

a stage. There was just me, doing what I loved. And it felt amazing.

"Just because a record has a groove

Don’t make it in the groove.

But you can tell right away at letter A,

When the people start to move."

They were moving, all right. So was I—snapping, clapping, spinning, moonwalking.

Only when the music stopped did I hear the clamor of an ovation. Only then did I notice that the

crowd was standing, that a chorus of cheers had filled the auditorium. My gaze fell upon my

brothers. Of all the applause, theirs was the loudest; plastered on their faces was a look of pride.

“Quadruplet” will always comprise a part of my identity. Although it was once a barrier

to individuality, it is now one of the many things that makes me unique: a badge of honor I don

as Aaron Wade.

NIGEL

0.00000125%

The chance that my mother would give birth to quadruplets.

100%

The chance that this woman striding towards me and my brothers was about to make me

feel like the black sheep.

She turned to my brother Aaron first, “Your mother told me that you’re like Beethoven

on the piano and that you have already composed three songs.” She then faced my brother

Nicholas, “And you young man, going to Morocco to study Arabic!” She gave an appraising

look to my brother Zachary, “I can see why you took second in discus at districts.” Finally she

laid her eyes on me, “Nigel,” she began “... So glad to meet you.”

I don’t blame her. Honestly I don’t. I was used to being compared to my brothers. I

suppose to some extent our family is part of all of our identities. But it is different when you’re a

quadruplet; your family doesn’t just become part of your identity. It destroys it.

I tried to break away from my brothers. But for a quadruplet, there were logistical

limitations. My parents could not drive me to every single activity I wanted to try or shell out

money for every sport I was interested in because there were three other boys they had to worry

about. My dad put me in football, but I never truly loved it. I tried drawing and music, but that

was more of my brother’s niche. Even track, one of the few things that brought me solace, left

me feeling as if something was missing.

That all changed when my father brought home a rather peculiar book. It was three feet

tall and about two feet wide and titled Human Anatomy. From the second I cracked open its spine

I fell in love. Before me were gigantic images of the nervous system, microscopic bacteria blown

up to the size of my hand, a network of veins and arteries beautifully depicted, and the wonders

of the human body explained as if they were ordinary occurrences rather than miracles. I was

instantly hooked.

I wanted more. Biology, neuroscience, anatomy, psychology … any field that could

enhance my understanding of the human body I devoured hungrily. But I couldn’t just stop there.

I continued my journey by taking as many science classes as I could. I earned the highest grade

in anatomy class and an award for almost every science class I took.

The success drove me to the next level . I wanted to see how the textbooks applied to the

real world. During my junior year, I got an internship with the biomedical engineering company,

Ethicon, where I learned how to build devices that could cut, suture, and cauterize all with one

button, It was amazing. But still I wanted more.

An internship at the West Chester hospital allowed me to shadow medical professionals

for a couple of weeks. One day stood out. Allowed to enter the operating room, I saw a patient

who had spontaneous pneumothorax and needed to have the hole sealed. The surgeon on duty

entered and briefly looked at the patient. I waited for the background music to come on as it

typically does for operations but the room remained silent. The lights dimmed and she made her

first cut. From that moment on she was engrossed; she had no hesitation, no doubts, only focus.

There was a look of peace on her face that I had never before witnessed.

And then it clicked. I knew how I was different than my brothers.

It still hurts being compared to my brothers. And it might continue until people call me

Dr. Wade, but in the meantime I know with 100% certainty that I am on the right path and will

be more than just one of four.

ZACH

“Change your shirt,” I said.

My brother Aaron looked across the breakfast table, past my cereal bowl, and fixed his

eyes on my black-and-white Lakota East High School sweatshirt. He then looked at his chest… a

black-and-white Lakota East High School shirt. He sighed through his nose, cereal still in his

mouth, and walk upstairs to find a different shirt.

Some kids would be thrilled to have someone twinning with them. When you are a

multiple, it feels a bit different. My teachers often called me by my brothers’ names, even after

being in school for a month. Instead of trying to learn our first names, teachers would refer to us

as “Mr. Wade.” Learning my name isn’t too much to ask, even if I am a quadruplet. Is it?

Being a quadruplet has advantages. I never have that awkward feeling of showing up to a

party by myself. More importantly, my brothers always find a way to bring out the best in me.

Competition is what drives me to do better, and there is never a lack of it in the Wade household.

They push me to work harder. It is not all positive though. People view us as the same person

even though we aren’t identical. Becoming more than “One of the Wades” has taken a long time.

High school is when I first tried separating myself from the group. I was selected to be

part of the Student Athlete Leadership Team, or S.A.L.T. This group is made up of student

athletes who display leadership skills. As the only Wade in the group, I thought this was a great

opportunity to let people see me as an individual. I thought my mission was going well. Then I

ran into a S.A.L.T. member at United Dairy Farmers while she was working. We chatted for a bit

and when I finally departed, I heard her coworker ask who I was. I then heard the phrase I had

tried so hard to eliminate. “One of the Wades.”

Track presented the possibility of a better solution. Two of my brothers are phenomenal

sprinters, I was just mediocre runner Therefore, I decided to do something different. I looked in

the direction of field events and fell in love with discus. Not only did I love discus but also I was

actually a decent thrower. My ability led me into a world separate from the one in which my

name was always followed by three others. To the other throwers, I was not part of a group. I

was the only Wade they knew. When they talked to me they used my name. They called me

Zach.

In our conference, the GMC championship meet is big. Teams bring their very best

athletes. I had befriended a thrower from a rival school over the course of the season. We both

knew the fight for gold would be between us. The whole meet we went back and forth, each

throw being farther than the last. It came down to my last throw; I was in second place, behind

by only inches.

I entered the ring, focused, and began my spin. I drove across the ring turned my hips and

let the discus fly. I watched the discus soar and heard the mark: “142 feet 9 inches.” That was my

personal best by five feet. I was ecstatic until a minute later when I heard “143 feet 7 inches.”

Even my best was not good enough to get first.

Later in the season I qualified for regionals and was named the Lakota East Field Athlete

of the Year. My accomplishments earned me prizes ranging from medals to little trophies.

However, my favorite prize was the one that I won at the first meet. A shirt to call my own.

Mr.Kochis–7thGradeReading4/19/18-Day4ATB:CountryoftheWeek–MacedoniaAnswerthemultiplechoicequestions.Whenyouaredonecheckyouranswerswiththelinkbelow.1. Identify where Macedonia would be on the map below.

2. Geography

About a decade ago, the governing party of Macedonia came up with an idea for a citywide building and renovation project in its capital as a way to take ownership of its history and lure tourists. Hundreds of new sculptures were installed, new buildings were erected in the center of town and dozens of false facades were added to Communist-era buildings. This long-running face-lift for ___________, the capital, has turned it into what could be one of the kitschiest cities on the planet.

A. Bern B. Podgorica C. Skopje D. Sofia

3. Politics

For more than two decades, Macedonia has been fighting with its southern neighbor, Greece, over ______________.

A. its annual naval exercises on Lake Prespa, which borders both countries. B. skyrocketing construction costs for the E-75 highway linking Skopje with Thessaloniki, Greece’s second-largest city C. its right to have Macedonia in its name D. which country has the best-tasting moussaka Economy

4. Politics

________________ has played a central role in Macedonia at least since Roman times, when the ruling emperors favored its .

A. Chocolate; cocoa B. Coffee; beans C. Tea; leaves D. Wine; grapes

5. Religion

Ohrid, whose Slavic name comes from vo rid, or city on the hill, is one of Europe’s oldest cities. Hundreds of churches once dotted the hillsides, supposedly one for _________________.

A. each Catholic saint B. each founding patriarch of this ancient city C. each named hill in and around the city D. every day of the year https://nyti.ms/2qALJgx

Activities:1.NYTimesFoundPoemExamples–Readthefoundpoeminstructionsandexamplesbelow.2.CompleteGoogleClassroomWorkandTenPercentSummaryfor“QuadrupletsOfferCollegesPackageDeal,HarvardandYaleBuyIt.”3.SearchforNYTimesarticlesforyourFoundPoems.Obj.1.Explainhowtowriteafoundpoem.2.Evaluatecollegeapplicationessays.

Sample Found Poem

Prose Selections from Chang-rae Lee’s “Coming Home, Again” From that day, my mother prepared a certain meal to welcome me home. It

was always the same. Even as I rode the school’s shuttle bus from Exeter to Logan airport, I could already see the exact arrangement of my mother’s table.

I knew that we would eat in the kitchen, the table brimming with plates. There was the kalbi, of course, broiled or grilled depending on the season. Leaf lettuce, to wrap the meat with. Bowls of garlicky clam broth with miso and tofu and fresh spinach. Shavings of cod dusted in flour and then dipped in egg wash and fried. Glass noodles with onions and shiitake. Scallion-and-hot-pepper pancakes. Chilled steamed shrimp. Seasoned salads of bean sprouts, spinach, and white radish. Crispy squares of seaweed. Steamed rice with barley and red beans. Homemade kimchi. It was all there—the old flavors I knew, the beautiful salt, the sweet, the excellent taste. (p. 5)

....................................................................................................................

I wish I had paid more attention. After her death, when my father and I were

the only ones left in the house, drifting through the rooms like ghosts, I sometimes tried to make that meal for him. Though it was too much for two, I made each dish anyway, taking as much care as I could. But nothing turned out quite right—not the color, not the smell. At the table, neither of us said much of anything. And we had to eat the food for days. (p. 6)

You can find the full essay at http://readwritethink.org/lesson_images/lesson998/ComingHomeAgain.pdf

******************************* Found Poem Based on the Prose Selection

My mother prepared A certain meal To welcome me home. We would eat in the kitchen Table brimming Kalbi, leaf lettuce to wrap the meat Garlicky clam broth with miso and tofu and fresh spinach Shavings of cod Scallion and pepper pancakes Chilled steamed shrimp Steamed rice. The old flavors I knew Beautiful, salt, sweet, excellent. I wish I had paid more attention.

“Find” A Poem

Every week, our Week in Rap Shout-Out Contest gives students an opportunity to win a shout out for their school in the next Week in Rap. For this week’s contest, we asked you to ‘find’ a poem by removing, rearranging, and/or restructuring an existing text. A found poem takes existing words and phrases and rearranges them into poetry. A newspaper article, a passage from a novel, a school essay—any piece of writing can be used to create a found poem.

Our winner this week is Durham Intermediate School in Southlake, TX. Check out our two top entries from sixth graders Isabelle and Kacy.

“The sunset remarkably faded off a little and a lovely evening moved in suddenly.”

“The sun is bursting warmth over the sky.”

Golden Girl By: Lindsey Cherilla Golden girl Why are you so sad? Madison thinks you look pretty Your parents are proud But you spend all of your time feeling anxious To become society’s perfection Golden girl Why are you in denial? Your life is falling apart You have lost the fight against yourself But no one insists you get help Because all they see is perfection http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2016/04/21/why-do-girls-have-more-anxiety-than-boys/?re f=health http://www.nytimes.com/1997/07/16/arts/eating-disorders-haunt-ballerinas.html?pagewa nted=1

Found Poem by Brennan Freret He was quiet, innocent, alone

He was dismissive, aggressive, angry

And then he met her,

And all that changed.

She was his treatment, His motivation, his advice

She was his only purpose.

She rescued that lost boy, she was his hero.

They were perfect for each other

Or at least so he thought

She was his everything,

But she left scars on his body,

And destruction in her wake. Articles: http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2016/02/08/opening-up-about-depression/ http://www.nytimes.com/2015/06/07/world/asia/the-secret-history-of-seal-team-6.html

Found poem by Jem Stern a silhouette sits in the roses with her, gathered silk falls from their impossibly small waists. they embraced salvation through lace aesthetic as religion god in gowns. fashion was their philosophy, style their medium. but this veneration of the opulent was a disguise, a mask for their mélange of mourning they were lost in what was pretty. http://www.nytimes.com/2016/04/24/arts/design/disguise-of-masks-and-global-african-art.html http://www.nytimes.com/2016/04/17/nyregion/gothic-to-goth-exploring-the-impact-of-the-romantic-era-in-fashion.html?_r=0

Wild Animals

Animals.

That is what they are: inevitable trouble.

Wild and whimpering, self-centered

Standing tall, they chew at objects

UNTIL they are bitten and scarred

Their heart,

Just dark. Alone.

Involved in its own comfort

Rescuing is what everyone needs

Save us from this snowstorm

The snowflakes are not laced with love

They are devastated by their want for control

By those things called

Humans.

By Maya Abou-Haidar http://www.nytimes.com/2016/05/01/fashion/weddings/dogs-cats-and-other-pets-at-weddings.html?rref=collection%2Fsectioncollection%2Fweddings&action=click&contentCollection=weddings&region=rank&module=package&version=highlights&contentPlacement=2&pgtype=sectionfront

NO MORE by Sally Tepper Men are our owners Collecting us, tagging us. We resist; they raise their hands. We give in; they touch us. Then they fly to another, Leaving us as used, secondhand orphans. No! We must stop the time. Never again will we fall silent to the hand of a man. We now must be our own keeper. We come with war in our hands No longer branded by men. http://www.nytimes.com/2016/05/01/magazine/the-digital-afterlife-of-lost-family-photos.html http://www.nytimes.com/2016/04/28/world/europe/big-ben-to-fall-silent-during-renovation.html

Mr.Kochis-7thGradeReading4/20/18Day5ATB:PicturePrompt

AnswerinGoogleClassroom.Type 1: Answer in one paragraph. Is there too much standardized testing at your school? Do you feel pressure from your teachers, administrators, parents and peers to perform well on these tests? Why or why not? When you are finished read the related article below.

https://nyti.ms/2K16WJu Activities:1.FoundPoemRulesQuiz–Testmoz2.FourthQuarterArticleSummarydueWednesdayApril25th.Seetherequirementsbelow.AnswerinGoogleClassroom.Obj.1.Reviewtherulesforthefoundpoemcontest.2.Summarizeanonfictionarticle.

ThirdQuarterArticleSummaryDueWednesdayApril25th.Part1:Readthearticle“QuadrupletsOfferCollegesPackageDeal.HarvardandYaleBuyIt.”ArticleReadinclass.Part2:CompletetheVocabularyWorksheetforthearticle“QuadrupletsOfferCollegesPackageDeal.HarvardandYaleBuyIt.”SubmittedinGoogleClassroom.Part3:CompletetheTenPercentSummarysheetforthearticle“QuadrupletsOfferCollegesPackageDeal.HarvardandYaleBuyIt.”SubmittedinGoogleForms.Checkyourschoole-mailforlink.Part4:Type3WritingAssignment:Writeaoneparagraphsummaryforthearticle“QuadrupletsOfferCollegesPackageDeal.HarvardandYaleBuyIt.”SubmitinGoogleClassroombyWednesdayApril25th.FCA#1TopicSentencewithS”T,”ARTFCA#2Approximately110words(100-120).Writewordcountonpaper.FCA#3Identifytheoccupations/majorsthattheWadebrothersareplanningtoattendcollegefor.Puttheiroccupation/majorinallcapitalletters.Submit paragraphs in Google Classroom. Remember to write the FCA’s on the document.

SUNDAY REVIEW

OPINION

The Common Core Costs

Billions and Hurts StudentsBy Diane Ravitch July 23, 2016

FOR 15 years, since the passage of George W. Bush’s No Child Left Behind act, education

reformers have promoted standardized testing, school choice, competition and

accountability (meaning punishment of teachers and schools) as the primary means of

improving education. For many years, I agreed with them. I was an assistant secretary of

education in George H. W. Bush’s administration and a member of three conservative

think tanks.

But as I watched the harmful effects of No Child Left Behind, I began to have doubts. The

law required that all schools reach 100 percent proficiency as measured by state tests or

face harsh punishments. This was an impossible goal. Standardized tests became the be-

all and end-all of education, and states spent billions on them. Social scientists have long

known that the best predictor of test scores is family income. Yet policy makers

encouraged the firing of thousands of teachers and the closing of thousands of low-

scoring public schools, mostly in poor black and Hispanic neighborhoods.

As the damage escalated, I renounced my support for high-stakes testing and charter

schools. Nonetheless, I clung to the hope that we might agree on national standards and a

national curriculum. Surely, I thought, they would promote equity since all children would

study the same things and take the same tests. But now I realize that I was wrong about

that, too.

Six years after the release of our first national standards, the Common Core, and the new

federal tests that accompanied them, it seems clear that the pursuit of a national

curriculum is yet another excuse to avoid making serious efforts to reduce the main

causes of low student achievement: poverty and racial segregation.

The people who wrote the Common Core standards sold them as a way to improve

achievement and reduce the gaps between rich and poor, and black and white. But the

promises haven’t come true. Even in states with strong common standards and tests,

racial achievement gaps persist. Last year, average math scores on the National

Assessment of Educational Progress declined for the first time since 1990; reading scores

were flat or decreased compared with a decade earlier.

The development of the Common Core was funded almost entirely by the Bill and Melinda

Gates Foundation. It was a rush job, and the final product ignored the needs of children

with disabilities, English-language learners and those in the early grades. It’s no surprise

that there has been widespread pushback.

In 2009 President Obama announced Race to the Top, a competition for $4.35 billion in

federal grant money. To qualify, states had to adopt “college and career ready standards,”

a requirement that was used to pressure them into adopting national standards. Almost

every state applied, even before the specifics of the Common Core were released in June

2010.

The federal government, states and school districts have spent billions of dollars to phase

in the standards, to prepare students to take the tests and to buy the technology needed

to administer them online. There is nothing to show for it. The Race to the Top

demoralized teachers, caused teacher shortages and led to the defunding of the arts and

other subjects that were not tested. Those billions would have been better spent to reduce

class sizes, especially in struggling schools, to restore arts and physical education classes,

to rebuild physically crumbling schools, and to provide universal early childhood

education.

Children starting in the third grade may spend more than 10 hours a year taking state

tests — and weeks preparing for them. Studies show that students perform better on

written tests than on online tests, yet most schools across the nation are assessing their

students online, at enormous costs, because that is how the Common Core tests are

usually delivered. Computer glitches are common. Sometimes the server gets overloaded

and breaks down. Entire states, like Alaska, have canceled tests because of technical

problems. More than 30 states have reported computer testing problems since 2013,

according to FairTest, a testing watchdog.

Standardized tests are best at measuring family income. Well-off students usually score

in the top half of results; students from poor homes usually score in the bottom. The quest

to “close achievement gaps” is vain indeed when the measure of achievement is a test

based on a statistical norm. If we awarded driver’s licenses based on standardized tests,

half the adults in this country might never receive one. The failure rates on the Common

Core tests are staggeringly high for black and Hispanic children, students with

disabilities and English-language learners. Making the tests harder predictably depresses

test scores, creating a sense of failure and hopelessness among young children.

If we really cared about improving the education of all students, we would give teachers

the autonomy to tailor instruction to meet the needs of the children in front of them and to

write their own tests. We would insist that students in every school had an equal

opportunity to learn in well-maintained schools, in classes of reasonable size taught by

expert teachers. Anyone who wants to know how students in one state compare with

students in other states can get that information from the N.A.E.P., the existing federal

test.

What is called “the achievement gap” is actually an “opportunity gap.” What we need are

schools where all children have the same chance to learn. That doesn’t require national

standards or national tests, which improve neither teaching nor learning, and do nothing

to help poor children at racially segregated schools. We need to focus on that, not on

promoting failed ideas.

Diane Ravitch, a historian of education at New York University, is the author of “The Death and Life of the Great

American School System: How Testing and Choice are Undermining Education.”