The Sting

Every week or so, my school administrators require a standardized vocabulary exam from each grade. These tests are basic, multiple choice synonym and antonym questions. Grading these tests is very empirical, and, often times, I don't even read the answers; I just make sure the appropriate bubble is darkened.

Today, I handed back one such vocabulary test. Excluding some aberrations, the students did very well. One such case was a girl who obviously forgot to complete the multi-paged test. Her 100% score was defaced into a 70% with her six unanswered questions haunting the last page.

When I handed the test back to this student, she was silent. She didn't even look at me. Perfection except for one non-academic mistake. Her eyes darkened. She pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead, and combed her hair with her fingers trying to massage the embarrassment and frustration away.

"It's okay. It's just one test." I wanted to tell her that I can't even remember my entire year of 8th grade. I wanted to tell her that one test, particularly this one stupid vocab test, meant nothing in the larger context of her life.

But she was unreachable in her own depression.

For the rest of the day, she left the test on her desk, open to the back page. She allowed the six blank questions to taunt her, and she stared right back into her self-proclaimed failure. It was masochistic.

It would be easy to say "life is easy" to an 8th grader. In hindsight, failed tests, unrequited love, and all the other milestones of middle school seem so juvenile and forgettable. But digging deeper, if we are truly honest with ourselves, we remember that the tears of our 8th grade youth were just as painful as the ones we shed now.

The scope of the past might be slightly more narrow, but the sting dulls only because we have deluded ourselves to trivialize the actual importance of 8th grade.