I used to hate exam week. Certainly, those who didn’t share this feeling with me was challenged in some way. Exam week was the verification that I was still unprepared to move on even after several long weeks of lectures. Exam week was the manifestation of teachers’ ire for those like me who refused to believe them in their seemingly lost monologues. Exam week was a string of sleepless nights, and it was not because of partying. So, I used to hate exam week.
Now that I have graduated from college (actually, since a decade ago!), I still hate exam week. I hate it even more. It still tells me that I am unprepared, that I would be sleepless, and that being a teacher myself--- there are still teachers out there who hate me and who are laughing at my unfinished penitence. So, fine, laugh at me. Laugh at me until you get a stroke (just kidding… or not.)
I hate exam week now because my 5 year old daughter seems to master the routine already. Of course, being kindergarten in March, it means that she has gone through this testing phase 7 times already, making her a veteran and even more as she hits the 8th time. She knows that the teacher will give her a list of review items which Mommy will tutor her on. She knows that Mommy will have all these silly rules like sleep early--- but don’t sleep until you’re done studying. She knows that she’ll only have to take a small bag with her to class, and that the whole meeting will just be for answering plenty of papers.
In the end, she knows that her scores will oddly translate to a bunch of letters like O, VS, S, F, and NI--- things that only Mommy will understand, as if it is a secret between Mommy and the teacher.
I hate exam week because this time, it’s not me taking the test; it’s not me going through the stress. I hate exam week because she’s only allowed to bring home her books on the weekend before the big day. How is she supposed to absorb tens of pages from 5 textbooks in a span of a weekend?
I hate exam week because it shocks me that I don’t know what the caudal fin on a fish is. I also do not know what the health benefits of blueberries are. I think I know what the stamen and the pistil are on plants, but I don’t know how to properly explain them without inserting any perversion. I hate exam week because I have to teach her things I am legally not supposed to teach anyone. It helps however that she already knows most of her lessons and seems ready to take the tests.
Still, I hate exam week because I have to stop her from seeing SpongeBert Whatever, or Dora and that little monkey that tags along--- those characters who make her smile warmly in a heartbeat. I have to stop her from logging on to her kiddie websites that feature make-up application and boyfriends (yes, check out Barbie.com if you don’t believe me.) I hate exam week because I have to take away so much from her day, and I know there is no way to ever replace that. Well, there is one way… it’s called Disneyland, but… uh… enough about that.
I hate exam week because when I ask her how the tests were, all she tells me is, “It was okay.” Okay, when she spills her milk or breaks something, I tell her it’s okay. When the monsters come out at night and make her cry, I tell her it’s okay. When our elderly friends die and she gets upset, I tell her it’s okay. So, it’s okay. The exams were okay. Why could I just not understand what that means?
Most of all, I hate exam week because even after the last test, I still have to hold my breath until the teacher completes the checking and computes for the scores and periodic grades. I would still think about that for a few more nights and hope that by some divine intervention, the teacher will pardon bad handwriting or be lenient with neglected instructions. In the middle of the day, when she comes back home from school, and my eyebags are large enough to fit her 5 books, I discover that she is once again top of her class, and that all my worries were not because of her ignorance but mine.
So, I hate exam week.
Now that I have graduated from college (actually, since a decade ago!), I still hate exam week. I hate it even more. It still tells me that I am unprepared, that I would be sleepless, and that being a teacher myself--- there are still teachers out there who hate me and who are laughing at my unfinished penitence. So, fine, laugh at me. Laugh at me until you get a stroke (just kidding… or not.)
I hate exam week now because my 5 year old daughter seems to master the routine already. Of course, being kindergarten in March, it means that she has gone through this testing phase 7 times already, making her a veteran and even more as she hits the 8th time. She knows that the teacher will give her a list of review items which Mommy will tutor her on. She knows that Mommy will have all these silly rules like sleep early--- but don’t sleep until you’re done studying. She knows that she’ll only have to take a small bag with her to class, and that the whole meeting will just be for answering plenty of papers.
In the end, she knows that her scores will oddly translate to a bunch of letters like O, VS, S, F, and NI--- things that only Mommy will understand, as if it is a secret between Mommy and the teacher.
I hate exam week because this time, it’s not me taking the test; it’s not me going through the stress. I hate exam week because she’s only allowed to bring home her books on the weekend before the big day. How is she supposed to absorb tens of pages from 5 textbooks in a span of a weekend?
I hate exam week because it shocks me that I don’t know what the caudal fin on a fish is. I also do not know what the health benefits of blueberries are. I think I know what the stamen and the pistil are on plants, but I don’t know how to properly explain them without inserting any perversion. I hate exam week because I have to teach her things I am legally not supposed to teach anyone. It helps however that she already knows most of her lessons and seems ready to take the tests.
Still, I hate exam week because I have to stop her from seeing SpongeBert Whatever, or Dora and that little monkey that tags along--- those characters who make her smile warmly in a heartbeat. I have to stop her from logging on to her kiddie websites that feature make-up application and boyfriends (yes, check out Barbie.com if you don’t believe me.) I hate exam week because I have to take away so much from her day, and I know there is no way to ever replace that. Well, there is one way… it’s called Disneyland, but… uh… enough about that.
I hate exam week because when I ask her how the tests were, all she tells me is, “It was okay.” Okay, when she spills her milk or breaks something, I tell her it’s okay. When the monsters come out at night and make her cry, I tell her it’s okay. When our elderly friends die and she gets upset, I tell her it’s okay. So, it’s okay. The exams were okay. Why could I just not understand what that means?
Most of all, I hate exam week because even after the last test, I still have to hold my breath until the teacher completes the checking and computes for the scores and periodic grades. I would still think about that for a few more nights and hope that by some divine intervention, the teacher will pardon bad handwriting or be lenient with neglected instructions. In the middle of the day, when she comes back home from school, and my eyebags are large enough to fit her 5 books, I discover that she is once again top of her class, and that all my worries were not because of her ignorance but mine.
So, I hate exam week.
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