Standardized tests plagued our existence for the first 9 years of our schooling. Once every fall for pre-testing, then again in the spring for CSAP, the dreaded and consuming Colorado Student Assessment Program. Teachers and students alike ate, sleep, and breathed CSAP preparation all year long, and then the school would settle into a nervous hush. The tension was only punctuated by the magical treats that came from nowhere and seemed only a providential from someone who knew all too well the misery we were suffereing; bags of Goldfish after each session and nicely sharpened #2 pencils before.
Certain people fulfilled certain preparation roles, but primarily teachers taught and students performed. Our scope of preparation didn't look much father than that. Who knew, for example, what the administration was doing, other than breathing down our backs with threats to perform well or lose the budget for new jerseys or band lockers? Or the office staff, what did they do for CSAP? The office of was located on the right side of the hall immediately after the entrance of the school, and its walls were made of glass. A spritzy secretary sat at the desk and answered phone calls, her short auburn hair haloed around her head in outward curls. I worked in the office. I was a student assistant for the secretaries.
Three days until CSAP, and the school and its inhabitants were antsy. I walked into the office and smiled at Ms. Abrahmson, who was on the phone, before sitting down at my desk in the corner. Where it was usually covered in papers to deliver, I was greeted by a stack of boxes and an electronic pencil sharpener.
"Hey, honey," Ms. Abrahmson whispered from behind her desk. "We need you to sharpen those." Her penciled eyebrows raised before disappearing beneath her bangs and she mouthed, "they're pencils!"
I gaped. There had to be one hundred pencils in those boxes, if not more. I sat down like an weary weaver to his loom and started sharpening. One by one I would watch the pencil sharpener nibble away at the yellow wood then pull the pencil out to check for a finely pointed end. Over and over. Eventually the pile of unsharpened pencils became smaller than the sharpened ones, but it took all hour long. Was it a punishment? Why did we need so many pencils!? I closed the last box as the bell was ringing and patted the whining sharpener before walking out the door.
"Good luck on CSAPs!" Ms. Abrahmson called after me.
The next day I sat at the desk in my English room while our proctor read again the rules each of us could recite because we had heard them repeatedly from our earliest CSAP days. Then she took from underneath her desk a box I recognized and started passing it around the room.
When it arrived at my desk I smiled in appreciation.
Next time I concentrate only on myself when preparing for an event, I thought as I chose a pencil with a sharp tip, I'm going to remember there is someone behind every operation doing the work everyone appreciates but no one acknowledges.
:)
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