I hauled myself to the Sylvan Learning Center in East Longmeadow, Massachusetts over the weekend to take the GRE. I did an online tutorial to prepare for this test over a year ago, and since I completed it, we moved to a new house and life started to look a little different. I proceeded to leak algebra information out of my brain for the subsequent months, at a rate of one formula per six weeks.
Incidentally, an article at the Hoosier Gazette cites results of a study, claiming that having children diminishes parents’ IQ. I discovered the link to this article via a blog at my local newspaper. The article got me so ticked off at the Kinsey Institute that I made a mental note to find an opportunity to rant on the subject in a blog post. And to try not to get too disheartened about the upcoming GRE test.
The study claims this ridiculous hoo-ha about having surveyed parents’ IQ both prior to having children and then six months post-partum. I thought to myself, of course parents are going to do worse on an IQ test six months post-partum, especially with a first child. Try six years post-partum and maybe you’ll see more promising results. Even so, what an insult to parents. Having children probably increases intelligence, if only someone would do a study to find out.
So I’m getting my rant on, and searching around online for that Hoosier Gazette article, when I come across a related link that reveals the article was actually a hoax. Relief! I somehow feel vindicated. Because that blog I mentioned took the article seriously. (Or so I thought.)
Back to the GRE. I had to sit in the waiting room for 40 minutes while the sole test administrator did her thing, and did it a bit too slowly according to all the ladies waiting to be tested. One was taking an occupational therapy licensing test, which, if she failed, she would lose her job, as the job was contigent on having the license. Another was taking the PRAXIS, which is a teacher-certification test, and she embarrassedly told me that she works in the Springfield public schools—Indian Orchard, to be precise—and that she doesn’t understand how the teachers hang in there at such low levels of pay. I gushed adoringly about the teachers at my children’s public elementary school in an effort to offer a bit of encourgement and “buck up” for this young teacher, who sounds ready to quit after not that much time spent in the profession.
There was also a municipal planner from Amherst preparing to take the AICP which is, again, a certification exam for planners; and lastly there was a young architect from Hartford who was there to take the GMAT, in anticipation of entering business school. She and I talked about the need for multidisciplinary approaches to urban planning issues; she’s a designer but wants to go to school for real estate development, and easily could have been a great business partner for me, if only we weren’t meeting each other in a Sylvan Learning Center waiting room for a ten-minute introduction. All the same I found these interactions strangely inspiring. After listening to me talk about why I was taking the GRE, and the volunteer work I do now, the municipal planner strongly encouraged me to look into the UMass Regional Planning program, which I’ve been considering but uncertain is right for me. Now I might visit just to see for sure, and to find out if there is a way I can combine my journalistic, media, arts and community development interests with the work they do in that department.
We also talked about Henry Wu and what he’s done with the Urban Places Project in Springfield, which I admire so much, and would love to learn more about; the municipal planner suggested I might find a part-time gig at the city planning department in Springfield and see where I might find connections.
So after all of that interesting talk I had to dive in and take the darned test for four hours. It was pretty exhausting. I closed my eyes and guessed for some of the questions in the qualitative section, due to the algebra-formula leak in my head. (Well, to be honest, a lack of up-to-the-minute brushing-up was really the problem. But I could only get so excited about taking this test and wanted to get it overwith.) At the end, I learned that I actually did 30 points better on the qualitative section than on the verbal. I must have hit on that amazing formula for good guesswork. (That is part of good test-taking protocol. I am a good guesser. It starts with eliminating the multiple-choice questions that you know are wrong. Not that I did that most of the time. I just closed my eyes. I don’t recommend that protocol.)
I had the misfortune to run into a friend at the iParty store after the test. I was there to pick up a small helium tank for a party the next day. I really just wanted to run in and run out, and get home and have some lunch. It was upon running into the friend that I realized I looked like hell. I’d been running my fingers through my hair for some of the test and had also not gotten quite enough sleep the previous night. I was a little nervous about getting to the test on time and having my head clear. So I looked a bit like a wreck and it was kind of embarrassing, but I tried to make up for it in glowing smiles.
One reason I was so anxious is because I had a really bad first SAT experience when I was in high school. I had to arrive at the test site before 8:00 am on a Saturday—as is often the case with these idiotic tests—and I had to drive myself there. Why I didn’t just ask someone for a ride, I don’t know. I liked to drive. But I was not yet thoroughly experienced in driving the streets of Pittsburgh’s university district. One major, four-lane avenue runs east, another runs west. I drove east for a while on the one avenue and then turned left to get to the other, where the test site was located on a corner. Without thinking, I tried to turn east on the west-running avenue and park on the street against traffic. Fortunately I did this without running into anyone—the lanes of traffic were all stopped at a red light. But in order not to be hit, I had to drive rapidly in reverse before their light turned green. I managed to go in reverse in my little standard-shift 1988 VW Golf… not a problem… but I overhandled the steering and my turning radius was too tight as I tried to return to where I had come from.
So I nearly collided with the newspaper stand on the street corner, after driving up over the curb and onto the sidewalk.
By the time I got out of the intersection—I don’t really remember how I got out of the intersection, it’s a bit of a blur—I found some parking space or another and probably didn’t put any money in the meter. Hands shaking, trying to remember to bring my photo ID, I sort of stumbled into the test site wondering if I should pinch myself or did I just get into a car accident and die and release myself from this testing experience?
After that I was deathly afraid of the standardized test simply because the nerves leading up to it can put a person in mortal danger. And to be sure, this does not create a tranquil environment for answering multiple-choice questions or thinking through a critical analysis of a stated opinion.
Thus my concerns about driving to take the GRE, and whether or not I would have my head screwed on straight. It’s one thing to take a standardized test as a high-school student; it’s another to take it as a grown adult who is married, with three children, and in a good place to completely avoid ever taking a standardized test again. In a way, I had hoped that this position in life—having the choice to take the test, or not—would be an asset to me, and a confidence-builder, but instead I started to cut myself down mentally, thinking to myself, “What the heck am I doing taking this test? Didn’t my IQ drop anyway?”
I’m glad it’s over. And I did pretty well.