The EOG or Are We Human or Dancer

This morning my daughter whimpered in the backseat as she absentmindedly fondled my iphone. She was our DJ as usual on the ride to school.  At age eleven, she had learned to rapidly scroll through Youtube, toggle between Spotify, and keep a steady stream of Pop music playing via Bluetooth over the sound system as we made the twenty-minute commute.  The two of us were already exhausted.  The insane, frenzied buildup to End of Grade Testing had taken a toll. Do we test too much?

My youngest daughter is smart, lively, and has a strong spirit. At six months of age in an orphanage in China she was labeled as “Failing to Thrive”. Thus began the long road of labels and near labels; the road of circumstances that try to break her spirit.  She came into our lives a scrawny, one toothed seventeen-month old.  Deep bruises marked her thighs from whatever restraints she had suffered at the hands of institutionalization. But she was a livewire!  She grabbed at things and put things in her mouth like she wanted to take it all in, hold on fast, and ingest the whole world! Ha!  Failing to thrive?

The world is not fair. She has to learn this lesson over and over. It’s not fair.

The world is not fair.

So this morning we make our way to the third elementary school my little scholar has attended on her way to fourth grade. We haven’t moved.  It’s a constant search for the right situation for our beautiful daughter. The song she has chosen to play as she tries to calm herself down from the EOG induced, morning, panic attack is by The Killers. She has been obsessed with this song for the last week or so.  She has played it from her laptop as she eats breakfast, through the headphones in the afternoon, and over our stereo on the weekend. This is the first time on the way to school. Usually it’s Taylor Swift or Taylor Swift, but this morning the haunting lyrics of Human by The Killers are soothing her.

We tried to avoid this.  She started having anxiety about the tests a few weeks ago.  She had outbursts at school.  This was new. At this school she had been happy.  She was thriving.  So when she raged and screamed uncontrollably at bedtime about the Test and how she didn’t want to go to school anymore, we wrung our hands and worried that once again circumstances were conspiring to break her spirit.  What could we do?  She has to take the test. Right?

This past weekend she was chilling on the sofa listening to Human amplified through our thirty-year-old Cerwin-Vega speakers.  She called out, “Da-ddy” in her typical shouty style.

“Yes?” I said. She asked, “What do you think about this song?”. Hmmmm…. I did like it, I told her.  “It’s pretty cool sounding…. but I don’t get the lyrics.” I think I said something like they must be over my head as I wandered back to the next room. She had started the song over…” Are we Human or are we dancer?”  I shrugged at the strange grammar and busied myself with nothing of importance.

We called a meeting with the school.  We had informed them that our daughter would not take the test.  That’s right, we were advocating for our child.  Don’t judge.  You haven’t walked in our shoes.  The administration didn’t know how to react.  They sought guidance from the mysterious TESTING coordinator from the Ministry of Squashing my Child’s Spirit!! The Ministry decreed that we had a choice!  Yes!

Hold on… She must take the test or withdraw from the school. The Test must be administered or we can withdraw her from the school.  The school where she thrived.  The school she loved until a few weeks ago.  The school which we had been on the lottery waiting list for two years for. We would lose our spot. The test must be administered. Period.

“Are we Human or are we dancer, my sign is vital, my hands are cold”. 

Yesterday my little audiophile blurted out of the blue, “Puppets!”.  “What?”, I asked. She said, “you know, in that song by The Killers, dancer means like a puppet.” Wow.  I think my daughter is brilliant. These stupid educators must be blind.  They can’t see the genius, the complete brilliance that she had sorted this out?  That she was some sort of Savant who could decipher the code in poems and lyrics that had eluded me? “Da-ddy!”. “Yes?” I ask.  She says, “I googled it.”  Ok.  So it’s a different kind of brilliant.  But brilliant is brilliant.

At the meeting with the various representatives involved in the spirit crushing conspiracy, we were told that they had considered our reply that our daughter had the right to refuse the test. Yes. They agreed that she could refuse the test.  However, they would have to offer her the test and after she had listened to the directions she could say no to the test.  My wife suggested that it might be difficult for a child to refuse a test the teacher is telling them to take.  They grudgingly agreed and suggested that we just instruct her not to open her booklet and that as soon as someone was available they would remove her from the room.  “my sign is vital; my hands are cold”. The strings tug and lift us from the conference chairs and lead us out of the school in silence.

Yesterday our daughter declared,” I might take the test”. We assured her it was Ok to say no. Just don’t open the booklet we explained as we exchanged troubled glances. “Are we Human or are we Dancer?”

Bam!! This morning started with a bang!  Our strong willed girl was kicking a metal file cabinet as hard as she could.  Straight out of bed and into full on, raging, panic attack mode!  This was bad. We had exactly one hour and fifteen minutes to get her through this, into the car, twenty minutes to the school, and into the testing room.  She was screaming now, “I DON’T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL!”  Sobbing, screaming, heart wrenching anxiety. No way was this going to end well.

The bottom line is that we contacted the school, said all the wrong things, and I probably permanently alienated half the staff.  Ok.  I alienated all the the staff. Somehow, our little fighter calmed herself enough to get dressed and we managed to get out the door with barely enough time to make it.

“Are we human, or are we dancer? My sign is vital; my hands are cold.”

My sweet little one huddled against me, sobbing, as we made our way to the car. So here we are. Exhausted.  We are listening to Human by The Killers.  The lyrics are penetrating my brain as the speakers blast the electronic dance beat that seems to be soothing her. “Are we human or are we dancer?”  Are we puppets? Dammit!  I do not want to be a puppet.  I want to turn the car around, tell her that she can stop worrying because Daddy is human and has compassion and is going to take her home. But I keep driving. I don’t change direction.

Am I human or am I dancer?  If I had to answer this question as The Killers keep suggesting that I must, I’d have to say that I am both.  I am both at the same time.  Simultaneously the flesh and vitality of humanity while also cold and wooden like a puppet being lead on strings. This morning the two parts are in a battle. The puppet master has incredible leverage.

So as I drive my daughter to school today and Human keeps repeating it’s pleading chorus, my sign is vital and my hands are cold.

Update: My brilliant daughter has taken to calling Common Core "Complicate it More"! Haha.  Reminds me of when she was at a school in kindergarten that was on Torrence Street. She called it "Torment Street".  LOL