Literacy Narrative

Dessie Greene
UWRT3
The Big Bad Writing Test
When I was in the fourth grade, I was labeled as many things. But I was definitely one
thing;: awkward. Well, I remember that I was awkward looking anyway. Maybe I still
am, but at that point in time it was blatantly obvious how unpleasant my appearance
was. I had glasses, straight brown hair down to my shoulders and huge ears. Not to
mention that my nose turned up like Cindy Lou Who. The last two traits I listed are
things I still have to this day. I was routinely made fun of, not only for being four
eyes but also for my ears and nose. Kids would ask me if I got lots of channels from
my satellite ears. They would ask how was II was supposed to check for boogers
when you can see straight up my nose anyway.? I had friends that wasnt an issue
but everyone knows that kids are mean. So most of the time they were mean to me.

I channeled all of my energy into school. I got straight As religiously and I expected
nothing less of myself. I had the kind of parents who pushed me, but only to do my

best. If a C was my best, then it was wonderful. I was the one who made the A
standard for myself and I stuck to it.
So here I am, an ordinary fourth grader that wanted to get in, learn, and get out. I was
a social butterfly regardless of my bullies, but school was school. It was important to
me. In my fourth grade class, my teacher was Ms. Barbee. She was a short, stocky
woman with short black hair and a beak for a nose. This is the kind of woman that had
a high probability of being the sister of the devil himself. She was rude to everyone,
belittled every student and was not supportive at all. I made good grades, but she gave
me my first B. This was groundbreaking and disappointing for me. She also read my
moms emails in front of the class and asked them for
theirtheir opinion about me as a student. I was eight years old, so naturally I was
traumatized. The thought of her made me cry every morning in my bed and I begged
my mother to not take me to school.
Around February, I was fed up. I was done with feeling stupid when I knew I wasnt.
Ms. Barbee made everyone in our class feel lower than low sing August. What teacher
has the right to tell me I am not capable of learning,? nNot any teacher of mine?. So I
continued to study, obtain my good grades and try my hardest. Soon, the Writing Test
was coming up. Or as I referred to it, The Big Bad Writing Test. You know, The Big
Bad Writing Test where your fourth grader has nightmares about from the first day of

school? Yeah, that one. I was a good writer. I always had better grades in English and
writing than in math and science. This was my time to shine.
All throughout the spring, leading up to the test we did practice tests and Ms. Barbee
graded them. I literally failed every single one. I made either a 2 or below on every
practice test. An ideal score is a 4, but a 3 is still passing. I was getting 2s. I couldnt
help but to be afraid, I told my mom every day on the way home from school that I
was so horrified of not passing the writing test and that I was going to be stuck in
fourth grade with Ms. Barbee forever. Mom would tell me that she knew I was smart
and I would be fine. She said she had faith in me and everything was going to be okay,
and that no child of hers would be repeating the fourth grade. Despite her best efforts,
I was still not convinced.
The day finally came., mMy day to take the Big Bad Writing Test my all and accept
my fate of repeating a grade and along with all the shame that would come with it. I
shook with fear as I looked in the mirror, brushed my hair and teeth and put on my
glasses so that I could see. I looked afraid, so I looked away. I got dressed, managed
to choke down a few bites of soggy cereal and some orange juice. Then I made my
way to the car.
Approaching school, I began to tear up. Mom, I am so nervous. Everyone is going to
think I am so stupid when I fail this test. I really want to go to fifth grade! They get to
go on a ski trip, you know? Dessie, you are going to fifth grade. And I promise you

are going on the ski trip. Ill accompany you myself. Try your hardest today, I know
you will do wonderful! I tried to take in her words and let them soak into my brain,
but that was hard. I was confident about The Big Bad Writing Test at first, but after
writing so many practices and continuing to fail, it had set in that maybe I wasnt as
good of a writer as I thought I was. That thought hurt me. I was supposed to be good
in school. Even the four-eyed big-eared turned-up-nosed girl had to be good at
something and writing was supposed to be it.
I swallowed as much pride as a fourth grader could swallow and marched into the
school. I could feel my palms dripping with sweat as I made my way toward my
classroom. Who could stop me from passing fourth grade? This Big Bad Writing Test.
It was my key, my ticket, my way to make it to next year and I just knew that I was
about to miserably ruin every chance I had to make it to fifth grade. Ms. Barbee
smiled at me upon entering the classroom. Good morning, Dessie she squeaked,
Im sure you remembered to bring your Number Two pencils? Of course I did, you
raging idiot. Yes, maam I did. I brought extras. There I was being an overachiever
as usual. She hated that about me and I knew it. I smiled at her real big with all of
my shiny, square teeth and tried to be as annoying as possible. Being the teachers pet
had always been a specialty of mine, but with this woman, I tried my hardest to make
her dread my presence as much as I did hers. I think that particular morning it was
working.

Sitting down into my desk and continuously wiping my palms on my jeans, I felt a
wave of relief as Ms. Barbee stepped out the door and our testing proctor came in. I
was confident to know that she wouldnt be reading my work over my shoulder and
shaking her head in
disapproval. At this point, every little bit of positivity was helping me to make it
through this test. Our proctor began speaking at exactly 8:00. Welcome to the North
Carolina fourth grade writing exam. During this exam you will be asked to I tried
to listen, but the words blurred together. My mind was racing in a million different
directions, none of which I thought were going to be able to take me to the fifth grade.
I was breathing, trying to ignore my tummy rumbling and although I attempted many
times, I couldnt focus on the proctors words. We had taken the test a million times
or the practice one anyway - so I knew what to do.
I received my booklet. My prompt was to explain what a giant egg was doing in my
closet and what I chose to do with what was inside of it. I wrote. I mapped and wrote
and wrote and scribbled and erased and marked out and re-mapped and wrote some
more. I devoured the prompt and spit out a bona fide story. After the test was over, I
went to the bathroom and cried. I cried to know that I had just poured my heart and
soul into a stupid little booklet and that all of my work wouldnt be good enough to
get me into the fifth grade. I cried until I had no more tears and cleaned myself up.
Maybe fourth grade will be easier the second time around.

Upon returning to school the next two weeks, I ran to my classroom every day to see
if my scores were back. No, Ms. Barbee would scowl, Unfortunately, they arent
here yet not like youll want to see your score anyway. On the third week, on a
Friday morning, our scores were in. I couldnt think, I couldnt breathe, I needed to
know my score pass or fail. My hands shook with fear as Ms. Barbee handed me my
booklet. It was almost in my reach when she snatched it back and opened it for
herself. Her mouth dropped. Her ugly, crooked teeth were all in view and that didnt
help my nauseous stomach at all. This must be a mistake, she proclaimed, Let me
check and make sure this is your booklet. My heart was about to beat out of my
chest. I needed to pass fourth grade. Did I get a 1? Did I fail it worse than anyone in
the
history of The Big Bad Writing Test? She handed the test to me after several phone
calls from her desk and a thorough computer search. I opened the booklet and held my
breath. It said, stamped in blood red ink: 4 PERFECT SCORE. I jumped and
squealed with delight. Not only did I pass, and not only did I make a 4, but I made a
perfect score! Not one mistake in the whole paper. I couldnt contain my excitement. I
ran out of my classroom at the end of the day to tell my Mom that I was going to fifth
grade. Mom, I did it! My score was perfect! She smiled at me with excitement. I
knew you would, honey! How about we go pick you out some ski gear?

I remember hating Ms. Barbee. I remember feeling like I couldnt do something that I
thought I once could. But from her I learned for myself that as long as I keep trying
and never give up, anything is possible.

I enjoyed how you made Ms. Barbee out to be some monster from another planet and also how
you described the test as the pinnacle of your earthly achievements, almost as though your entire
life had been about taking from the test. I thought it was a great idea to write the narrative from
the perspective of your younger self rather than looking back on your time as a fourth grader. It
made the emotions you felt as a child seem all the more real, and the over exaggerations mesh
well with the style in the writing used. Even the title Big Bad Writing Test was childish but
perfectly matched how a young child would explain the test. I truly enjoyed the essay.