I'm Too Old For Exams!

Today I'm off to Berlitz to take my B1-level German language test, requirement number 12,906 for my residence visa. Bettina sits quietly with her coloring books while I am examined for 45 minutes by a language teacher. (You know, the kind that wear half-moon reading glasses around their necks by a string of beads?) Only in the heat of the moment do I realize that I have not taken a timed test in 14 years! And I am out of practice. I haven't done this since graduate school, but the stress is instantly familiar: the furious erasing; the frantic glances at the clock that grow in frequency in inverse proportion to the time remaining; the hollow feeling in the pit of the stomach; the fatalistic choice between A and D. I'm too old for this! I feel like the over-the-hill Rocky as he's getting whupped by Mr. T. The worst feeling is that I know my German is better than this, but this examiner will not know it. "They're asking all the wrong questions!" my inner 15-year-old protests. "If only they'd ask me about the things I know!"

How many times have I counselled a student with tears in her eyes and a D+ on her test, "Anne, you'll have more success on the next test if you'll invest [I love that word] 20 minutes a day on your homework, ask me lots of questions during lessons, and come to me more often for extra help," dismissing her piteous claim that she just "blanked out that day" as so much drama. Today in the examination room I remembered that it's not always just drama. I have been on the other side of the teacher's desk for too long.

Bettina and I eat lunch by the river, my B1 certificate fresh in my bag. Time to go pick up her sisters from horseback riding. I find them at the drop-off spot with empty ice-cream cups in their hand. "They bought us all ice cream!" they say with chocolate-smeared grins. A clever maneuver on the part of the day-camp staff to plump up the reviews the kids bring home to the parents who will decide whether to fork over the dough for the next outing. Or maybe they're just nice people. Regardless of the truth, I force myself to think the latter. "Stay Canadian!" I remind myself.