Seasons in the sun

[david]

If ever I would leave you,
How could it be in spring-time?
Knowing how in spring I'm bewitched by you so?
Oh, no! not in spring-time!
Summer, winter or fall!
No, never could I leave you at all!

– Camelot

As a student, I preferred essay exams to those featuring true/false, matching or multiple-choice questions.

Being a B.S. Artist – er, that is, being a writer (sorry, fellow writers) – I could usually write myself out of trouble. Even when I was at a complete loss regarding the subject at hand, I could almost always find a way to capture at least partial credit for an essay question by, at a minimum, restating the question in the general context of the course.

For example, if asked in a history exam to discuss the causes of a particular war – call it the “blank” war, a war about which I'd learned nothing – I could still generate an answer similar to the following:

“The blank war is often overlooked by scholars, but it played an important role in history for combatants on both sides. Moreover, participation in the <blank> war had a direct impact on determining who would be in positions of leadership in the post-war period. While no war can be described as a good war because of the carnage that accompanies battle; but it is possible to identify positive outcomes that might not have been realized without the conflict. This is certainly true of the <blank> war.”

See what I mean? Pure B.S., but most test graders award points for trying, for using complete sentences and for even sounding as if you know what you're talking about.

When I became a teacher, I initially pledged to use only essay questions on my exams. Not only does this require students to demonstrate their learning, but it demands that they describe what they've learned in their own words. I've always wondered whether students who miss a multiple choice question end up more likely to remember the wrong answer. I'd rather that they simply realize they don't know the right one and avoid the confusion.

But after several dozen long nights of test grading and after discovering that I wasn't the last student to apply B.S. to essay questions, I grew weary of the process. I also grew to hate dealing with students who came to my office after each exam to argue for higher scores. So I did what many others have done: I resorted to objective exams with the questions chosen from a database that was created – and hopefully validated – by textbook publishers.

But I still despise multiple choice questions. For them to be effective, it is essential that at least one of the “wrong” answers make some sense and thereby separate students who really know from those who are good guessers. The best questions will be missed by many if not most of those who really haven't mastered the material.

This means that successful students will not only be looking for a correct answer, but must also take care that their choice is the most correct one. Done well, this process of elimination may actually foster learning, at least that's the theory.

Having recently been presented with a pair of multiple-choice questions, I've been struggling to find the right answer:

79. What is my favorite season?

80. What is my least favorite season?

As an historically gifted test-taker, two things come immediately to mind: the questions are obviously related and my answer to one may inform my answer to the other.

It seems only logical that my favorite season cannot, at the same time, be my least favorite. If, therefore, I can identify the answer for one of the two questions, I can safely eliminate that as the answer to the other.

Or can I?

Finding one correct answer from among such general choices isn't a simple matter.

If I were to choose December, for example, as my favorite month because Christmas is in December, might I also choose December as my least favorite because of Pearl Harbor Day?

And herein, as they say, lies the rub. Every season is filled with wonderful memories and each has sterling properties that could easily justify its elevation to the top rung of the ladder; but each also contains anniversaries of tragic events, each has drawbacks and each poses dangers along with opportunities.

Spring is when I was married; but it is also when my daughter died. Summer features long days and endless sunshine; but the resulting heat can be unbearable, driving us indoors.

Winter, similarly offers a wonderland for those who live in locations with a snow season, it presents crisp, clear, invigorating air that makes its presence known when it hits the lungs. It also threatens frostbite, starvation, unwanted slipping and sliding and winter also drives us indoors to escape the elements.

And fall... Well, fall brings football weather, trees flaming with color, a respite from summer heat, and the harvest. But Fall is the beginning of a descent into winter. Frost, fog and days growing shorter and shorter; it's the advent of cold and dark, inviting depression and despair and suggesting death and dying.

Just as none of my friends and relatives is perfect, so are the four seasons imperfect. We love what we love not because it is perfect; we love it despite its flaws and baggage.

I believe Cole Porter had it right. Please excuse me for adjusting his lyrics:

I love living in the springtime.
I love living in the fall.
I love living in the winter when it drizzles,
I love living in the summer when it sizzles.
I love living every moment,
every moment of the year.