Maryam Zaringhalam's scheme to cheat her way into the smart class makes clear a huge flaw in the education system.
Maryam Zaringhalam is a molecular biologist and graduate student at The Rockefeller University. In the lab, Maryam tinkers with parasites and computers to understand how small changes to our genetic building blocks can affect how we look and function. When she's not doing science, Maryam runs ArtLab, a series that pairs scientists with artists, and podcasts with Science Soapbox, exploring science and policy.
EPISODE TRANSCRIPT
My mom remembers coming in during Parent Observation Day and watching me from the back of the class picking my nose and daydreaming. This was me on my best behavior for Mom and Dad.
Coming home from school instead of going straight for my homework, I'd beeline for the fridge to pop it open, cut up some slabs of butter, stick them in the microwave to melt them down. Then I'd open a pack of Polly‑O string cheese to dip the cheese into the butter for what I swear to you is the tastiest snack that you will ever taste.
On days I was feeling a little more ambitious, I would stuff a pita with tortilla chips, stick in some Polly‑O string cheese and hot sauce for what I called a nacho pita sandwich.
Obviously, I've been innovating from a young age. But, still, no homework got done. When I was caught without my homework, I'd make up excuses like, “Oh, I had to take a bath.” Yes, it just so happens to be the longest bath in the history of the universe.
In the event of a pop quiz, I’d dart out of the room, pretending like I had to desperately barf, then I'd go to the nurse's office and call up my doctor mom and get the all clear to hang out with the nurse, coloring until the test was over.
If I knew a test was coming, I would go in the morning to my mom, clutching my stomach and just whine, “Tummy…” like the child that I was. Instant sick note.
Now, cut to the first day of fourth grade. I walk into Mrs. T's homeroom class and the desks are clustered in groups of four. On each desk, there's a name tag and a manila folder. So, all of us young ‘uns come in, scrambling around the room, trying to find the name tags that match our appropriate names. We sit down and once the dust is settled, Mrs. T goes through her, “Welcome to the fourth grade, the beginning of your new academic journey.”
Once she's done with her introductory spiel, she tells us to prop up our manila folders, and instantly, I know what's up, test time on the first damn day.
Now, fortunately, at this point, I'm a seasoned get‑out‑of‑test taker. So what I do is I raise my hand a little shakily for effect and go through my tummy woes. But this wizened fourth grade teacher is just not buying it. She sends me straight back to my desk because we have a math placement test to take, mandatory.
Now, I should tell you that despite the fact that I was chronically lazy, I never thought of myself as being particularly dumb. But I never really thought of myself as being smart either. I just didn't really think about it. It didn't factor into my identities at all.
But Mrs. T told us that this placement test would split us up into two levels. Looking back at it in retrospect, it was Level 1 or Level 2. This was kind of designed to bamboozle our young minds into not really knowing what was going on, because, sure, we all knew that because it was levels, one had to be better than the other, but at that age, first is still the worst and second is the best.
But one comes before two, so maybe that's the one that I want. But two comes after one, so maybe that's more advanced. Then at some point, you're just wondering, “Where the hell are my fruit snacks?”
The point is, I wanted to be in the better one. Level 1, Level 2 didn't matter at all. The only problem is that, as it turns out, homework and tests are actually good for something. They help actually make sure that you're learning the things that you're supposed to be learning in school. So, no homework, no practice, no learning for young me.
Mrs. T tells us to open up our test booklets and begin. I take one look at that test and think, “Shit,” or whatever eight‑year‑old appropriate version of the word shit. I don't know what my vocabulary was at that time.
I look at the first page and there's just a bunch of triangles and squares and circles that I'm supposed to do something with. Then I'm supposed to crunch some numbers. Then I flip to the back of the booklet and there's just a bunch of clocks, taunting me, reminding me that time is running out.
Fortunately, though, it turns out that manila folders are not the greatest blocking devices. While I couldn't see the kid directly across from me, I could sneak some peaks at the girl sitting next to me. Allison was her name. Even more fortunately, it turns out that Allison had her shit together.
So, I sneak a peek over and she's writing some numbers under the shapes, and so I follow suit. I peek over again and she's scribbling some numbers in the margins, and so I do the same. I peek over again and she's drawing some hands on the clock, because, of course, that's what they're there for, and so I copy that.
I peeked my way through the whole test, which is really just a nice way of saying that I cheated.
The next week, the results were in and I was placed in the Level 1. All of the Level 2 kids had to pack up their Trapper Keepers and mosey on over to the classroom next door. Once they'd all cleared out, I took a look around the room and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was surrounded by nerds, including my good friend, Allison.
So, cheating worked, except that Level 1 math is actually super hard if you didn't learn all of the things that you're supposed to learn in order to get into Level 1 math in the first place. And, boy, had I not.
But every time I complained to my Level 2 friends about being super confused and behind, they'd just brush me off and say, “Whatever. You're in the smart class. You're a smart kid.”
This was the first time that I can really remember this smart‑dumb distinction. I mean, sure, there were the kids that really liked books, and then you had the kids that were really good at sports inexplicably, and then the ones like myself that would just rather watch TV all day.
But smart or dumb? No, we were all in the same class since day one.
So, I was left with a choice. And what I decided was that I would kick my butt through Level 1 math because I'd be damned before I dropped down to dumb.
The first thing I learned was this thing called multitasking. I could still come home and cut up my butter slabs and pop them in the microwave and dip my cheese into them, but I could eat those delicious delicacies while I was doing my homework. This was a total revelation to my young mind.
And slowly but surely, I started doing better, because, surprise, I knew what was going on in class. And this studiousness crept into my other classes. So, for the first time in the history of me, I actually read a school‑assigned book. It was the biography of the famed conservationist Rachel Carson, who I totally fell in love with.
Slowly, I started spending my recesses in the library, filing away books in exchange for ice cream sandwiches, so no Child Labor laws were broken in the making of this story. And I even asked my parents to enroll me in this program called Kumon, which assigned extra homework so that I could actually get ahead. Over the course of that year, I lived up to my smart kid label.
A year after, I sailed through fifth grade Level 1 math. And a year after that, I got placed in the gifted and talented math program. The next year, I graduated up to junior high school. And here, they split the science class into Level 1 and Level 2.
Now, the Level 1 math kids were automatically placed into Level 1 science. And the Level 1 science was a full year ahead of the Level 2. Except this time, there were no placement tests that you could take. There was no chance to cheat and leapfrog your way forward. It was only at this time that I started telling my friends, the few that I had at the time, what I had done all those years ago. I would go off on impassioned rants about the failed system and how our fates had been sealed at the smooth old age of eight.
Of course, no one really took me seriously because, you know, I was only 12. Still, I knew that I hadn't always deserved my “smart kid” label. But, eventually, I did live up to it, and only because by cheating, I created a choice for myself to either sink or swim.
Now, almost 20 years after that fateful fourth grade test, I'm getting my PhD in biology. I'm getting that PhD because, once upon a time, I made a choice to cheat.
Thank you.