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Standardized tests don't tell the whole story. This author's viral tweet proves it.

What happens when you have a childhood dream to be a writer, but your test scores tell you it's not in the cards?

For Alexandra Penfold, she became a writer anyway — and a successful one at that. Penfold is a literary agent and the author of children's books like "All Are Welcome" and "We Are Brothers, We Are Friends."

In a viral tweet, Penfold shared an image of a self-evaluation she wrote in fourth grade. In scrawling cursive penmanship, it reads: "Writing. I love to write and I hope to become an athor [sic] someday."

Below that image, she shared a photo of her fourth-grade state writing assessment. It shows a score of 4 out of 8 and reads: "This student is minimally proficient in writing."

"This weekend I sorted through some papers my mom saved from my childhood," Penfold wrote. "The top one is my 4th grade self evaluation. The bottom, my 4th grade state test score."

Her final sentence makes an important point: "Random House published my 6th book last week. #MoreThanATest."

Standardized tests don't tell the whole story — and sometimes they tell an inaccurate one.

According to the Center for American Progress, which looked at 14 districts in seven states, some students in the U.S. take as many as 20 standardized tests each year with an average of 10 tests in third to eighth grade. While such assessments may be useful tools in some ways, far too much weight can be placed on them. Some very bright kids simply don't test well. Some skills develop later for some kids — without any effect on the quality of those skills in the long run.

Imagine if Penfold had taken her writing test score as some kind of gospel indicator of her ability. Far too many kids find themselves fretting over test scores, and far too many adults put too much stake in them.

Penfold's tweet reminds us that goals and hard work far outweigh measurable skill or talent.

If you are a parent or teacher of kids who worry about how they perform on standardized tests, show them Penfold's tweet. And then show them some of the responses to it as well. Kids need to hear stories of people who didn't do well on tests or who didn't appear to show great promise in a field they loved, but who ended up triumphing all the same.

For instance, this person who hadn't tested well and "was a clutz in the lab" and whose teacher tried to steer them away from science earned a doctorate in chemistry.

And this person who had tutors her whole life and whose principal told her mother she wouldn't go to college graduated from university with honors and become a published author. As she wrote, "You are the only person that's allowed to define you!"

A person's potential can't be measured in a test score.

A test is a limited method of measuring a limited set of criteria in a limited time period. Let's make sure kids understand that and teach them that what really counts is what they believe they can achieve and how hard they're willing to work. People like Alexandra Penfold prove it.

Family

Diseases, beware: A chemist may have found a way to detect you sooner.

Imagine being hit with a dangerously high fever hundreds of miles away from the nearest hospital.

You live in a rural area, have little money for treatment or transportation, and don't have an easy way to physically get to the hospital.

When you're eventually able to see a doctor and take some tests, that's when he tells you some disconcerting news — you have malaria, your condition has already worsened, and now your treatment options are limited.

If only there had been a way to find out sooner, when more could be done.

The streets of Timbuktu in Mali. Image via iStock.

That's the harsh reality many people face in sub-Saharan Africa when it comes to malaria.

According to UNICEF, more than a million people die from malaria each year, and 90% of those cases of malaria occur in sub-Saharan Africa. What's even more heartbreaking is that the majority of those deaths are children under the age of 5.

Malaria also hurts the continent economically — Africa loses up to $12 billion every year due to a loss in productivity.

A close-up of the culprit. Image via CDC Global/Flickr.

Luckily, chemists at Ohio State University are developing a way to test for malaria without having to visit a doctor.

And all the patient needs is a piece of paper!

This would help people get malaria diagnoses sooner — if the test is positive, they know it's critical to go to the doctor, and when they do go, it would already be for treatment and not just for testing.

Currently, patients can take a Rapid Diagnostic Test (RDT) to find out if they have malaria or not, but the climate in Africa combined with the considerable expense of the test often prevent it from being an option. However, these are issues a new home test can address.

Image by Pam Frost Gorder, used with permission.

The man leading this charge is Abraham Badu-Tawiah, an assistant professor of chemistry and biology at Ohio State.

Having grown up in Ghana, he knew he wanted to come up with a way to provide an accurate diagnosis for people far away from a proper medical facility.

"Our main motivation is really to get to know whether you’re sick or not sick early enough so that we don’t wait or think it’s too late," said Badu-Tawiah. "If it’s just in the initial stages, you can actually take your time and do something to focus on getting well."

So how does this piece of paper work?

As a patient, all you would need to do is put a drop of blood in the reservoir, fold the paper in half, stick it in an envelope and then mail it to their lab. After a round of testing, you get your results. That's it!

Image by Pam Frost Gorder, used with permission.

The paper itself uses a special wax ink that creates a barrier to keep the blood sample in place. It's also charged with ionic probes that can tag the specific antibodies that act as biomarkers (basically, indicators) of a particular disease. Even better, the ionic probes aren't affected by light, temperature, or humidity and can keep the sample intact for up to 30 days — ideal for patients in sub-Saharan Africa.

Once the lab has the paper, they just dip it in an ammonia solution, peel the layers apart and put it in front of a mass spectrometer — the device that can find the disease biomarker and tell whether someone is sick or not.

Right now, the testing needs to be done in special labs because mass spectrometers aren't immediately available in developing nations and they're very expensive. However, smaller, less expensive ones are already in the process of being developed. So help is on the way!

It's also possible to use this device to test for certain cancers. In time, hopefully all of them.

In the Journal of the American Chemical Society, Badu-Tawiah and his colleagues state that they can test for any disease where the human body produces antibodies. This includes ovarian cancer and cancer of the large intestine.

But they're not stopping there.

"It will cover all kinds of cancer eventually when we advance in knowledge," added Badu-Tawiah. "What we need is to be able to identify a specific biomarker for each cancer."

The paper is designed to be very affordable at just 50 cents a piece.

Image by Pam Frost Gorder, used with permission.

And that number could go even lower once they enter mass production. Access for all, regardless of location, is incredibly important to Badu-Tawiah.

"Making the resources accessible to a lot of people I think is the solution. That’s why I came up with this idea to build a bridge and to connect the rural and the cities," he said. "This will be useful for a lot of people, not only in Africa, but in the U.S. and many other places. It will change lives."

The scientists are also working very hard to make the testing process less invasive and more comprehensive.

Image by Pam Frost Gorder, used with permission.

"Our next move is actually going down from blood to saliva and then to urine," says Badu-Tawiah. "We are really hopeful that within a few years, this will come to fruition."

They're also developing a separate method that is able to detect malaria, syphilis, HIV, and tuberculosis all on the same device.

Pretty amazing, right?

This type of research has the potential to change how the world approaches deadly diseases.

Just thinking about how a drop of blood on a piece of paper could potentially replace a long journey to a testing facility is an exciting development.

In places from Africa to the U.S., this kind of innovation could one day be available at the corner drug store. It has a long way to go, but the prospects so far are exciting.

In this instance, it really is the smallest things — like a 50-cent piece of paper — that can make the biggest difference.

Family

Prince Harry got tested for HIV. The video is refreshingly relatable.

"It's a simple finger-prick test and gives a nearly instant result."

On July 14, 2016, Prince Harry got tested for HIV — and broadcast the experience live on Facebook.

Photo by Chris Jackson-Pool/Getty Images.

Prince Harry wanted to reduce the stigma surrounding the virus, while encouraging others — "whether [they're] a man, woman, gay, straight, black or white — even ginger," he noted with a grin — to know their status.

In some respects, his experience was a bit different than what regular people like you or me would expect out of trip to the clinic.

For instance, we likely wouldn't shake hands with the whole staff.

Photo by Chris Jackson-Pool/Getty Images.

But in many ways, the prince's experience was refreshingly relatable. He was, for instance, a bit "anxious" beforehand.

That's understandable.

Photo by Chris Jackson-Pool/Getty Images.

Nerves are totally normal before getting tested for HIV (and, let's be real, pretty much any test that involves a needle). But as advocates argue, you should never allow fear to affect your health. 

Harry learned quite a bit about sexual health while he was there, too.

Photo by Chris Jackson-Pool/Getty Images.

He's no expert on the topic — and you certainly don't have to be to get tested. That's one important reason why sexual health clinics exist in the first place — to help you get in-the-know on STI treatments and prevention, so you can live life to the fullest.

The prince said he was surprised at how speedy the whole process was.

“It’s amazing how quick it is," he noted after learning he'd have answers within seconds of the small prick on his finger.

Photo by Chris Jackson-Pool/Getty Images.

The results would either be "non-reactive," meaning a patient is HIV-negative, or "reactive," which suggests the patient is HIV-positive. A "reactive" result would need to be confirmed in the lab following the test.

Prince Harry doesn't have HIV, but regardless of the outcome of the test, simply knowing your status can take a huge burden off many patients, according to Robert Palmer, who performed the test at the London clinic.

“[Patients] can feel much better, straight away,” he explained, agreeing with the prince's assessment that simply getting folks in the door is often half the battle.

Photo by Chris Jackson-Pool/Getty Images.

And while no patient wants their results to come back positive, of course, it's vital to remember that getting an HIV-positive diagnosis no longer means what it did 30 years ago.

"People [who are HIV-positive] are living long and healthy lives," Robert said, noting that patients who seek treatment can have fulfilling sexual relationships, work full-time, and enjoy their retirements.

As advocates point out, the worst thing about HIV isn't having it — it's notknowing if you do or not.

Watch Prince Harry get an HIV test below:

Want to know your status and get tested for HIV?

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How I learned from my sister that standardized tests have nothing to do with real life.

My delightful sister, Annie — the Queen of Seeing Through B.S. — posted this image on Facebook the other day:

Image provided by Ben Thomas, used with permission.

Leaving aside what you may or may not like about this image itself, it made me wonder:

What do standardized tests actually tell us?

Here’s what my sister — who is now 28 —  says:

"Dear 16-year-old Annie, you suck at standardized tests. In 10 years, no one will care, and your path in life will have nothing to do with your SAT score. Get graded now, and prove them wrong later."

Go, Annie.

My sister was always the social one.

While I was in my room with books as a kid, she was in hers with clothes in front of the mirror. When I was 12, I thought she was vapid and shallow.

What I didn’t realize is that she was systematically hypothesizing, testing, and analyzing what the Italians call la bella figura — the way she would present herself to the world. Her personal brand. She was doing this when she was 8. Younger, even.

Meanwhile, I invented imaginary continents, drew imaginary maps of them, populated them with imaginary cities full of imaginary people whose clothes and weapons I also drew, with elaborate ecosystems of fictional creatures whose life cycles I documented with all the loving detail of a field biologist.

Our home was 20 miles from the nearest significant town, and we were homeschooled.

We lived in a place called Wayside, Texas — except that there was no more Wayside, Texas. People abandoned the town back in the 1970s, leaving a dried-up ruin of concrete foundations and artifacts on which our brand-new house sat.

My hometown. Image provided by Ben Thomas, used with permission.

I used to have nightmares about running across those flat plains forever, getting nowhere. Sometimes I still have those dreams.

Every morning I’d wake up, microwave something for breakfast, and look over the index card that my mom had prepared with my assignments for the day: "Do math lesson 34. Do exercises 171 to 175 in English workbook. Read pp. 471–503 of history book."

12-year-old me would brew a nice cup of green tea and get down to business. Three or four hours later I’d be done, and I’d spend the rest of the afternoon designing my own role-playing games or digging up the archaeological ruins on our property or trying to learn to code in C++. Or watching music videos.

Annie on the other hand — let’s put the cards on the table: I thought she was dumb.

All day, she’d sit there with Mom, talking about her schoolwork.

She actually, physically asked questions when it was so much easier and faster to ask a book or the internet — not to mention that with books and the internet, you had direct access to the accumulated knowledge of 5,000 years of human memory. When you talked to Mom, you had access to — well — Mom. Annie also got very stressed when she had to take an exam.

This was another reason I thought Annie was dumb:

To achieve a "100" on an exam, I knew, all one had to do was create simple mnemonics, memorize the necessary information, then select the right answers on the exam. Or if it was an essay exam, just write the author’s arguments back to him or her in a slightly altered way. Simple. Like baking cookies.

Annie would cry about her exams, and I’d go up to my room, cranking up the Weezer or Chopin . I was certain nothing of value was transpiring in that pink, bookless wasteland of her room. She had so many stuffed animals they couldn’t fit on the bed.

Image via gfpeck/Flickr.

Now, everyone knows that when a kid arrays her stuffed animals on her bed and conducts a parliament with them, this is more than just play. This is the development of an important technology: the ability to infuse inanimate objects with aspects of one’s own consciousness, then interact with them to talk out a problem, wage battle among conflicting thought processes, or just shoot the shit with oneself. This process requires physical objects to which the consciousness-aspects can be assigned — it can’t be achieved within one’s own mind.

Thus, stuffed animals, dolls, action figures, fetishes, graven images and idols — they’re  all essential tools for a person trying to work something out. Clothes can work that way too; the trying on of different personas. But I just didn’t see it that way then.

At some point in all this, Annie and I both took our standardized tests.

In America they call it the SAT, but it's basically the same everywhere: battalions of tiny ovals on white pages, questions about "If A is to B as B is to C, then what is the relationship of C to A?" and "Would you say this passage is more perspicacious or percipient?" and "If George the intern deposits $3,750 in his account, and that’s 25% of his intern salary, then how much is his monthly pay?"

Monsters is what they are.

Image via Butz.2013/Flickr.

Every kid fears them. Except for me for some reason. I asked Mom if I could take them early. She said, "Sure, why not." I took the SAT — which you take when you graduate high school — at age 12 and scored high enough to get into a university right then. I asked Mom if that meant I could skip the rest of school and go straight to a university. She said, "No, you are not going to a university at age 12." I was too angry to see the wisdom there.

Annie put her SAT off as long as she could.

She did not enjoy the exam nor was she especially proud of her scores. But she scored well enough to get into a respectable university, where she studied brand communications and marketing and social dynamics and all the stuff she always played at up in her room in front of that mirror.

She went to Manhattan to be an actress for a while, got a lot of roles but wasn’t into it, came back to Texas, bounced from one job to another, fell in love, bought a house, adopted a diverse cast of dogs, and found her way to a laid-back desk job where she feels at home.

As for me, I lost patience at age 16.

I typed up a five-page proposal in which I detailed the reasons I should be allowed to skip the rest of high school and go to a university. I presented binders containing this proposal to my parents, who caved.

Image via State Farm/Flickr.

I was the only 16-year-old freshman at Texas Tech University. The university paper did a feature about me. I studied Latin and spent most of my time in the university’s five-story library, which was my favorite place in the world. I didn’t really have any friends. Sometimes people let me hang out with them. Mostly I hung out in the library. Or in my room at my parents’ house after the 20-mile drive home.

When I was 17, I talked my parents into letting me drop out of the classics program at Texas Tech so I could go study film in Los Angeles.

A lot happened after that: I worked as a courier, and a receptionist, and a mailroom guy, and a checkout guy, and a mailroom guy again, and a government-check-collector for a few months when medical marijuana had just become legal, and holy cow, did I get good at Starcraft.

Somewhere in there, though, a realization was forming: What the people with money actually want is skills.

Image via Fredrik Rubensson/Flickr.

Like, oh my god, it’s all about the actual practical ability to do useful things for other human beings!

And as for the ability to pencil in little ovals on a sheet of cardstock that corresponds to accurately constructed metaphors and vocabulary definitions …

Well, the only guarantee for that ability is that it promises you a place using those same skills somewhere else, filling out similar little cards behind a desk in a little red building.

All it guarantees is a place where, if you’re lucky, some kid might dig those cards up from under the West Texas dirt someday and squint at the markings on them under the summer sun and wonder just what in the hell those little slips of paper were for anyway.

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