The Things They’ll Never Test For

A heartfelt reflection from a teacher who sees the unseen

There’s no box to check when a child learns how to breathe through their anger.
There’s no STAAR question on how to include the kid who always gets left out.
There’s no MAP score that can show you how brave a child is when they raise their hand after weeks of silence.

But those are the things that define my days.

This week didn’t look extraordinary on paper.

It was full of the usual second-grade moments: library day excitement, lost jackets, a few wiggly hallway lines, and glue stick catastrophes. We finished a math assessment, got excited about a new read-aloud, and made our usual trek to chapel.

But in between the structured lessons and routine transitions, magic happened.

One student, who has been terrified to read out loud since the first week of school, whispered the entire first sentence of a book to me at my small group table. I didn’t stop her. I didn’t correct her. I just smiled and let her keep going. She beamed the entire time.

Another student, who struggles with emotional regulation, paused mid-outburst, clenched his little fists, and whispered, “I’m trying, Mrs. Bradberry.” And I could see how hard he really was.

Another asked if they could write a “you can do it” note to a friend they saw struggling. No adult prompted them. They just noticed.

None of that will show up in a data report. But if you ask me? Those were the biggest wins of the week.

They won’t test them on these things …..but I will always see them.

We live in a time where teaching feels more like measuring than mentoring.
Where we’re constantly tracking progress, color-coding data walls, and creating interventions.

And don’t get me wrong — I care deeply about my students’ academic growth. I cheer like crazy when someone jumps 15 points on their MAP test or conquers a tough subtraction problem for the first time.

But the growth that grips me, that anchors me, is the kind you can’t measure.

Like when a child who once avoided eye contact now laughs with friends at recess.

Or when the kid who never got a turn at kickball last year is now the one getting high-fives for a great play.

Or when they finally believe you mean it when you say, “I’m proud of you.”

My classroom is full of data... but it's also full of heart.

And sometimes, I find myself feeling torn between the two.

Because when people ask how my students are doing, my first instinct isn’t to list off their reading levels. It’s to tell them about how brave they’ve become. How thoughtful. How strong. How funny. How themselves.

Yes, I want them to grow academically. But more than that, I want them to grow into the kind of people the world desperately needs.

People who notice.
People who care.
People who try again.
People who don’t just teach, but lift, build, and believe in others.

If you’re a teacher reading this…

You’re not “just” a teacher. You’re a heart-shaper. A seed-planter. A moment-noticer. You show up for kids in ways the world will never fully see or understand.

Keep showing up for the things they’ll never test for.

Because in the end, those are the things they’ll remember most.