After handing back the results of our first exam, my teacher — an elderly man who had worked for the school district long enough to recount memories of teaching my classmates’ parents — turned to the chalkboard and wrote down the average grade of the class.

Much to our delight, the number was in the 90s. For students in an honors course, it was a validating moment proving our hard work and devotion had paid off. Sure, the exam might not have been the hardest but, as students, we had upheld our end of the bargain and done what we were expected to do.

But surprisingly the number on the board seemed to foster a different reaction from the person standing at the head of the class.

After a few hushed moments spent watching our instructor’s eyes bounce between our faces and the board, he opened his mouth and raised a question I’ll never forget: “How do you know if you’re smart?”

It was an odd question to ask — particularly on the day following our first exam — and something I doubt any 13-year-old would take comfort answering. But his curiosity didn’t seem to be meant as an insult — he seemed genuinely curious as to what our answers to his inquiry might be.

To his disappointment, no one in the room raised their hand, and the day carried on as if the question never had been raised. But I always wondered what my teacher meant.

As students hand-picked for the honors course, I doubted anyone in that room — myself included — ever had their intelligence questioned. Even as I stared down at my test, the grade at the top seemed to validate the very basis of my teacher’s uncertainty.

For the longest time, I’ve tried to put a finger on what my teacher’s message might have been, but never felt like my conclusions accurately answered his question.

But nine years later, I think I’m getting close.

As people who have spent a majority of our lives in school, tests and grades have become the basis for how we evaluate intelligence.

From as early as grade school, the necessity to perform well on tests seemed to set us on one of two paths for the rest of our lives.

If you did well, you were lucky and coined as smart. You were able to take classes offered exclusively with other students who received high marks, and these people likely became your close friends.

For everyone else, the path doesn’t seem as kind.

Compared to their classmates, the expectations teachers had of these students seemed much lower. All because of a few test scores, these students were made to believe there were limitations to their academic potential. In time, they developed an adverse relationship with school and found less reason to support a place where they had been conditioned to fail.

And this problem only seems to get worse as you get older.

By high school, the students on the better path continue to do well. They get good grades, make the honor roll, enroll in advanced placement courses, do well on the ACT and eventually find their way to one of the many Division I universities to which they applied.

For the rest, the mountain of challenges only continues to grow steeper. After years of being beaten down, they develop a disdain for the idea of furthering their education. These students’ relationship with education ends with a high school diploma, and no one seems to think much of it.

Now, you can say none of this is true and argue disparities in economics or behavior really are to blame — but I think that’s avoiding the larger problem.

By catering to a system in which test scores and grades quantify intelligence, we destroy the relationship a student should build with learning at an early age.

And this problem only seems to worsen with age.

In college, the idea of studying has completely replaced the art of learning. Out of a fear of being recognized as anything but smart, people develop dangerous study habits just to feel they’re doing all they can to make the grade.

And who could blame them?

When your entire semester grade is dependent on a few tests, knowing the material well enough for just an hour seems to trump any value in remembering it for years to come.

This has downsized the role of learning in our society — causing us to lose trust in our own intelligence — and it’s time for this to stop.

A time will come when each of us no longer will be required to take tests, and the furthering of our education will fall into our own hands. We should treat this as a challenge to refall in love with the idea of learning.

If I had to answer my teacher’s question today, I would say it’s having a love for knowledge that delegates whether you’re smart — not a letter at the top of your test.

Greg Olsen is the opinion writer at The State News and a professional writing senior. Reach him at olsengr2@msu.edu.