Wednesday, June 24, 2009

More Drawing

As I've mentioned before, N. insists on spending a big portion of every day drawing. We have an enormous Rubbermaid tote filled with drawings of trucks, trucks, trucks, other vehicles, dancers in trucks, and cathedrals. What are we going to do with all these? I can't bring myself to throw them in the recycling bin... yet. (These are done with oil pastels, which produce such a satisfyingly rich color.)





Thursday, June 18, 2009

Princess Stories

N. has long loved books, but recently he has been particularly interested in oral story-telling. He wants to hear funny stories about our childhoods. He tells Tim meandering, plotless stories, often about trains, on the long walks (3 miles sometimes!) they take every day. He asks Tim to tell him stories called “The Princess and the Restaurant” or “The Princess and the Other Castle,” or “The Princess and the Five Sons.” A recurring character in these stories is someone called Princess Huka-buka.

I find making up stories on the spot incredibly difficult; I am not particularly creative in that way (that’s why I am a literary critic, not a novelist, much as I would love to write a novel!). I am self-conscious and can’t really let go of my judgmental tendency and just tell whatever occurs to me. I’m going to work on this as the summer progresses, because I’d like to get into story-telling more. After all, oral story-telling is the oldest narrative art and thus seems to offer a connection to an ancient way of being human. Tim seems to enjoy the challenge of story-telling, and also to understand better than I do that a child’s idea of what makes a good story is probably not as limited as an adult’s, so anything goes. Indeed, the sillier the better.

Tim has been reading N. a lot of Grimm’s tales recently, in a hard-core authentic translation, of course (the bizarreness and violence of which occasionally shocks my prim ears), so I guess that is in part where this princess theme comes from. Also, his best friends, who are sisters just a bit younger than him, like to dress up as princesses a lot.

“I like Princess Stories,” N. said last week, “but I don’t really know what a Princess is."

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

Washington, D.C.

Recently Tim, spouse of the century, took N. to D.C. to visit my parents for the weekend because I have a big writing deadline looming. Fortunately for me, my mom took lots of pictures! Although we go to D.C. several times a year, this was N.’s first visit to the Capitol. He was very excited about it because he loves the Capitol's dome.
(N. and Tim looking up at the dome of the Capitol while the tour guide talks.)

They also went to the Air & Space Museum; N. had been there when he was 2 but didn’t remember it at all. He liked it very much, but was disappointed that there wasn’t as much about “Space” as there was about “Air.” Apparently, he was expecting more rockets, although he acknowledged that there wasn’t enough room for a lot of rockets. Also, he did not at all approve of the exterior of the building, since he is not a big fan of modern architecture, but he grudgingly admitted that the interior of the building was actually “fancier” than he thought it would be.
(Saturn V!)

Here is a building that caught his eye as they walked around (it's a famous hotel -- can't remember the name). Grandma took a picture of it for him:



They also went to an ant exhibit at the Natural History Museum and to an aquarium in the Commerce Building. And of course there were many subway rides throughout the weekend.

Back at my parents' house, N. processed the sights in drawings and Legos.
(Saturn V and Lunar Lander)

Plus: carousel on the Mall with Grandma!

Saturday, June 6, 2009

Professors Who Homeschool

I recently came across this, though it is several years old now, and thought it was worth reprinting here, since our situation is so similar to his. As he describes, I am affirmed in my decision to homeschool by witnessing the end result of conventional schooling in my freshman college students.

The Chronicle of Higher Education

From the issue dated December 16, 2005

For Professors' Children, the Case for Home Schooling

If you want to bring a conversation to a dead stop on the academic cash-bar circuit, just mention casually that you are home schooling your children. You might as well bite the head off a live chicken. Most professors are likely to be appalled, and those who are not will keep their mouths shut.

Still, all indications are that the number of families who home school is growing rapidly — somewhere between 5 percent and 15 percent per year, according to the U.S. Department of Educationand the number of home-schooled children now hovers somewhere between one and two million. A recent Phi Delta Kappa/Gallup poll indicates that 41 percent of families had a positive view of home schooling in 2001, as opposed to only 16 percent who did in 1985. By almost every measurable outcome, home schoolers in general outperform their public-educated peers, and many colleges are beginning to rework their admissions procedures to accommodate the growing numbers of home-schooled applicants.

Nevertheless, I have spoken with more than a few professors who say that home schooling is dangerous: It is a threat to public education, it is anti-feminist, it isolates children, it is a form of religious fanaticism, it is a means of avoiding diversity, and — most withering of all — it is an instrument of ideological conservatism. They sometimes joke about home education by mentioning horror films such as Carrie and Children of the Corn.

I'm an English professor, and my spouse used to work in academic administration. We have three daughters, ages 6, 4, and 2. And we have been home schooling them for two years now. If all goes well, we plan to continue teaching them at home at least until they are old enough for high school.

We always planned that one of us would stay home while our children were young, but the idea of home schooling only developed recently in the context of our present circumstances.

Teaching our daughters to read and write, beginning around the age of 4, seemed like a natural thing for us to do. Along with potty training, it was just part of the ordinary business of being a parent. Being avid readers ourselves, we have about 4,000 books in our house, which now includes a children's library. I suppose it was inevitable that we would spend a lot of time reading to our children, and they would have an early desire to learn to read for themselves and for each other.

We live surrounded by woods and farmland, so our daughters are constantly asking us to look up plants and insects in the Audubon field guides. We have a reasonably well-supplied children's science lab and art studio. And, in the course of routine travel and shopping, it's easy to cultivate our daughters' curiosity about the world by visiting museums, zoos, libraries, schools, factories, and farms. These are things that most parents do, though they may not regard their activities as part of some kind of curriculum.

In a typical day, our 6-year-old daughter will study phonics, spelling, writing, history, geography, and math. She may perform some elementary science experiments, or she may work on an art project in emulation of Seurat or Pollock. On some days other children — not necessarily other home schoolers — will come to our house to play. Sometimes they'll open our costume chest and dramatize something they've been reading, such as The Hobbit. Other times they'll go outside and play hide-and- seek or go on an "expedition" to find specimens for the family museum. Even though our younger daughters have not yet started their formal schooling, they are eager to imitate their oldest sister, and the pace of learning seems to accelerate with each new child. On good days, home schooling seems like the most natural method of elementary education one could imagine.

We are not ideologically committed to home schooling any more than we are opposed to public education. And we are aware of the limitations of home schooling under some circumstances, just as we are aware of the difficulties faced by many public schools, even in relatively well-financed school districts. Ultimately, we want the best education for our children, and, on the whole, home schooling seems like the best option. It is also one that our daughters seem to desire, and, if any of them wanted to go to the nearby public school, we would certainly consider it.

Nevertheless, my spouse and I do feel the sting of criticisms that we hear in academe from people who don't know that we are home schoolers — or, worse, from those who do. Of course, we agree that these criticisms apply in some cases. But we also think it is unfair to judge a diverse range of home-schooling practices by associating the movement — if it can be called that — with its most extreme and marginal practitioners.

In search of some reassurance, I have had many discussions with other professors who home school, primarily at my home institution but also with a number of faculty members in other parts of the country. From those conversations I have noticed a number of common motives, circumstances, and beliefs among faculty members who educate their children at home:

They are rarely religious or political extremists. Many professors observe that it is difficult to achieve consistent moral training in public education. They sometimes state that private education in religious schools is too doctrinal or resistant to modernity, particularly in the sciences. Some lament that public and religious education seem to have become battlefields for activists for whom the "vital center" has been abandoned, along with a spirit of civic responsibility.

They want the best education for their children, but they are not wealthy. Professors are usually well informed about what constitutes a good education in terms of methods and resources. The experience of small classes and one-on-one tutoring inevitably convinces teachers of the effectiveness of methods that can easily be replicated in the home, though they are prohibitive for all but exclusive private schools that are usually beyond the reach of academics with more than one child. Home schooling, therefore, becomes a logical choice when the costs of private education and day care become greater than one parent's income.

They enjoy learning. For nearly all professors, the chance to review and expand their own youthful education in a variety of fields is a treat that almost transcends the educational needs of their children. Mathematicians, for example, relish the chance to reread the literature they half-missed when they were mastering geometry, and English professors, like me, enjoy the chance to relearn the astronomy they once loved before calculus crushed their hopes for a scientific career. They often see themselves as learning with their children rather than simply teaching them.

They are confident in their ability to teach. Professors often see teaching their own children as part of a continuum of pleasurable obligations to the next generation; they seek to integrate the values of their profession with the values they live at home. Since professors often teach the teachers, they tend to believe — perhaps with some hubris — in their ability to teach effectively at all grade levels. But more often, they recognize their limitations and seek collaboration with other parents — often professors themselves — with different areas of expertise.

They benefit from flexible schedules. Academics tend to work about 50 hours per week during the academic year, but they also have control over their schedules and long periods of relative autonomy. Most professors have a co-parenting ideal, but in practice one partner — usually the mother — becomes the primary home educator, while the father assumes a secondary role with some seasonal variation. Some express discomfort with this circumstance because they recognize the sacrifices that each partner requires of the other.

They value unstructured learning. Professors know how much time is lost by learning in an institutional setting. A large portion of the time spent in school is devoted to moving students around, dealing with disruptions, health problems, different amounts of preparation, and unequal rates of learning. Without all the crowd control and level seeking, the formal requirements of education can be completed in only a few hours a day, leaving lots of time for self-directed learning and play. As a result, home-schooled children generally learn faster and with less boredom and less justified resentment.

They see the results of public education. Every professor seems to complain that most high-school graduates are not really prepared for college, either academically or emotionally. More and more, our energies are devoted to remedial teaching and therapeutic counseling. Most believe that something is wrong in public education, or the larger culture, that can only be dealt with, in part, by selective withdrawal. Home-schooled students are not always perfect, but they seem more respectful, attentive, mature, and academically prepared than their peers. And they do not automatically perceive teachers as "the enemy" out of peer solidarity.

They privilege the family over peer groups. Professors often celebrate diversity as a value in education, and, among those who home school, many mention the value for their children of cross-generational experiences instead of identifying only with a peer group. In large families, children also benefit from teaching their younger siblings, who are generally eager to keep up. Home-schooled students are less likely to become alienated from their families as a result of antisocial, anti-intellectual peer conformity. They develop a set of values that enable them to resist the negative socialization that outweighs, by far, the benefits of segregation by age.

They have negative memories of their own education. Although it takes some probing, nearly every professor with home-schooled children mentions traumatic childhood experiences in school. Professors, as a group, tend to have been sensitive, intelligent children who were picked on and ostracized. They foresee the same treatment for their own children, and they want to do everything they can to prevent the children from experiencing the traumas they experienced. Professors recognize how many of our most brilliant students have been emotionally or physically terrorized for a dozen years before they arrive at college. School sometimes teaches otherwise happy and intelligent children to become sullen and secretive and contemptuous of learning.

It is hard to overemphasize this last point as a motive for home schoolers. In my own memory, the difficulty of school was never the work; it was surviving the day without being victimized by students whose violence was beyond the capacity or desire of adults to control. My spouse remembers the cruelty of girls in cliques, who can be even more cunning at the infliction of pain and permanent emotional scarring than any of the boys who sometimes sent me home with torn clothes and a bloody nose.

No doubt, my spouse and I have had to forgo some career options for our present way of life. Home schooling our children means we have to live on an assistant professor's salary. It also means living in a small town in the Midwest instead of an expensive city on one of the coasts. It means living in an old farmhouse that I am, more or less, renovating by myself. It means not eating out or going on vacations very often. It means driving older American cars instead of shiny new Volvos. But the big reward is the time we get to spend with our children.

I suppose, on some level, my spouse and I are rebelling against an academic culture that tells us we should both be working at demanding professional jobs while our children are raised by someone else. But we value this time with our children more than career advancement for its own sake. We don't regard ourselves as conservatives. We feel like we're swimming against the mainstream of a culture that has sacrificed the family for economic productivity and personal ambition. We don't think home schooling is right for everyone, but it works for us, for now. Of course we will make some mistakes, but on the whole, we think home schooling our children may be the most important thing we will ever do.

W. A. Pannapacker is an assistant professor of English at Hope College.

http://chronicle.com
Section: The Chronicle Review
Volume 52, Issue 17, Page B14

Friday, June 5, 2009

Old Buildings, Again

Since N. enjoyed David Macauley's Cathedral so much, Tim recently bought our own copy so we could stop hoarding the library's. He got Castle too.

This prompted N. to build a castle with blocks:


And later a cathedral:


Makes me want to buy more blocks!

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

When You Don't Have to Rush Off to School in the Morning

Usually N. wakes up first, around 7, but this morning I was up and working in my study for some time before I heard him stirring, around 8:50. I peeked in his room and said, “Wow, you slept in today!” “No,” he said with a big happy smile, “I’ve been awake for a long time. I’ve just been lying here making up stories!”