Back to the trundle

I think I really benefitted from a quiet weekend as my cold has become just a bit of a husky voice. I love spending aimless time at home and very rarely get to do it. Anyway, today was back to full-on mode. Dani went to work this morning and I was on the rota at Kids’ Club. It was a good session with one new child starting and one old hand leaving. Unfortunately, it was raining so hard that there wasn’t any opportunity for the kids to play outside. I chatted with M (age seven, I think) who told me all about his interest in electronics and very quickly lost me!

After Kids’ Club, Pearlie went over to the grandmothers’ house and I took Leo down to the home ed art session. The kids worked on a big, collaborative picture of a cityscape, I believe. I went off to work.

Dani finished work in time to collect Leo from art and they spent some time at home. Leo made some things from fimo (he’s quite into fimo at the mo), watched tv and pottered in the garden. Dani knitted and made phone calls.

Quick aside – I have been denying that I’d ever seen the film Dani is watching on tv in this room and then, all of a sudden:

Me: Oh, does someone get impaled on a huge pair of scissors at the end?

Dani: I think you have seen it then...

Pearlie popped home from the grandmothers’, just long enough to eat, before she went out again to her book group. Meanwhile, Dani and Leo had a quick visit from cousin D, who had to hang out at our place while his mum got the bus across town to collect his sister.

I got home from work and ate the end of a very yummy risotto that Dani had cooked, then Ocado brought the shopping and Pearlie came home.

Since listening to Alan Thomas at Hesfes, and reading his new book, I’ve been feeling very inspired again about our home ed life. In the book, Thomas quotes lots of parents of children who have learned autonomously (UK terminology) or naturally (Australian terminology) and there was so much there to recognise. It is that very simple thing of feeling validated by a representation of some aspect of your life. Probably the aspect of our lives that I blog the least, but which is possibly the most rich in learning terms (for us all) is conversation. What I love most is the way that conversation just bubbles up and how it takes us off in unexpected directions. Sometimes it is as simple as question and answer, but often it is much more rambling than that. Anyway, I think I’ll try to blog a bit more of it over the next few days.

Another blogworthy thing is how brilliantly Pearlie negotiates independent life these days. Recently, she had to get a bus quite a long way (about a 20 minute ride) and managed all the following:

She got to the stop, checked the printed timetable to confirm the bus time and realised that another bus would come first. She wasn’t sure if this bus went to the stop she needed, so she hailed it, got on and asked the driver. Driver told her it didn’t so she got off and waited for the right one. When this one ‘disappeared’ off the real-time indicator board, she phoned Dani who looked on the online real-time service to check it was still on its way. Bus then appeared so P got on and travelled to the stop she needed, where she got off and waited for her lift to arrive. I reckon that’s damn confident travelling. Part of what helps P manage is her fab memory for place. She had a complete mental picture of the route the bus would take and that helps!

Right, off to watch the rest of this film. Luckily, though I can remember the giant scissors, I can’t remember anything else!

On scripts and ad-libbing

People who know me at all IRL, or on the wider blogosphere, may know that I bang this little drum all about ‘scripts’. It goes like this... All around us are scripts that we can, very easily, find ourselves reading. We don’t consider our words or our actions – they fall into our hands and mouths as the ‘normal’ or ‘natural’ or ‘obviously best’ way of being.

In almost any sphere of our existence there’s an appropriate script. Born male? Here’s your script. Female? There you go. Reckon you're gay? Here’s the words. Mother? Father? Middle-aged? Define as ‘alternative’ in your parenting? Got a teenage child? Get the idea? There are ones about race and religion too, of course. It’s what is expected of us in the social world and, perhaps more significantly, it is what we come to expect of ourselves. I suspect I’ve ripped this idea off from stuff I’ve read over the years. Doesn’t Goffmann say things along these lines? I expect so. But, I have also thought about this a lot. As I have aged I am ever more aware of the scripts.

Being a parent is, undoubtedly, one of the most script-laden spheres of my existence. The language alone is incredible in its sheer volume. Is baby ‘good’? Does he sleep? Terrible twos? Tantrum, strop, paddy? Discipline in your home? Consistent? Nurture? Wholesome dinner? Routine? Jabs and checks? Homework? All this is the stuff of the mainstream. But, then, there’s the ‘alternative’ versions. Co-sleep? Attachment? Natural? Organic? Energies? The scripts are there too – for the taking. Other parents will watch you, listen, try to peg you on the line here. Is she as ‘normal’ as me? Is she as ‘genuine’? Watch what she says to her little one who hits... Watch the snack she gets from the bag... I know that there have been times when I’ve floundered in all this. And there have certainly been times when my refusal to adhere to the script has been profoundly uncomfortable.

Once I was in a group of parents who were attempting to support each other – bound together by a loose label of difference. The conversation turned to matters of discipline. The assumption, unspoken, was that we must, surely, all be wanting a ‘disciplined’ home? We must, surely, all see the need for punishment to achieve this? And, after all, no-one ever said they respected their parent for being nice, did they? Firm was what we had to be... I coughed and pointed out that I actually did respect my mum for being nice. I had no desire to be the boss. Nervous laughter and that horrible feeling of being ‘off-script’.

It’s easier not to be ‘off-script’ isn’t it? We all need some time when we feel ourselves safe, surrounded by the sameness of shared experience and outlook. We’re all women here, right? Or we’re all home educators? I don’t trash it. There have been times in my life when I needed, desperately needed, some time when I could relax and stop expecting the insults and hassle that came with being in a minority. The day we got attacked on our way to a Pride festival, I couldn’t have felt quicker healed, sitting bandaged and hugged in a park full of queers. But there’s a difference between finding company, solace and nurture for the different parts of ourselves and swallowing the book. Being aware of the script is a life skill, I reckon, and one we ignore at our peril.

In terms of home ed (just to keep this post vaguely on-topic) there are, of course, scripts. We grab them up as we embark. Working out how to label ourselves is key, isn’t it? Then working out what we’re supposed to say if we’re autonomous, or structured or whatever. However, one of the benefits of making an unusual choice is that there is more opportunity to write your own script. So, in essence, home ed is far less scripted than the role of parent who sends child to school. That’s certainly been my experience. As soon as P was in school I felt myself very heavily scripted. I had to smile at the teacher and thank her – regardless of her behaviour. I had to make sure I adhered to their rules of what I put in my child’s book bag or lunch box. I was ‘good’ in much the same way I was as a pupil. Just picked up the grown-up script and carried on.

Gender is, of course, a positive minefield of scripted interaction. It flows so deep that we barely hear it. When P was a little monkey toddler I’d take her to groups where mothers of boy children sat around and sympathised about how ‘boys never stopped’ and ‘they just climb everything’. On the floor, their little boys played, still and thrilled with train set. I found it hard to join in because I had to keep rescuing Pearlie from the top of the toy trolleys... Script said that boys had energy and girls were manipulative and men were hopeless at doing laundry and on and on. Of course, the little children couldn’t understand all this, could they? It couldn’t possibly be sinking in, settling in their little heads and shaping their view of reality? It couldn’t be how we learn that script, could it? I suspect it is.

I don’t claim any moral high-ground here. I do and say what is expected far more than I ever challenge it – or even think about it properly. We all do. But, as I grow older, I feel more and more liberated from the script. This is probably the slow, slippery path to the batty old lady at the bus stop who wants to tell you about her underwear. But I like it.

Singing and washing and boxes

Here’s a little piece I wrote the other day. Behind our house there is a day nursery and, when the weather’s warm, noises come over the back wall.

2008

I can hear music time at the nursery. The wheels on the bus – again. Why is it always so slow? Dragging, droning, a little flat and then rallying,

“ALL day lo-ong...”

A chorus of three or four women’s voices – determined. The children are mostly too young to sing, just an occasional shriek or shout. Quality time, focussed time – tick the box for music, social skills, something... Then line them up to wash hands for lunch.

1973

Hand washing was a dying art – even back then. Rubbing collars with a big bar of green soap. Gently squeezing wool in the luke warm tub. The jumper a swamp of hills and milky water. Then the songs came.

“Underneath the gas light’s glitter
Stands a fragile, little girl...”

Sun on the water. Sandals scuffing the kitchen chair as I climb down. Out to the line and the prop and the peg bag. Passing pegs and joining in,

“Let’s all go down the Strand,
HAVE A BANANA!”

Then cheese sandwiches on the back step. No boxes ticked.

In defence of TV – that flickering box of delight...

I seem to be encountering quite a few people, recently, who think that TV is ‘a bad thing’ for children. I’m sure that the computer game fans among you face similar attitudes about children and computer games. The idea seems to be that children are fundamentally damaged by access to TV, that their brains can’t cope with it and they would be better off without it. The talk is of the flashing lights and colours and short attention spans that it will (apparently) create. There is little discussion of the content of the programmes.

I have a lot of childhood memories that involve TV. I guess that people of my generation were among the first to have that influence in their lives – in this country anyway. I can remember the thrill of Doctor Who - dipping chips in ketchup and huddling around the tv. I can remember Andy Pandy with my mum at lunchtime when I was three. Looby-Lou had a special song that she sang about ‘the others’ being away and I used to sing it too – because my ‘others’ were at school and this was my secret time. I loved Bagpuss (of course) and Pipkins, which had a gorgeous talking hare. There were the imports like The Muppet Show and Mork and Mindy. I could tell you all about the Blue Peter appeal for Cambodia and how I entered a poster design in the competition for the International Year of the Child and got a runner-up badge and was thrilled.

When I got older there were dramas and comedies that spoke right to me. I remember that the Victoria Wood: as seen on tv shows started just after we bought our first video recorder. I taped them and watched them, again and again, learning the scripts and reciting them with my friends. I sat up very late into the night to watch a drama called The Two of Us, which told the tale of a relationship between two teenage boys. I can remember the chair I was sitting in, the look of certain scenes, the attack on one of the boys and some of the language. I saw that drama just once. It has stayed with me because it connected with me at a certain point in my life.

Oh, I could witter on like this for hours, telling you all about tv that made me squirm and tv that saved my sanity. But that would get rather tedious. And, after all, if my brain was fried in my early childhood, then no doubt all my perceptions have been skewed. But, the thing is, I don’t think it did harm me. I don’t think I do have a problem with concentration or thinking creatively. I don’t think I did as a child. I could spend three hours solid watching Champion the Wonder Horse and Multi-Coloured Swap Shop and Banana Splits, and then go and play with my dolls house for three hours. I did just that. I rode a bike a lot, read books up trees, did bizarre obstacle courses with my brother, played for hours in the bath – and watched tons of TV. When I was ten I got a black and white portable (beloved object that is in the loft and when last was plugged in still worked!) and had it in my room. The deadly sin of the modern parent and I had this in 1980! Ha! I shared a room with my brother at that age and we used to watch ‘The Professionals’ with the light off and the volume down. I don’t think it warped me. I’ve never felt compelled to get a bubble perm.

Our kids have had tv in their lives from the start. Both were mesmerised by videos of The Singing Kettle. It held the ever moving P still for half an hour and prompted extended fantasy play for Leo. It was sometimes infuriating crap (Jellikins made me ashamed for Rik Mayall) and sometimes a lovely nostalgia trip – Clangers, Bagpuss and The Herbs. Teletubbies became part of all our lives and I’ll always have a fondness for Po on her scooter and Tinky Winky’s bag. I never bothered about timing their TV watching but we all have a hatred of TV that isn’t being watched, so it gets switched off as soon as that starts to happen.

I do, sometimes, despair at the crap that is on TV. In my huffy opinion, there is way too much reality stuff and far too little original drama – for adults and kids. But there is still a great deal, in every day, that we can find to entertain, enlighten and educate us all. The music of Springwatch brings a smile to my face!

I’m all for unusual, minority choices in parenting. You kind of have to be if you home educate... If TV free life is your thing then good for you. But, what I object to is when people suggest that tv use is some kind of slack parenting strategy to keep children occupied – no matter the damage done to their brains. It’s also a favourite piece of government parenting ‘advice’ to limit screen time and use it as a bargaining, punishment/reward thing. To me, that is as objectionable as rationing access to books or cutting reading time if your child does something’ wrong’. Of course, if the oil runs out and we can’t power all our boxes of tricks then we’ll have to live without. But, I wonder, if in those dark homes, parents will huddle round the fire and tell their children traditional tales about Basil Brush....

All things come...

Lots of things have happened in the last few months that have made me realise, again, how wonderful it is when the moment is right for the children to acquire a new skill, or take a new step in growing up, and it just happens. Sometimes those things happen ‘by magic’ and sometimes they require some work, but the lovely thing about them is that they happen because the time becomes right.

Leo was very clear, at the age of three, that he didn’t want to be left at nursery school. The experience of a just a few days trying shook him up a fair bit. We backed off and I did, occasionally, worry that we were ‘storing up trouble’ or that he would never be happy ‘to be left’. But his evident happiness that it was no longer necessary to struggle with the issue made us sure we’d done the right thing. Earlier this week, Leo started at an art group for home educated kids. When I spoke to him about whether he was happy to be there alone, he was certain that he’d be fine. He is just eight years old and he was calm and confident, pleased to meet the ‘real artist’ who runs the group and show him some of his drawings. It is lovely to see how Leo has grown, bit by bit, in confidence and is now ready to go along to anything that he fancies and give it a go. There are plenty of kids who are happy to do that at four or five, but Leo has got there in his own time, and that’s the only time that matters.

Pearlie is ever more grown up too. She’s learning all the skills involved in being independent as she goes about the place alone. What I like about our life is that she can make the choices that feel right that day. Rather than having to get on the school bus, one day at the age of eleven, and then every day after, she has the opportunity to build up to longer journeys – or make a big leap if she’s in the mood. I put a great deal of store in listening to yourself, judging what feels right by how you feel, not what you think you should be able to do – or not do. P is remarkably capable in the world and enjoys her independence, but it’s on her own terms and in her own time. She's so sociable - spent the whole day with other kids and adults today in two different home ed groups and at Woodcraft. She's looking forward to a Woodies camp in the summer and a trip to the Isle of Wight with other home edders but without us!

In the last couple of months, Leo’s handwriting has developed into a, very fine, script. This has been just another stage in his development as a literate person. He’s taken every step at his own pace – and in his own way. By his sixth birthday he could read more or less anything that fell under his gaze, but his writing was still likely to have reversed letters, no gaps between words or punctuation to speak of. His spellings were largely phonetic and his letters a mix of upper and lower case. This never stopped his enthusiasm for writing and I’m sure that he learned loads through this early writing. His adoption of this new writing style has been really rather easy – maybe because he had laid all the real foundations of writing already – in his own way. He already knew how to spell, a lot of rules of punctuation and had considerable stamina. If we’d given him a pencil at five and got him sitting down tracing joined script (like they do in the schools round here) who knows what we would have been disrupting? I did offer to help him learn to write like this and I have supported him in his learning, but he was happy to put in some time every day because it was the right time – the time he wanted to learn a joined script. And, so, here it is - Leo’s achievement in Leo’s own time. And for his own purpose...

Pearlie is at a moment in her life when she is ready to understand a lot about how the world works – politics and all that. She reads First News and the local paper every day. She watches the news and reads websites and loves to watch Have I Got News for You and some of Bremner, Bird and Fortune. I guess there are many eleven year olds who would find both those shows impenetrable and uninteresting. But this is the right time for Pearlie and so she is getting what she can from them at the moment. She really likes the bit in BBF where posh London types are having a dinner party. There’s so much there to observe and learn from – the politics, satire, good writing, excellent comic timing... The right things at the right time for P.

I guess it isn’t always a case of waiting. Sometimes our kids do things that take us by surprise because they happen before they’re ‘expected’. But, either way, the right time is the right time and the order in which those things come along is the order that’s right for that child. Home education gives us the freedom to respect the pace, the order, the style of our kids’ learning and I love it. Of course, there will be times in the kids’ lives when they’re under pressure, when they need to get to grips with something quick, or suffer the consequences. That’s true for all of us. But I hope that lots of time learning things in their own way will keep them confident and engaged with the world. I think it’s true so far!

Nasty little notion - rant alert!

It’s not often that my jaw hits the floor these days. I feel like I’m often existing in some bizarre Orwellian nightmare when I listen to the pronouncements of the great and good. Let’s face it, when people vote for Boris Johnson in large numbers (because they think a public school educated bigot acting the clown is funny?) the world can’t get much stranger. But, today, this little gem (sorry links not working) http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/education/7381817.stm caught my eye on the BBC website.

Can others see the inherent contradictions here? First, Clarissa Williams criticises the push to get all children into early years settings asap and says,
“Are parents so distrusted that we want to separate them from their children at the earliest opportunity?"
I was rather pleased to hear someone so far on the inside of the system say something so sensible. But then she goes on to propose that people’s benefit levels should be affected by whether or not they “engage with schools”. It seems she can’t quite let go of the distrust herself. Patronising is the word that springs to mind. Would she like star charts down at the benefit office too?

Like Ms Williams, I dislike the punitive attitudes of councils who jail the parents of truanting children, and so on. But, unlike Ms Williams, I don’t favour an approach that seeks to replace the stick with a carrot. I know that it is unfashionable to say it, but when it comes to the welfare of their children, people are best motivated by their love for their children. They don’t need slapped wrists or extra pocket money. They need a system that respects their relationships and stops lecturing long enough to listen to what people actually say they need and want.

It seems to me that, deep within our culture these days, is an unshakeable idea that we are consumers. The rhetoric is all about participation but, when you dig a little, it is clear that you are meant to shut up and ‘engage with’ what is doled out, with a happy smile and a thank you. Public services should be just that – services that belong to us all. They never are. Sometimes people manage to access a bit of funding to get some, genuinely participatory, project off the ground but it is always a struggle. I encountered that when D and I were volunteers at the local Breastfeed Drop-in. At the time there were funds aplenty for Sure Start initiatives but this, well-established, peer to peer support project, was always in financial crisis. Running costs were very low but it seemed that, unless you were operating under the umbrella of the ‘good thing’ that was Sure Start, then you had to be constantly seeking new sources of funding and spending hours of volunteer time on filling in grant applications. You’re really not meant to do it yourselves - just turn up at the approved venue and get your services as they see fit.

This is, it seems to me, the key to understanding the state education system. It was why it always felt so hard to influence anything when we were parents of a school child. We were meant to be constantly grateful for everything (not that I’m against gratitude to individuals who do a good job) but never question. We did our best and were just the sort of ‘engaged’ parents that Ms Williams wants. We helped out in the classroom, washed paint pots, read with ‘slow readers’ and all that stuff. I can remember taking down Santa’s grotto well into the evening, after the Christmas fair. But, that really wasn’t participation. We could raise the money for play equipment but still had to abide by every edict without question. One day it was decreed that parents could no longer take their children to the classroom at the start of the day. Children had to be handed over to their teacher in the playground. Teaching assistants were posted, like bouncers, on the doors. I had to fight my way in to help my five year old out of her waterproof trousers, because no-one else was doing it and I could see her mounting panic and distress. That just made me a ‘naughty mummy’ and, no doubt, I would have been docked some of my golden time. You must be ‘engaged’ it seems, just how and when the PTB want you.

The truth, I suspect, behind Ms Williams bright idea is that she has a nice little stereotype in mind of the kind of parents who need to be motivated with extra benefit payments. They’re nothing like her, or her friends, of course. People ‘like her’ just do the right thing because they are socially responsible and mature and have their children’s best interests at heart. It is all about us and them, isn’t it? People like ‘them’ need bribes. I’m surprised she didn’t suggest free scratch cards. But, it’s all the rage at the moment, this sort of idea. Where we live, primary school children’s names are entered in a lottery for a new bike – if they achieve 100% attendance at school. Quite apart from the inherently unpleasant notion that being ill or unable to attend school is always a BAD thing (what about children with serious health problems who will never get entered in the lottery?) the whole scheme is aimed squarely at certain ‘types’ of school where attendance is a ‘problem’. It’s also aimed, rather transparently, at children who don’t already have a nice bike – or whatever the bribe may be. You can read between the lines. Just like we can read between the lines of what Ms Williams is proposing.

The state education system is clearly about ensuring compliance – far more than it is about education. But what is particularly scary about Ms Williams’ idea is the ease with which people now accept that ‘the state,’ acting as a single entity, should be able tweak the lives of individuals to suit a current political/ideological goal. Benefit payments should be about ensuring the basics of life to everyone in our society, not a means by which the state can make people jump through hoops. YUK.

Park life

We live in an area where hardly anyone has much of a garden. Ours is typical for the area – a concrete rectangle of about eight foot by twelve. The fronts of the houses have no gardens at all – the doorstep is right on the street. About ten years ago, as soon as we realised that we had a child who needed to run, lots, every day, we started to factor our local park into our day to day lives.

I can remember jogging around the play area in steady rain, tailing Pearlie, in her all-in-one waterproofs and welly boots. She was about two and I was probably fitter than I ever was before, or since! Later on, I spent most of a whole summer in the park, with little baby Leo feeding and sleeping under the big tree by the sandpit and three year old Pearlie learning to swing herself and climb to scary heights on the climbing frames. She watched her friend D chalking his name around the place and was doing it herself by the autumn. We took toys of all kinds – balls, scooters, little trucks to fill with sand, skipping ropes – and books. As Leo grew older we usually took paper and pens too. Leo has often sat beside me, drawing for an hour or more, while P plays with friends.

This park is really a communal garden for the people of this area. There have been days when I guess there must have been fifty people I knew, to a greater or lesser extent, in the park. There are plenty of people who I never really see in the winter months but nod to in the park - people I was at breastfeed drop-in with eight years ago, people I see in the shop, people whose kids are at school with my nephews and niece. And, in the last four years that we’ve been home edding, I have realised that the park has always been a key feature in that part of the local community too. At least once a week, in the summer, we can usually be found with other home edders in the park. There are often children from babies to teens playing, chatting and hanging out.

It’s a bit sad that you don’t see more schooled older children in the park, but you don’t. Most of them get bussed across town to secondary schools and by the time they’re back it’s quite late and they have homework to do, I guess.

It isn’t an idyll, by any means. Sometimes things kick off a bit and last weekend somebody set fire to the lovely, wooden train during the night - and pretty much destroyed it. Our kids were sad to see it go and so was I. Many is the hour I spent in the back - being driven to London, the sea, the shops. I’ve also sat crammed in there in a downpour, handing out biscuits and waiting for the rain to stop.

But the park will be fine. It’ll survive because it is loved. It’s a circular thing – people use the park because people use the park. I have known plenty of other parks in my life that weren’t used much at all – so there was no-one to hassle the council when the stuff got broken, no-one to dissuade vandalism and violence and they weren’t nice places to be. I’m not sure how you change that. Round here, there is a combination of lots of families with children, without large gardens of their own, but with a thriving park nearby. It must have evolved that way. Possibly, one of the other strengths is that people have enough money to support the wonderful park cafe. It is just a kiosk but it serves home-made cakes and scones, sandwiches, hot drinks and crisps. This means that adults are generally quite relaxed – not itching to get home for a cup of tea!

Over the years, people campaigned (off and on) for toilets in the park - instead of the one, dodgy, dirty automatic cubicle. Now we have them. They aren’t the most beautiful toilets you could ever use – as lots of small people use them unaccompanied – but they’re fine. You can change your baby in there when the weather’s rubbish. They have solved the problem of wee and poo in all the bushes!

For me, the park has been little short of a sanity saver, at times. We can shut the door of our house, leave all the stuff for later and just escape to somewhere with a bit more space. In the summer when Leo was a baby I sometimes spent the entire day there. I think it was serving as a sort of alternative village square or something. There was usually someone who could hold the baby for a minute or who would come to fetch me if P fell over. I’m not someone who could function living in a commune – I need my personal space – but I love the hub that is our local park. It is one of the many reasons why I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else in the world.

Too busy to blog... again...

It’s been very busy round here lately. Here’s some stuff that’s been going on…

On Saturday, Pearlie went on a bouldering trip with Adventure Unlimited, to Harrison’s Rocks. This would have been higher climbing but it was too wet. She went with a friend from Woodcraft (the only two girls, apparently) but happened upon several boys she knows from other places. She had a great time.

While Pearlie was there, Leo went to a friend’s house to play. They watched some old Doctor Who together, as well as the start of Jurassic Park. (Luckily, Leo and Dani happened upon a copy in a charity shop yesterday, so he’s seen it all now.) They also went under covers and told each other very scary stories by torchlight.

I was at work and so Dani had a couple of hours alone in town. She bought a beautiful wool coat, ‘vintage’ velvet jacket and black/black baseball boots. This was all in honour of the evening…

Once the kids had finished climbing and playing with friend, we dropped them round at their cousins’ house for a sleepover. We ate a quick meal and went out to an International Women’s Day disco. Sadly, this was not the exciting event we’d hoped it would be. I have amazing memories of an 8^th March cabaret event in Leeds where this tiny, stocky, leather dyke put on a big wig and belted out Shirley Bassey numbers. This didn’t really come close… So, we had a quick drink there, cut our losses and went to the pub. Pubs are much better now they’re not full of smoke, aren’t they? Then we came home and watched some series three L Word episodes. It was lovely to have some time to ourselves. We talked about how lucky we are and thought about other women who aren't. (There is a petition online but I'm not sure how current it is.)

Sunday was pretty quiet. I went to work exhausted. I can’t imagine how I used to go to work on so little sleep when I was younger. D and the kids relaxed at home.

Yesterday, Pearlie went to Kids’ Club in the morning and to the grandmothers’ in the afternoon. At Kids’ Club she did some work on a magazine they’re making. At the grandmothers’ house she played a French game they’ve been making together – as well as cards and with the trusty, red animals. The red animals arrived in the family in my childhood. They came from Terry, who was a sort of adopted family member, having been on my mum’s caseload when she was a social worker in the 1950s. He had a succession of factory jobs and the red animals were meant to go singly into cereal packets, I believe. He arrived with a big bag full. That was always the way with Terry. When he worked as a meat packer he used to turn up with huge joints. He was such a skinny bloke, I guess there was plenty of room under his jacket! Anyway, those red animals have provided hours and hours of play for children in the family, for the last thirty five years.

Leo and I had a lovely morning at home. We did some maths together and I was amazed at the increase in his speed and skill in things like subtracting two digit numbers in his head. Then he did some more excavating for plastic dinosaur bones, while I read him some of the book we’re sharing. I wasn’t too sure of these books at first (they’re full of American childhood cultural references, so a bit hard to grasp at points) but they are actually very clever. I like the way the author has taken realities of modern children’s lives (like absent parents and diagnoses of ADHD etc) and held this ancient mythological glass in front of them. Leo is picking up loads about mythological monsters and likes to check on the free Guardian wallchart we got recently, to see if there’s a picture of each one that gets mentioned.

In the afternoon, I hurriedly sploshed a bit more yellow paint on our bedroom walls (yes, we’re still decorating that room!) and then went to work. Dani and Leo did some more experiments from his Christmas chemistry set. So, the kitchen is now full of crystals growing and stuff in test tubes.

Pearlie’s forays into the world of veganism are proving a bit of a mixed bag. She’s happy with vegan marg on her bread and toast, which is good. She had some soya yogurty stuff which she said was ok. We all tried some Cheezly vegan cheese and found it revolting! Dani made some of her lovely bread on Sunday, which is super-nutritious.

P is off tidying her room at the mo, as a friend is coming to play on Thursday. The living room is covered in piles of stuff as we are mid-pack for our holiday at the end of the week. There are a hundred things I should be doing, but I think I’ll have a cup of tea. Oh, fab, Leo has washed up all the breakfast things.

What we want for our children

On Sunday, we were watching Lark Rise to Candleford. There was a conversation between the parents of the Timmins family about what they wanted for their children. It was rather well done and it got me thinking.

The story is set in the very early years of the twentieth century and the family live in a small hamlet. They have a reasonable income when the father is in work – he is a stonemason. Other families in the hamlet are struggling to survive – worrying about every meal and doing all they can to keep themselves out of the workhouse. The scene where the Timmins parents discussed what they wanted for their children made me realise that this is a universal concern of parents. The details differ between time and place but the core issues are the same.

I have little faith in success, as judged by qualifications, careers and possessions. This is largely because I have seen too many people who have succeeded in these terms – and yet not found satisfaction, peace or happiness. But, I’m not smug enough to suggest that these things are nothing. I have never had to live in abject poverty. I, like Emma Timmins in the drama, want my children to have choices. I don’t want them fleeced by the powerful.

I am very aware that I am only two generations away from a woman who was raised in the care of Barnardos, who had no qualifications and little choice about the work she took. As a young teenager, she was sent into service as a maid. Later in her life she did piece work for a small glove maker. She worked hard for her family – supporting her children and caring for her husband as he died a slow death from Tuberculosis. It is little wonder that she and her husband had a deep belief in education as their children’s route to a life that would be less of a struggle.

But my grandmother was a warm, loving person with great energy. She had dark experiences in her life – a lack of care and warmth in her childhood. She never owned a house or flat. She lost her home (with the sister in whose house she lived for decades) and so lived out the end of her life with my parents, my siblings, and me. When she died she left nothing in the way of cash – just the few possessions she had in her bedroom. But she had instilled in my mum something that was worth a mint – and my mum passed it on to me. She lived for the day. She lived at a pace and enjoyed what she did. She loved her children and grasped new experiences when they came her way. I try to keep that in mind.

I don’t want to come across like Pollyanna here! I don’t think that life is all sun and flowers. There is no way we can give our children a life without suffering and if we could it would leave them poorer, I think. Without darkness we can’t appreciate the light.

What annoys me is the way that a certain lifestyle, a particular kind of career and family, a list of possessions, is peddled as the route to happiness. It is little wonder that people find themselves pushing their children along a path, jumping hurdles as they go, to reach these goals. If someone says that their child is a doctor/lawyer, lives in a big house, has a husband/wife and children and drives a flash car, then surely they should be the epitome of happiness? We all know that real life is not like that. But the fiction is strong. The role of the parent is too often presented as that of the over-eager personal trainer – shouting instructions from the side of the track as our children race for the prize. I hate that. I don’t want my children to treat life as a race – in any way. I don’t want to kid them that a set of qualifications, a particular job or a dream home will bring them ‘success’. They’ll have to find their own definitions. As a parent, I find this both terrifying (as I am pretty powerless in this process!) and liberating (I don’t have to be constantly pushing them on in the race). It’s a bit like I imagine hang-gliding to be – a leap of faith but hugely exhilarating.

On the bus home from work...

you don't wish to be travelling with approx fifty students on their way to carnage uk. The only thing to be happy about is that I was not on the night bus with them travelling back to campus.

The stuff on their website about safety and knowing limits is total crap. I was travelling with students at 8pm, many of whom were already drunk. Most of the girls had ripped their t-shirts to expose as much flesh as possible - so they were freezing. Lots of them were swigging wine from the bottles (one bottle each!) or drinking super-strength lager. Oh, and they all had these charming t-shirts with a tick box for each venue visited and some for other exciting activities like 'three-way snog' or 'I spanked a school girl/boy'. The whole thing looked like one big invitation to a nasty night out - and possibly something much worse.

I don't wish to look like a prude - and I've done many a dodgy thing in my time. But events like this are money spinners for their organisers and play on the insecurities of young people who want to fit in. I really hate this sort of corporate crap that surrounds students these days.

Assumptions

Last week, Dani and I went to an Ourstory (local lgbt history project) event. This involved bumping into people that we both knew many years ago – Dani more than me, really. Back in the days of Section 28, twenty years ago, Dani was a high profile local activist. She was massively involved in the campaign against the Section. That was how we met. Everyone knew who Dani was, even if they didn’t know her well. I was one of several admirers and it was strange to be there as the one she ended up with! It really took me back, to find myself in a room full of people greeting her with joy, while I waited for her. I honestly used to agree to dates at 10.45pm (after the meeting and in time for last orders!) and find out where she was by checking listings of meetings and benefits.

Anyway, what I wanted to blog was a bizarre comment that was made to Dani from a woman at the event. I didn’t know her but she knew Dani and knew that there were kids in the picture.

“How old are your kids now, Dani?”

“ten and seven”

“Oh, so they’re getting to be interesting people now then?”

“They’ve been interesting all along…”

In that moment I felt the great distance that parenthood has placed between much of the lesbian and gay scene and me. I still couldn’t live in a place that didn’t have a big gay community. I love to sit (as I did for a while this week) at the bus stop in St James’ Street and watch the boys and girls go by. I love it that my kids were petting some Chihuahuas there a while ago and their, mega-camp, owner told the kids that the dogs’ names were Hinge and Bracket and they were brother and sister, “like you two”, and he smiled at me. I love the flirtation opportunities in getting on every other bus in this city - flashing my annual pass at some capable dyke behind the wheel. I love it that I can go and buy a Valentine’s card in a gay shop – relaxed and easy. I love it that my children are so comfortable here – not by any means the only kids with gay parents – wherever we go. But, that little comment about children took my breath away.

If I could choose one word about parenthood, from day one, I think it would be interesting. Babies, toddlers, young children are fascinating people – like all people. The wonderful thing about our kids has been that I’ve been there every day and seen all those tiny changes. How can you explain to someone that first words are amazing, miraculous events that you value above almost any words at all? If they haven’t carried a flailing, raging child, who was aiming kicks at their belly, can they appreciate the all-consuming nature of a relationship with a child? I guess the truth is that the woman who made that remark has never had a close relationship with a baby or young child and she sees only the fleeting moments in the street – dropped bottles and runny noses. Maybe it does look like slog from the outside. But the ignorance did astound me somewhat. I guess we do all exist in our own realities and see other people’s lives through a mist of our own assumptions. I’m sure I do it too.

Dani took the kids to Kids’ Club yesterday – and stayed as she was the rota parent. The play worker had brought in some clothes to use as costume. The kids put them on, imagined characters and acted out little scenes with each other. Dani played chess with someone who didn’t want to join in. Leo had a little wobble when someone backed into him and he fell into the sandpit. But things were resolved ok in the end.

Meanwhile, I was filling nasty looking cracks in the walls in our bedroom – prior to slapping on some sunny, yellow emulsion. I’m painting over a very bright green colour that Pearlie chose a couple of years ago. Sadly, it looks like it will need three coats to get rid of the green glow from beneath! I listened to my tape of Alan Bennett’s Talking Heads monologues. I love them. Then I embarked on a nice long Dorothy Sayers, which should tempt me back to work over the next few days. I know it inside out but love to listen to a story – even when I know who done it!

Pearlie had to pop out in the afternoon – to take a film to the chemist for developing. She decided to get a bus home and stayed on a stop longer than she intended. She really enjoys getting out and about under her own steam. When she got back my mum popped in and they talked about regular ER verbs a bit.

Leo is spending quite a lot of time on the internet these days – watching tv shows he’s missed, and browsing around various Golden Compass sites. He has made several alethiometers now. He carries one round in his rucksack whenever we go out.

Oh, according to a woman on TV just now, children love to be tested and the ‘developmental’ approach to young children’s learning has been responsible for terrible ‘delays’ in children’s learning in the past. Damn, she’s gone now and I don’t know who she was. Perhaps I don’t really care. Apparently they need serious teaching at an early age and then they’ll learn to read. That’d be all of them, no doubt. Because, of course, children are an alien species which share one personality and have one clear set of needs. Aaaaaargh! Perhaps I should tell Leo he really shouldn’t be able to read at all. Oh, yes and Pearlie, who was frantically muttering “B..A..T!” to her reception teacher when everyone was supposed to be chanting “buh, buh, buh” while the teacher pointed of a picture of a bat. Yes, they should have learned just when it suited other people – probably in the same half hour as everyone else in the class. And the following day everyone could be tested to check they’d learned – and everyone would pass – and then the job would be done. OK, so maybe I’m exaggerating, but honestly, these people get on my nerves with their loopy control freak stuff.

Anyway, Leo is now nearly at the end of the Subtle Knife. He is reading these Pullman books with little breaks from time to time when he gobbles up a quick Alistair Fury book. Pearlie is reading The Painted Garden, but is also spending loads of time doing number puzzles again at the mo – like sudoku and kakuro. She’s massively into rummy at the moment and plays against an invisible opponent in bed at night – as well as with anyone else who’s willing!

I made a big, fat chocolate cake last night. I also finished a surprise Mother’s Day gift I’ve been making for my mum.

Dani is spending a lot of time thinking about the local authority’s current consultation on their EOTAS policy. I’m feeling a bit dangerously angry about such things at the moment. A friend has been stopped twice in as many months by the truancy sweepers. They insisted in her name and address on both occasions – even though they were the same people! I hate the whole idea of the sweeps. And, frankly, if those people have to send out the police to catch kids back into their damn schools then that’s their problem and nothing to with home educators going about their legal business. Someone locally expressed her unwillingness to give her name and address and was threatened with being taken to the police station. It really does smack of harassment – especially if they are going to stop the same people repeatedly.

Kids are off somewhere being silent. I’d better go and get people roused as we’re off to home ed group where there is going to be some Chinese food and I’m showing people how to make little paper dragon puppets - in honour of Chinese New Year, of course.

Oh, and Pearlie came home from Woodcraft last night with a full list of all the Nestle owned brands. I was aware of most of them but not all. We had a good discussion about where we are buying our food. We do avoid Asda already, but I am increasingly feeling that Tesco is crap. Pearlie is keen on using the co-op more (as they support Woodcraft) but I don’t think they deliver. I like Ocado (of course!) but the prices would require a serious re-think of our food budget. All interesting to think about and discuss, anyway.

Stress

Much as I usually enjoy the fact that my lifestyle enables me to have different selves – me at work, me at home and groups with the kids, and now me at writing group – some days it is very stressful. Today has been one of those days.

I have felt like a slightly cracked ping pong ball getting thwacked around…

I was an extra helper at Kids’ Club in the morning, which, though the science workshop was good, was not without incident.

The twenty minutes at home in which I was attempting eat lunch, iron and get changed into work clothes, and make sure I had some correct paperwork for a meeting, was also spent with a very sad, crying boy. I was glad that Dani was the adult I was leaving him with and that I knew he’d be comforted and calmed in the end.

But, at that moment, I felt like joining him in the wailing and fury.

My concentration was sketchy at the important meeting to which I raced. I have a lot of different priorities in my head at the moment – relating to all areas of life, and I feel like I can’t give anything my proper attention.

All the while my writing group has planted the seeds of several stories and I’m being constantly disturbed by the whispers of characters I want to write. (Not actual whispers, you understand, before anyone starts to worry about my mental health). I keep imagining a room, silent – in which I’m writing all the day through. Unlikely to happen…

The time of year is probably not helping with this. If I could just have a few hours of sunshine I think everything would feel less difficult and painful.

Time warp? Reality? Housework.

A quick aside... Yesterday, on the train on the way home, we were surrounded by commuters. Being on commuter trains with the kids is far easier than it used to be now the kids are older, more sensitive to the atmosphere, and so sit and read or draw in silence. Happy, chattering kids tend to make commuters look murderous at the end of a long day!

Somewhere in mid Sussex the man opposite us made a quick call.
"Hello, I'll be in about quarter to seven. What's for dinner?"
Listens to reply.
"And for dessert?"
Listens to reply.
"Good. See you later."

The train got later and later as we kept having to wait for platforms. I was thinking about the dinner waiting for the man. Eventually he made another call.

"Yes, it's me. The train's late so I won't be in for another half hour or so."
Listens to reply.
"Don't start without me."
End of call.

All sorts of rude words were floating in my head at this point! What a damn cheek! He clearly assumed his partner would do the following:
Make him a meal.
Make him a dessert. (!)
Wait until he was home before eating.

Now, maybe all this is part of some negotiated agreement, but the general tone of the calls was such that I'd have been inclined to lob the dinner at him out of an upstairs window - no matter what the agreed division of labour in the home! The guy could have been talking to a male partner, or his mum, or his housemate, but something just made me sure he was talking to his wife. How many grown men are there these days who still expect this kind of 'service'? I knew lots back in the seventies, but I kind of hoped that this attitude was dying out.

If I'm out at work then I do expect D to feed the kids. But if I'm home late from work (as I am two or three nights a week) I might find food waiting for me and I might not. It depends on what the others have had, and how busy D is, and if we've got any spuds in. I don't expect food any more than I expect to have my clothes washed, carpets hoovered, or toilet cleaned. That's because I'm an adult. What the hell is going through someone's mind when they think they can just get their needs met by another person like that? What seems to happen is that they stop appreciating what the other person does for them - and just expect it.

We're planning a change in laundry round here. Plan is for the kids to each have a basket for their own dirty clothes, do their own wash each week, and then hang stuff on an airer in their own rooms to dry. Things can then go straight in their own drawers - unless they want to learn how to iron! Who knows if it will work, but we thought we'd give it a try. After all, I don't want either of my kids turning into Mr Commuter! Lol!

Where are you going to, Little Brown Mouse?

Just recently I’ve found myself thinking about what we want for our children – and the futures we imagine for them. I think most (if not all) parents think about their childrens’ adult lives. I am a great one for day dreaming – story telling in my head. Sometimes I like to imagine how my kids might look in their twenties. I might just create a mental image of a smile or a phone call.

Of course, I can’t help but imagine them happy. That’s what I want – happy and healthy adults that my kids will become. But I know that I can’t make that happen - not really, not at all. Life is far more of a lottery than we care to admit. Just a quick flit around my past can turn up young adults who developed substance abuse problems, or were schizophrenic, or who self-harmed, or who had eating disorders. Some of that might have been predicted by those who knew those people, but plenty was not. That’s the scariest aspect of parenting - the haunting feeling that my children might suffer in those ways - and I wouldn’t see it coming. And, of course, there’s the random accident or terminal illness that could snatch them away.

I know I can’t do anything to stop most of those scenarios. I know that they are free people who will make their choices and that fate can deal us all a nasty kick somewhere painful, when we least expect it. But, what I hope I can do – what I try to do – is to give them my love, like some kind of fortifying tonic for the years to come. Do you remember that Ready Brek advert from the 1970s/80s? How the kids ate the Ready Brek and went out into the cold morning, glowing and warm? That’s how I hope my children will feel as young adults. Even if the wind bites sometimes, and they despair, there will be a little spark of that glow inside them.

For me, part of that love is not to expect them to follow any path in terms of education or career. I want them to know that nothing they choose could make me love them more, or less. That I trust them to make their choices – and they should trust themselves too. I want them to know that I respect them as individuals and have no magic eye through which I can direct them along a ‘successful’ path.

Sometimes I wonder if that is more of a pressure than that felt by children whose parents do plan out a future, or at least expect a particular path. I know that when I was nine or ten I was sure that I’d be going to university. Someone must have told me that – and I didn’t feel it as a particular pressure. But I suspect that it did stop me thinking as far, and as wide, as I might otherwise. It was a goal that I had been given and I didn’t do too well at thinking beyond it. And I was scared of a scenario where that didn’t happen. I was quite unsure of who I might be if I didn’t go to university.

I think that all this is floating round my head as P is nearing the age of eleven. Suddenly I can see the teenage years looming. Let’s just hope the Ready Brek is going to do its job…

A queer notion

Being a home educator is a lot like being a lesbian.

I don’t want to offend anyone by saying this, but I have noticed several similarities over the years.

For example:

• It's not normal.
• Because it’s not normal, people who don’t know you think they can judge and condemn you for it
  
• People who haven’t thought about it much find it impossible to imagine what you actually *do*
  
• Some people’s parents and extended family find it hard to understand or accept
  
• Because it’s not normal, it gives you an outsider’s perspective on the way things are usually done.
  
• It shapes your life in a holistic way that is difficult to describe to people outside the relevant community

Another similarity is that there are often violent disagreements within the community about both politics and terminology. One such recent discussion on the UKHE email list is what prompted me to start thinking about this again.

Some people believe that our status as outsiders logically and inevitably puts us in a position of opposition to the existing institutions (eg marriage, school, capitalism), and that we should therefore all fight for their downfall.

Others think we should be aiming for acceptance and inclusion, and work in more respectable ways for law reform and equal rights.

Many of us are struggling along on the rocky path between these two peaks, engaging with society enough to represent our particular interests and defend the legal freedoms we have, while trying not to become corrupted and co-opted in the process.

And of course, there are many, in both communities, who do their best not to think about such things, and just get on with their lives.

For myself, I’m on the rocky path, but emotionally drawn towards the downfall-of-society side. For example, despite the conventional form of our family set-up, I’ve never supported the campaign for gay marriage, for the reasons given here. In fact, I think the example of marriage may also be instructive for home educators.

While LGBT activists have been lobbying for equal access to the institution of marriage, the rest of society has been slowly but surely abandoning and dismantling it. I think that’s good. I’m for diversity in household forms and respect for personal choices about relationships, not a single state-sanctioned family type, with everything else treated as a failure of some kind.

What puzzles me is, when is that going to happen to the institution of schooling? It’s clearly outmoded, oppressive and unfit for the purpose of enabling children to gain an education that fits them for the world we now live in. It seems to me that saying things like that in home education circles is commonplace and unremarkable, but saying it elsewhere is a bit taboo.

Do we have a particular insight because of our outsider status? Do we therefore have an obligation to share that with everyone else? How could we do that in a way that is not smug or aggressive, or that would actually have any effect?

I think it is undeniable that the world has changed for LGBT people in the last 20 years. Almost beyond recognition. Some things are as they ever were, and I wouldn’t want to pretend for a minute that there is no homophobic bullying in schools or workplaces, or that coming out is not still a hard process for many people. But there is definitely a different atmosphere in the air now. You just have to watch an episode of Doctor Who to see it!

I don’t really know how this has happened. I like to think the robust response of our community to the vile Section 28 had a part to play, but I also think that big social change is always partly a subterranean thing. It just seems to happen when we’re all looking in the other direction, and afterwards the new way of things seems as natural and solid as the old one did.

Maybe we’re on the verge of an earthquake in educational thinking, and we just can’t see it yet. Ah, well… we can but dream!

A curriculum or a dance?

The other day I had one of those, slightly awkward, conversations that most home educators will recognise. I bumped into someone I used to see quite a lot when the kids were younger – but haven’t seen for a couple of years. She asked me if we were still ‘home schooling’ and told me that she was studying for a PGCE. I told her that we were, and that we were very happy with it. When I mentioned that P had decided not to apply to any senior schools she said,
“Won’t it all get rather advanced now?”

That’s the point where the conversation got tricky. The problem, of course, is that we seem to be on a different educational planet these days. We do know, more or less, what the kids in school are doing, but it just isn’t relevant to us. Our children’s education is not a linear progression from ‘easy’ to ‘difficult’. I am frequently amazed at how it swings about – how their interests are fluid. Their ability to grasp things is also not predictable. One of the most important lessons I’ve learned is that if the children show stress and confusion then that is not the moment to be learning that thing. Their learning has its own timetable. When the moment is right they grasp things extremely fast.

When I wrote that we were “beachcombing for an education” – three years ago – I had no idea how true that was, and would continue to be. Both the children pick up snippets all the time. Here are three questions P asked yesterday:
“What is a heart transplant?”
“What are lorgnettes?”
“What is a dominatrix?” (!)
I think that these are the older child equivalent of “What DAT?” from a toddler. The mission is the same – the acquisition of knowledge. Every question asked, book read, web site visited, place travelled to, is part of their education. It is as ‘advanced’ as they feel like making it that day.

Pearlie might join in with a discussion on the morality of charity or the different ice creams available at the cafe. She might spend an hour or two reading all about Sally Lockhart’s Victorian adventures or Lady Grace’s sleuthing around the Tudor court – or pick up an old Mr Majeika she read when she was six. When she watches TV it might be Basil Brush but she’s also keen on Have I Got News for You. That’s what I do too – sometimes I challenge myself and sometimes I enjoy the comfort of something familiar. She’s also out a lot – working on collaborative things with friends, or playing and chatting. She’s much too busy to be ploughing through someone else’s curriculum. And that is why I don’t worry that she is getting older and we won’t ‘manage’. If P wants to know about something then she’ll find out – that’s what she does. That’s what we all do.

I suspect that the person I was speaking to the other day was anxious that there would be gaps if we allowed the children to define their own education. Other people have said this to me. What if we “leave something out”, something “vital” or “important”?

So, I was pondering all this as I walked around a single floor of the library where I work. I was thinking about curricula. And the library laughed at me. Every aisle just seemed to let out a guffaw. The internet is vast, as we all know, but on your screen at any time is just a screen’s worth of information. We tend to keep to our own, well trodden, paths in cyberspace. We forget the vastness of human knowledge. But on just those shelves of a small university library was more information than you could assimilate in years of reading. It was a great warm hug of mirth. How can anyone worry that there are gaps in an education? Of course there are gaps. Any education is simply a path, or perhaps a dance, through all there is to know.

A library holds out its hand and says,
“Come and have a dance with me.”

That’s what we do each day. The dance evolves as the children grow up. There are new steps. There is a moment of being swept into the arms of an author, spinning in their reality. There is an intricate slow foxtrot with a complex idea. There is a raucous family barn dance of argument. There is a slow rumba, held close to something familiar. There is just rocking, drifting in thoughts to the music inside. That’s what our learning consists of. All of us. There is no way I can, or want to, remove the children and present them with a sheet – every footfall marked out for them. There is no need.

That is what I will try to remember when I find myself burbling into the blank face of someone who asks about the ‘home schooling’. When they ask about education, curriculum, goals, targets, essential knowledge, keeping up, and all the rest. I think what I might say next time is,
“Oh, we just dance.”

They’ll think I’m mad – but they probably think I am anyway.

Reading and control freakery

I watched this tv thing last week all about a primary school that was implementing a mixed-age synthetic phonics programme. It got me thinking again about the learning to read question. (Have a look at Deb’s interesting post on this.)

I know quite a few kids of seven, eight, nine and older who don’t read yet – or who don’t read much. These are home ed kids. I also know several home ed kids who have learned to read, quickly and efficiently, with no tears, at around these ages – or older. Yet, in the school system it is clearly a problem if you’re not reading by seven or so. This is mainly because of the high pupil/teacher ratio in school – which means that a lot of the teaching is delivered in the form of writing. But, I also think that it is because the system has a plan that the children will all read, more or less, by the end of KS1 – at seven. As we all know, in a big structure you generally have to ignore things that haven’t gone according to plan and carry on as if everything is fine! This means that the kids who can’t read just have to manage somehow. I had always known that this was so, but it was still a shock to see these poor kids of Pearlie and Leo’s ages, who spent a large chunk of their week being frustrated and bored. There was all this information presented to them, that they just couldn’t access. What on earth is the point of putting kids in that position?

Though the synthetic phonics system set my teeth on edge a bit (so BORING!) I could see that it was the best option for kids who must learn to read, right now, or be bored in every lesson. It seemed that all it took was for the school to decide that it would stop ignoring the kids who couldn’t read – and carry on teaching them until they could. The sheer relief on the faces of kids who had been ‘failing’ to read for several years, was clear. But, what a shame that they had to be put through that ordeal, of feeling like a failure for several years of their young lives.

It seems to me that the best way to manage a mixed group of readers and non-readers, is to have many more adults around who can make sure that the non-readers can join in – and culture of co-operation. This is what happens at Pearlie and Leo’s kids’ club group. People who can’t read just get read to by someone who can. It isn’t really rocket science, is it?

If everyone could access the experiences on offer, then maybe the system could relax a bit more about exactly when people learned to read. Like walking, talking or being reliable with toilet use – children vary massively in the ages at which they will be able to read. And some people will never learn – and that shouldn’t be the end of the world either, should it? We are amazingly inventive creatures – we can get round most things if we are given the freedom to do so.

In the end, I came away from the programme thinking (again!) how controlling the whole system is. The government wants to be God, I reckon. They set up all these plans and schemes with no humility. They perceive the people involved as pawns, or little machines maybe – put X in and get Y out. And, in the education system, they ruin so much that way – take the fun and joy out – and kill it.

A while ago, I was talking to a lovely little boy of my acquaintance. He was five at the time – and had just finished a day school in a reception class.
“Hey, P, what’d you do at school today?”
“Cemetery!” Glum face, pouty lips.
“Cemetery? Didn’t you like it?” (Allie tries to imagine what they could have been doing about cemeteries…)
“No, it was borin’ – cemetery.”
“Oh, symmetry? Was it symmetry, P?”
“Yeah, cemetery – yuk!”

What on earth could they have been doing at school, with a five year old, to make symmetry so unappealing? My experiences helping out in P’s reception classroom led me to suspect that the problem was just pressure to understand symmetry as a concept. Even very little children learn to cover their confusion with bluster (such is the shame in our culture when we don’t understand) and declare that they “don’t like” things and they are “boring”. I think that most of that is about pressure to ‘get’ things when we’re just not ready. Back off - make butterfly paintings, put up some posters of symmetry in nature, let the children draw, let adults talk around them. One day they’ll just declare something to be symmetrical. Maybe then they’ll want to learn more about the whole business.

I suspect that we make all the same mistakes with teaching reading. We are so stressed about it. Instead of making sure that all the children have had hours and hours of stories, exposing them to adults who use the written word, letting them see that this reading business is a part of life, we dive in with the structure first. Many of them are boggled, exhausted by the effort to understand, and lacking any real motivation to try.

When I saw those kids who didn’t like reading, who slumped and shifted their eyes and hung their heads, I felt angry that we do that to children. I reckon its robbery – we (adults) steal something from them. Yes, we can ‘fix’ it with a structured programme – but I wonder if that’s not just a solution we have to come up with, to a problem we’ve made in the first place?