The big switcheroo

As longtime readers of this blog know, I live a double life.

Days I’m a homeschooling mom with my seven-year-old daughter. Nights and weekends I get my eleven-year-old son back from school and I’m a schooling mom, asking what happened today in that mysterious, far-away land called “school.”

It’s a weird sort of existence, sort of like being a spy everywhere I go. On the one hand, I’ll be at a homeschooling meeting and someone will say something about how they can’t understand how people can send their kids off to be educated at a school. And I wonder how I can do that.

Or my son relates to me that one of the kids at school said that his mom said homeschooling is “stupid,” and I have to smile and tell him that lots of people don’t really understand what we’re doing, or it’s just not a choice that would make sense for them. But as any homeschooler knows, it’s not a choice that makes sense to us all the time, either, so momentarily I have to wonder: Is my choice to homeschool stupid?

However: this week, with my son done with his school year, I was officially to become a homeschooling mom of two. My son is taking some time off of school to focus on what he wants to study and do, and I want to see if I can have them both in the same house without discovering a natural way to create nuclear fusion.

However, my daughter had other plans. You see, she’s not a big fan of school, but she is a major fan of camp. If school could just be camp year-round, she’d probably be happy to go. Different activities every day? An emphasis on fun, creativity, and just plain silliness? She’s there.

So she decided to go to camp, and not just to any camp, but to a camp that’s three weeks long, almost all day long. Suddenly, as fast as my son’s school year ended, my life is flipped upside-down. In the morning, I pack a lunch for my daughter while my son hangs out doing… whatever he wants. I have to get my daughter to put her backpack together, get on the sunscreen, promise to reapply the sunscreen, and get in the car. Then off we go to kiss her goodbye, and back to our quiet house.

My son and I are well-matched in temperament. He and I can sit in the house all day, talking sometimes, but mostly in our own thoughts doing our own creative work, and feel that it’s a fulfilling day.

My daughter craves action, adventure, and high drama. A day with her is a roller-coaster ride.

You might guess that I’m not really the roller coaster type.

So for a few weeks, my new job of sibling reunification and homeschooling bifurcation is put on hold. My daughter gets non-stop, pre-planned action created by professionals. My son gets quiet contemplation and made-from-scratch lunches. I get a few more weeks to figure out how we’re all going to move ahead as a homeschooling family, one that works together, plays together, and tries very earnestly not to have any nuclear meltdowns.

Wish me luck!

The reluctant pied piper of homeschooling

I’ve had two interactions in the last week that move me to write again about the importance of addressing gifted education in our public schools. The first was at a meeting where a mom passionately explained why her district had to have a program in place to try to draw in more students. She pointed out that although only three kids in her neighborhood of many kids were attending their local public schools, parents could be drawn back in now what with the economy and the difficulty of keeping up private school tuitions. But, she said, many of those parents weren’t going to come back if there wasn’t clear support by the administration for accelerated learners.

The second encounter happened when I was walking on the street and heard a car idling behind me. I looked back and saw a mom I’d known when my son was a preschooler — we haven’t seen much of each other in years. Without any unnecessary chitchat, she got right to the subject at hand. “So tell me about homeschooling,” she said. “My son is doing very well at school, and he’s miserable. The school is giving him nothing. All he’s learning is what’s on the test, and he already knows that. We can’t afford private school, but I have to get him out of there. He’s bored to tears.”

The phrase “bored to tears” brought back the memory of my son in his third-grade classroom. I was across the room helping another child and I glanced at him. He was literally fighting back tears. At home, he was never idle, never unengaged. But at school, he was practicing patience and waiting, all for no benefit to his own education. That was his last week of public school.

So I got to thinking: I read all these well-reasoned articles about how parents pulling the highest achieving students to homeschool them or put them into private schools is hurting our public schools. The theory is, we should sacrifice our children to the greater good and leave them there. We should work with the system rather than opting out.

But ask any parent who has opted out, and they will say the same thing: Yes, the system needs to be changed, but not on my kid’s back. Until they see clear support from administration and teachers, they’re going to do what’s best for their children.

Here’s what we know about gifted learners:

First of all, you don’t have to use the g-word, but the fact is that just as there are learners who need a longer time to process information and understand concepts, there are learners who do this in a shorter timeframe. Whatever you want to call it, and however it happens, these kids do exist and the public schools do need to serve their needs.

Second, a child who learns at a faster pace needs to use her brain just as a child who needs extra physical activity needs that physical activity. Teachers readily admit that they have students who really need to run around and move, but so many teachers refuse to admit that their “smart” kids need to be stretching their brain in the same way.

Third, the traditional ways of “dealing with” having an accelerated learner in a classroom are detrimental to that student. Those ways are:

  • Give the accelerated learner more and more of the same thing that she has already mastered (busy work).
  • Have the accelerated learner do the same work as everyone else, faster, and then have him help other students (unpaid teacher’s aide).
  • Let the accelerated learner do the same work, then let her go into a corner and read or entertain herself while she waits for the others (practicing patience).
  • Have a pull-out program that doesn’t interface with what’s happening in the classroom, so that the accelerated learner misses what’s happening in the classroom and then gets extra work loaded on top of what he’s already doing in the classroom.

Obviously, none of these approaches addresses the accelerated learner’s need to learn more and learn more deeply.

A fourth thing that we know about gifted students is that they do not always do well in school. Bored, frustrated, angry, and becoming more self-loathing as their differences are either denied or misunderstood, gifted students have a higher high school drop-out rate than the general population, are often not appropriately prepared for college, and end up seeing other students who develop healthy study skills and personal drive surpass them. They don’t know why this happens because their needs were not properly met in their earlier education.

So how can an under-funded, stressed-out public school system serve accelerated learners?

First of all, schools have to admit that accelerated learners exist and that they have legitimate needs. Denying their needs now is just like the old days when schools labeled dyslexic kids “stupid,” even though their disability had nothing to do with their ability to think.

Second, school administrators have to make it clear to teachers and parents that accelerated learners are part of the school community and have needs that the school can and wants to address.

Third, all teachers must be taught how to differentiate their teaching, not just for kids who are struggling to learn what’s on the test, but also for kids who can do the test without any apparent effort. As an example: my daughter wanted to take the STAR test this year, so we downloaded some sample questions to make sure she understood how to take such a test. One page of questions involved separating words into their syllables properly. She has never studied this. In fact, I have never knowingly explained what a “syllable” is. Yet she had no problem answering all the questions correctly.

Gifted students often enter the school year already knowing the material on the test. They will literally be bored to tears, or to gross misbehavior, if they are forced to “study” something they mastered without any visible effort.

Administrators may say that they can’t afford to train all their teachers in acceleration, but really, any decent teacher can train him or herself in the basics. Pick up a copy of Differentiating Instruction in the Regular Classroom, which answers such questions as How can I manage my classroom when students are doing different things at the same time? and How can I make changes in the way I teach when we have no budget for training, materials, or resources? For $35, a district can start the education process and take it from there as they have funding and willpower.

Fourth, school districts must ditch the outmoded and discredited idea that gifted learners do best by staying with their age-based peer group. If a student has one area where he is far accelerated past his classmates and doesn’t have a “cluster” to work with in his own grade, he must be given the opportunity to work with students at a similar level in another grade.

Furthermore, if a student is advanced in all subject areas, acceleration has been proven to be the most effective and least harmful way to provide an appropriate learning environment for that student. Teachers and administrators are the only people left who argue that acceleration is harmful to kids for whom it’s appropriate. At the California Association for the Gifted Conference that I attended recently, a teacher who is also a parent related sitting in on meetings where administrators shamelessly admitted that they were against acceleration not because there is research to show its harmful affects (because that research doesn’t exist), but rather because when a child enters the school system in kindergarten, the district budgets for getting that child’s tax money for 13 years. And darn it, they’re going to get that money if it’s budgeted for!

Fifth, districts need to embrace all the ways to provide a better learning environment for gifted students, from bringing back all the “non-essential” subjects that help gifted children have outlets at school (art, music, drama, clubs, athletics) to keeping up on the latest methods for accommodating students that are basically “free,” such as cluster grouping by grade.

In reality, the needs of many gifted kids are not necessarily met when the parents pull them from public schools. Private schools are not necessarily better equipped, or even more willing, to accommodate unusual learners. Homeschooling is not the best option for a family that won’t or can’t fully embrace it as a lifestyle and not just a last-ditch attempt to save their kids from deadening boredom.

If our public schools’ mission is to provide appropriate education for all students, then all public schools have the absolute obligation to admit the existence of accelerated learners, confirm that they have needs that can be met within the public school system, and then work to provide the resources to support those children as part of our diverse community.

Until that happens, I expect that I’m going to keep playing the uncomfortable role of the reluctant pied piper, walking down the street and doling out advice to frustrated moms who aren’t finding receptive ears at their public schools.

Make way for unbridled creativity!

It’s something like non-stop creativity at my house. My daughter has a spot in our breakfast room, on the floor, where she pulls out her wares: bits of cloth, paper of various colors and textures, glue, beads, string, egg cartons, boxes we threw in the recycling and hoped would stay there, needles and thread, a stapler, tape, markers, glitter pens, stickers…

At some point I had to make an agreement with her: you can make this colossal mess on the floor, but once a day it needs to be cleaned up. She readily agreed, but she’s even creative about agreements.

My son has largely moved his creativity to the computer, but when he was her age he was always on the floor in the front hall, which we had gated off so that there was one place where our roving preschooler wouldn’t be able to destroy his stuff. Visitors would have to step over block structures, paper folding projects, and scattered natural objects that he brought in from the outside.

One time I heard one of my son’s friends say to him, “You haven’t seen any movies!” That’s not literally true, but in general watching things is not a big hit around our house. Our daughter will do it as much as we’ll let her, but inspiration doesn’t come from a glowing box. We get inspired by doing things. Right now we have a project in progress for year-end teacher gifts, cannelini beans sprouting in peat cups, and an electronics project my husband is doing to create laser communicators. I am working on making a video of my daughter’s school play, and our son has created a blog of software reviews. In other words, we’re very, very busy and haven’t gotten to half of the things we really want to be doing!

And along comes the Maker Faire. To learn a bit about it, you can visit my last year’s blog entry about it. The Maker Faire is to people like us like Cannes is to movie buffs. It’s the real deal, and it happens in San Mateo. If you’re a watcher, you can go and watch all the amazing things that people have made. If you’re a shopper, you can buy both kits and pre-made items. If you’re a doer, you can go straight to the room where you get to create oddities out of surplus everything.

I really can’t recommend a more inspirational day for your little inventors than this one. At $50 for a family entry, it’s gotten a bit more pricey. But it’s hard to put a price on an experience like this. $50 is about what you’d have to pay these days to take your family to a movie, too, and I can assure you, they’ll get a lot more from the Maker Faire. And they’ll probably be able to watch some videos there, too.

The Maker Faire is a mind-boggling assortment of wild, weird, and wonderful. We always come home totally exhausted and recharged for another year of messing, mixing, melting, and fun!

More on math

My friend Heddi (visit her blog, Hands-on Learning) objected a bit to my blog yesterday. I will point out a couple of things. First of all, the piece that I cited is not, in fact, an article in Psychology Today, nor is it based on research. Heddi pointed out to me that his blog entries are heavy on anecdote and very light on research the contradicts his idea du jour.

Mea culpa. I agree entirely and wanted to clarify that. I was a teacher, but when I was a teacher I taught adults. The funny thing about teaching adults is that unlike teaching kids, all you need to do to teach adults is to be able to do the thing you’re teaching. My degrees are in Linguistics and Creative Writing, so that made me qualified to teach Composition and English to college students. Sorta. I actually was told I was a good teacher, but I know that I did a lot of learning on the job. Yes, we all do. But my point is, I have actually never studied teaching, except since I became a homeschooler. And it wasn’t until this year that I ever dared to permanently scar… eh, teach… anyone else’s children but my own!

However, I do think that there’s a level of the child’s experience that often gets lost in teaching theory. What I liked about the piece was the emphasis on how much of math really does come from life, and it really doesn’t have to be so awful! Heddi is a wonderful teacher (get yourself over to the Educational Resource Center and find out — she’s offering homeschool classes, afterschool classes, preschool classes, summer classes…), but many teachers are not, in fact, wonderful. They have their hearts in the right place when they start, but then they get stuck in a difficult, underappreciated, overbureaucratized (heh, and you thought I was an English teacher), impossible position. Each year that they teach, the beautiful, astonishing aspects of child-led learning can get overshadowed by No Child Left Behind, state standards, proposed federal standards, really dumb textbooks, and all the pressure from people who think they know how it’s done.

Really, the amazing thing is not that we have some bad teachers — the amazing thing is that we have any good teachers left at all!

I just posted the first article I’ll be writing about Salman Khan of Khan Academy, who has left a lucrative career to bring math to the masses. He’s a great person to talk to, because all the time he’s talking you’re thinking, Yeah, that’s the way to do it! Yes, all children can learn this! Wow, this is going to change the way I approach math!

And I do believe that he is making a difference. But it was so ironic that the day before I talked to him, I was sitting at the breakfast table trying to slam math into the head of a little girl who just lives experiential learning. She doesn’t study. She doesn’t start at A and go to Z. She really does learn what she needs to and disregard the rest. Now, it’s true that she “needs” to learn a lot. She got interested in knights so she had to know everything. She got interested in babies so she learned everything about how they are made, birthed, and raised. But she has not needed (as you’ll see if you read yesterday’s blog) to know about adding fractions with different denominators, and darn it, she’s just not going to learn it.

So yes, please do view everything that non-educators write that’s full of feel-good anecdotes with a healthy smidgeon (or is that smidgin?) of skepticism.

But I think that there’s always something worth taking out of these pieces as well: Your child’s teacher doesn’t necessarily have all the answers for your child. Your child’s teacher has the weight of history, government, the school board, the district office, and and the school principal sitting not-so-prettily on her head, and sometimes she just wants your child to do well on tests, period.

But if your child doesn’t, it’s not the end of the world. Play games, go shopping, and do all the other things in life that use math. As Sal Khan says: do freethrows for a half an hour and then calculate the average of the results. Show your child the power of math in real life, and have fun doing it. Yes, the tests are there for the next ten to 20 years of your child’s life, but that’s not the only thing that’s there.

There’s also life.

All the math she needs

I saw links to this Psychology Today piece all over the place today. Actually, I haven’t gotten yet to the digests of my e-mail lists, but I bet it’s there, too.

The piece is called “Kids Learn Math Easily When They Control Their Own Learning,” and it’s all about things that I know: Kids who aren’t force fed math like it better. Almost all elementary level math will be learned by a child in normal, creative play if you let him and encourage fun with numbers. As long as a child is learning in a rich environment, anything can be learned in a small amount of time when they really want to learn it, even if that thing takes years of standard public school curriculum.

Yet, the other day, there I was at the breakfast table, a.k.a. schoolroom, with my daughter, slogging it out over fractions.

When I first started homeschooling her, I was so frustrated I hired an educational consultant to tell me what I knew already. One, she’s a fantastically quick learner who sucks up anything she wants to. Two, she learns in an integral way — that is, she’s not interested in facts or skills themselves, but how they relate to something that she loves or a project she’s doing. Three, she is verbally quick and creative, but absolutely uninterested in doing things in any linear, organized fashion.

In other words, she’s what’s called a “visual spacial learner.” For me, she might as well be called a Martian.

Well, OK, that’s exaggerating. Because when it comes to learning, I’m pretty clear on some of my own idiosyncrasies, such as the fact that I seem unable to learn something, absolutely unable, if I don’t really care about it. My daughter shares this particular trait with me. How many yards are on a football field? I dunno. What are the specifics of post-modern literary analysis, in great vogue when I was a student? Well, I might be able to give you a vague outline, but frankly, I don’t have space in my head for it.

The way I learn things is that I jump in and do it. Manuals? I’ll use them for reference, but I’ve never read one from cover to cover, or even consulted one before I started doing the thing I didn’t know how to do yet.

Nevertheless, I was a good and pretty passive student when I was a kid. I believed my teachers that one type of learning was the right type (aural sequential, I think they call it), and I learned that way, darn it. I got great SATs and went off to Stanford, took a few tests, then got myself into the sorts of classes where you talked about interesting stuff, read ideas, wrote about ideas, spent lots of time in coffee houses arguing with your friends about ideas…

And then (fast forward), I got this kid. And here I sat at the breakfast table with her and darn it, she was just going to learn to add fractions with different denominators because I knew she knew it. I had seen her demonstrate the knowledge when cooking and playing with blocks.

And she, well, she knows who she is and what she wants, and it is not sitting at the breakfast table giving in to Mommy’s need to prove that she can do a darn worksheet. Even candy didn’t help.

The babies all suited up for the Baby Space Program (note the flag: BSP)
The babies all suited up for the Baby Space Program (note the flag: BSP)

So back to that piece about learning math. If I am to believe — and I do believe — what I have read over and over, my daughter could learn all of elementary school math in a month when she’s 13. She could do no formal math at all, then one day master every concept needed in order to do something that she wanted to do. Heck, she could probably do that now, if she wanted to. But how many seven-year-olds want that? Some do — I even know them. Their parents ask questions on gifted education lists like “where can I get great trig curriculum for my eight-year-old?”

I’m jealous, and then again, I’m not. My seven-year-old has some of her priorities damn straight, as far as she is concerned. Do math when she could be out riding her bike in the new sunshine, finding out where the sound of the chainsaw is coming from? Do math when she could be playing Legos? Do math when she could be making space suits for her baby dolls?

It’s my priorities I need to fix: Is it really worth fighting over adding fractions when it’s just not what she interested in learning today? The day she wants to do it, she will be able to — of that I am certain. And that day could come soon, when she’s having a conversation with another kid and they reveal something that they know that she doesn’t (she hates finding out that she doesn’t know everything!). It could be the day that she really needs to know: if she needs 2/5 of one plastic bag for a baby space suit bottom, and 7/10 for the top, how much total will she need to make a full space suit?

And on that day, she might just need to calculate how long it will take them to get to her favorite galaxy, far, far away, and she’ll be off, learning all the math she needs in spite of our breakfast table struggles.

Now available