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All families have their challenges; homeschooling families have some that are unique, such as how to manage the absence of the parent that does the schooling. In my case, it is implied in the fine print of my job description as Primary Homeschooling Parent that I'm responsible for our son 24/7--I cover weekday school hours and non-school hours. Barring the presence of grandparents, or an extended family, or intimate friends who you could leave your kid with, what to do? George, my husband, is ever so helpful and supportive, but he can't take time off. Somebody has to make some money around here.
In two weeks, I'm going on a trip on my own. I'll be gone for seven days. There is no way around this trip. My baby sister is having twins at a time when she already has two boys under six; she could use some help; I must go; I really want to go. But what to do with Simon? I could take him with me, but Simon bolts any premises if just one newborn begins to wail, never mind two. He's made it abundantly clear he doesn't want to go. "I'm sorry but I hate babies, Mom! Crying hurts my ears! I will run away." So back to the same questions: Who will take care of Simon? Teach him? Tear him away from screens and Legos and bamboozle him into reducing fractions, reading something--anything?
Home-educators are good at fixing problems: my absence would be an opportunity. Simon would go to the office with George and work independently. He is in fifth grade after all. I would assemble a folder of assignments for everyday, trying to stuff them with an abundance of subjects and books he likes: Latin translation and world history, Time Warp Trio and a presidential biography, some drawing, some math, not too much, just enough. I would specify doable daily reading assignments and write up questions which he would have to answer. I would try to reproduce in writing the substance of our daily conversations about texts, asking who, what, where, how and lots of why questions. It would take lots of work on my part, but I would find the time.
But then I had what I thought was an inspired thought: I would order a reading comprehension workbook. Then I wouldn't have to work so hard preparing for my absence. One of the better brands out there seems to be Spectrum; I would spend the extra bucks on Spectrum--Simon is worth it. Simon could do a bit of regular schoolwork, the stuff everyone else does in public school, like reading comp. worksheets. It wouldn't hurt, right? And it would easily keep him busy. He could probably read three to four or more of these little narratives everyday. Surely, he would learn something. A few clicks on Amazon and the Spectrum Reading Comprehension, Updated and Revised, Aligned to State and National Standards--an Excellent Tool for Standardized Test Preparation was on its way to our home.
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You know where this is going. It arrived last week at our doorstep, in our lives.
That same week we had various interesting conversations with Simon based primarily on his readings. We talked of President Rutherford B. Hayes, who was a great president simply by being honest, responsible, and hard-working--a relief after Ulysses S. Grant, who gave away government jobs to all his corrupt and mendacious cronies. We talked about World War I: how the American Seventy-Seventh Division, stuck in trenches, under attack not only by the Germans but also by the Allies who did not know they were shooting at Americans, was saved by a pigeon who got a message to the Allies, even though the pigeon was shot through the chest and one leg had been blown off. We talked about God. Simon wanted to know if George and I believe, and if, in what and how much. The suffering of Ruby Bridges, the suffering of the people of Haiti, why people are upset with president Obama, and when can we get a cat were some of the other issues discussed. Into the middle of this week, the middle of those conversations, arrived the Spectrum workbook.
It's not that the workbook is so terrible, but it's so much less than it could be. Of the seventy-five narratives, only a third seem interesting at first glance, covering history, the arts, music, science. The rest are narratives about soccer--four of them--and stories about kids who do something, or go somewhere, that leads to learning of some kind: hiking, France, the farmers' market, the library, amusement parks, puppy foster care, etc. Every story in the workbook has an information dump quality. At no point is anything at stake. No lives need to be rescued. Nothing is about to blow up. No guillotine is about to smash down on the neck of a just man. Nothing is at risk. Everything is safe, bland, utterly uncontroversial, utterly forgettable.
I understand that Simon will eventually need to master getting through this type of informational dump, however boring. But he is eleven. Education is about lighting a fire, it's about turning kids on: to reading, to history, to science, to great literature. You cannot do that with a text about going to a farmers' market, or the pleasures of hiking.
From a friend who used to work in educational publishing I learned this weekend that the industry cannot sell anything that is not safe and bland. Controversies of any kind lead to low sales, angry parents, even lawsuits.
The workbook has had me thinking these last few days about my favorite class as a child in Peru: social studies. After we stood and sang the Peruvian anthem with our hands over our hearts, the teacher unlocked a book cabinet next to the chalkboard and then passed out books. Hardcover. Published in Spain. Imported. Expensive.
Every time we met we read one story. Every kid had to read half a page. Then we talked about it. Who? What? Where? How? Why? Then the teacher, Mister Villegas, dictated one question and we had to answer it in writing. When we were done, we had to put our books, one by one, back in the cabinet. By the end of class, Mister Villegas counted the books, then locked them up and slipped the key back into his pocket. He knew those books were worth having. I often thought of stealing one.
Almost forty years later, I still remember so many of those stories. My favorite was one about a potter in China who made beautiful red porcelain by dripping a bit of his own blood in the glaze. He was always a little weak and pale. But the porcelain was glorious--so glorious the emperor put in an order for vases, hundreds of them, to be delivered quickly.
The potter made the vases. Then he slashed his wrists and let his blood drip into the glaze. His apprentice finished the job. The emperor was delighted. The vases took his breath away. They looked almost alive. As for the potter, the potter had died.
I still think about that story. Nothing like that in the Spectrum workbook.
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So I'm back to plan A: writing my own questions to the texts of my choice--and Simon's.
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