Socialization

Whenever the subject of socialization comes up--and the pesky issue always comes up whenever you talk to someone who does not homeschool, homeschooling parents tie their underwear in knots, or whatever the American expression is. Gruffly they argue: Our children socialize all the time in park groups and field trips. They say: Unlike schooled children with their endless hours of homework, our children have time for play dates with their friends. They point out: Socialization does not only take place with peers, but within the family. The more ambitious suggest: You cannot have it both ways--you cannot commit to giving your children a comprehensive education and squander precious hours socializing. If you want to learn Latin and advanced chemistry, it takes time. Others say: Not everything that children learn from each other is worth learning.

All valid points. Our Simon, for example, sees other kids four days a week. He has handful of friends in Miami who rotate through for play dates on the weekend. Between field trips, park groups, science fairs, Historically Speaking events, and enrichment classes offered by my local inclusive homeschooling groups, there are so many social activities that many weeks Saturday comes and we still have schoolwork to finish. And yet, after years of running enrichment classes for homeschoolers, I have to take a heretical position: Many homeschoolers are poorly socialized.

My son is a good example. He and his friends can play for hours on end through a Sunday without conflict or boredom. Simon is a very imaginative kid with a room full of Legos which he's shaped into castles, dungeons, and space stations. There are stories that go with each of these scenarios, as well as little Lego figures: a good king called King Pie Five, a bad guy called Six Man Six, a princess called Heia. Simon always bamboozles kids into pretend play involving his Legos. Hours pass. If his friend Heather is over, all the female characters from Simon's Lego pantheon are foregrounded. With Adam the play turns invariably around King Pie Five and the castles. Simon knows his friends, knows their interests, and knows how to fashion a fun afternoon for himself and whoever is visiting. If there are disputes, he usually suggests that they get resolved by some kind of deal. Simon seems better than most at handling himself socially among peers in unstructured play situations. He brings his imagination and delight in others to the table, and a grand time is had by all.

The problems arise when Simon is in a classroom setting, or any other social milieu that is highly structured, a milieu that has tight behavioral expectations that demand that he control his impulses and his emotions, while he engages in an activity and with people he might not really want to at that moment. Most grown-ups will acknowledge that a lot of our day is passed in these type of settings and situations--yes? Every day, we find ourselves in places and with people we don't necessarily delight in, doing something which we don't necessarily want to at that moment. And yet, we do what we have to do, as they say. We give it our best. Platitudes, I know--but we need to give it our best--yes? This is a skill Simon has only recently began to develop.

As I write this I'm preparing a class on the American Revolution which I will teach to Simon and to a group of homeschoolers and their moms. It's a review session of Chapter 22 and 23 on The Story of the World, Vol. III. I find myself trying hard to make the class as hands-on and focused on the details of the story as possible: we will make a time-line and then play a game. I cannot let the class drift for too long into the realm of ideas, such as a discussion of how the American Revolution inspired other countries, changing the history of the world. I must stick to the facts.

I have to do this because the last time I taught a class, I utterly lost Simon. He sat in a corner, not listening but drawing. The class was about Daedalus and Icarus. As all the kids would come to class having done the reading, I chose to focus on why this story had inspired paintings and poems. We looked at a Bruegel and read some W. H. Auden. I felt I had all the other kids with me--but not Simon. He told me later he was "super bored." Somewhat agitated, he said he thought we would talk about Perseus and King Minos, and how Daedalus had built the maze for the minotaur. He wanted me to position the story of Daedalus within the larger context of the Greek myths--all much loved by him. "Why didn't you do that, Mom? The Breugel picture you showed is just a happy sunny landscape with Icarus drowning--who cares?"

Simon felt that I had sacrificed the great story of Daedalus to a dull discussion of its implications. I made sure I told him I was proud that he could tell me all of that; however, his behavior during the class left a lot to be desired. Bored, he chose to turn away from the class and draw. And his response--drawing--was head and shoulders above what he did when younger.

Back then he would have just declared: "This is boring. I'm going home now." If he could walk away, he walked. If there was anything in the area he could give his attention to, he was off reading books, playing with sticks, toys, bugs, etc. If there was a table, he put his head on it. Moreover, he continually challenged authority. If an art teacher asked the kids to paint the background beige, Simon insisted it should be black and could not be dissuaded. If the teacher wanted them to draw a scene from the Bayeux tapestry, Simon placed the scene on a screen at a movie and then gave all his attention to drawing the "space people" and "aliens" who were watching the movie. If the teacher asked the students to pay attention while she spoke about the Battle of Hastings, Simon sat there drawing. When she asked him to stop drawing and listen, he said without ever looking up: "But I know already about the Battle of Hastings, and I have to finish drawing the weapons of this alien." This sort of thing happened every class.

Oh, you will say, but he's so smart. Give the kid a break. He's a kid. Moreover, he processes language with difficulty--obviously, a discussion about the implications of this or that will not come easily to him. And it's all the fault of the teacher. She must be rigid. What's wrong with making the background black?

There are two kinds of socialization: primary and secondary. Primary socialization refers to when a child learns the values, attitudes, and appropriate actions of the culture at large. Secondary socialization refers to the process of learning what is appropriate behavior for members of a small group. It is secondary socialization that Simon lacks.

Why does it matter? First and foremost, a child who is poorly socialized in a classroom setting, who hasn't internalized that it is his or her duty to sit and attend and cooperate, emerges from the classroom not having learned what everyone else learned. When the class is over, that child is behind. The child might be learning lots in other settings, but he just missed out on an opportunity. I was able to take Simon home and get him to look closely at the Bruegel painting, getting him to see what Bruegel was trying to say about human suffering, but I will not always be around to do that. Second, most of our grown-up life is spent in these small groups. Our children need to master handling themselves in those settings. Period.

I speak of Simon, but in my estimation over 50% of the boys--it's mostly boys--that are homeschooled by parents who are not evangelical were pulled out of school because they were neither handling themselves well in a classroom, nor learning what they needed to learn, and I applaud every parent for doing so from the bottom of my heart. Their kids might have developmental, sensory, or learning issues, which they might or might not grow out of, but which will definitely be poorly addressed by a public school. Their kids will learn so much more at home--hands down. However, most of these kids exhibit poor secondary socialization which shoudn't be denied, or go unaddressed and remediated. The poorly socialized child misses out and is left behind.

Personally, I think the problem is so rampant that I'm no longer willing to teach enrichment classes to homeschooled kids whom I've not hand-picked. When I tell friends that I intend to move into a classroom when I'm done teaching Simon, they say: "But why would you want to do that?--managing behavioral issues, trying to teach kids that cannot, or will not, learn."

I always answer: "I've taught homeschooled kids. Simon is my son. A classroom full of public school kids--no problem."

What can we do in our homes and within our homeschooling communities to help our poorly socialized kids? We can offer and attend enrichment classes. We can enroll our children in classes that they might enjoy so they get to practice and master secondary socialization. The fact that they might not do well in such settings is not a reason to pull them out. Once or twice a week, for an hour or two--they need to make it work, and we need to let them fail and try again.

Talk to them about what is expected as often as you have to, as well as five minutes before they set foot in the class. Explain why they need to learn how to be good students. The most effective thing I've said to Simon has been: "If you are not listening to the teacher, you don't become smarter. All the other kids become smarter--but you don't." None of this gets fixed in a day, or a year. Give it five, six, seven.

Finally, sit down for meals with your family every night, every day, every meal, if possible. I think of this as a balm for all wounds. Structure up the meals. Have your children set the table. Have them make the salad. Have them serve the water. Let one of them call everyone to the table. Let meals in your home have the feel of a small group that is focused on a task--like a classroom. Once you sit down, have a set of basic expectations as to table manners. Expect compliance. Foster conversation. Ask questions. Tell stories. Listen. Praise. Socialize.

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Here is a link to the Bruegel painting: Landscape with the Fall of Icarus.

Here is the poem by W.H. Auden. He wrote it after seeing the painting above. In case you missed him, Icarus can be seen flailing in the water south of the boat.

Musee des Beaux Arts

About suffering they were never wrong, The Old Masters; how well, they understood Its human position; how it takes place While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along; How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting For the miraculous birth, there always must be Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating On a pond at the edge of the wood: They never forgot That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse Scratches its innocent behind on a tree. In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry, But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky, had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.