tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48838502735391449492024-03-05T14:39:29.162-08:0036 Weeks of Home Education/100 American Stories/44 Presidents/One American Boy/One Foreign Born MomThis blog tracks one American fifth grader and his German-Peruvian mother as they learn American history. This blog is part pedagogical record and part meditations inspired by the readings.Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-51000919489620698022010-07-04T11:56:00.000-07:002010-07-04T12:03:10.157-07:00Note:<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">I've uploaded all of Simon's pictures. Aren't they great?</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">I intend to write one more essay about this endeavor, something about what this year was about for Simon, for me. But I'm not happy with what I've written thus far, so I will not press PUBLISH. I'm off on vacation tomorrow--a road trip all the way up the East Coast to visit family and friends--and Gettysburg. When I return, I will hopefully have an essay.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">My best to you all,</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';">Claudia</span></span></div></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-89532426703046154042010-06-03T04:20:00.000-07:002010-06-05T08:15:55.588-07:00About the FPEA Convention<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://tomorrowsforefathers.com/gracenotes/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/fpea-crowd.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 777px; height: 518px;" src="http://tomorrowsforefathers.com/gracenotes/wp-content/uploads/2007/05/fpea-crowd.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">I talked my husband into going. We would make a weekend out of it, I said. We wouldn't go for the whole two-day thing, just for the last day, I said. It would be good for Simon to see how many families homeschool. The hall of exhibits had in years past contained various vendors of Usborne books and fabulous educational toys--I had saved a little money and would love to spend it there. The hotel was cheap enough and had three pools. Moreover, there is a Vietnamese restaurant in Orlando that George has raved about--he would finally be able to take me. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">So we went. The FPEA (Florida Parent Educators Association)</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 19px; "><em style="font-style: normal; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> </span></span></em></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Homeschool Convention is one of the largest in the country: a hall of exhibits the size of a football field, over 200 vendors, 120 lectures delivered in groups of nine, six times a day, in lecture halls the size of ballrooms. I attended the convention with a friend two years ago and was flabbergasted by the enormity of it all. So many people. Sometimes, turning a corner, I would find myself looking down a hall and up an escalator and be confronted with an ocean of humanity that extended as far as the eye could see. Airports are usually less congested. I thought of all the times I have been told that </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">nobody homeschools</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">We arrived midday on Saturday. George would spend the afternoon with Simon. I would attend a lecture and spend money. I had three bags with me and was intending to fill them.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Before I speak of my impressions, I should relate that Simon had a great time. He bought a Jim Weiss audio book about <a href="http://www.greathall.com/products/heros.html">Heroes in Mythology</a> and then sat down at a table at the chess booth and played against various kids and won--he wants to go back next year and play in the FPEA sponsored tournament. In Simon's book--a fabulous afternoon. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Later, Simon and George found a table in the hotel lobby and played some more chess on a travel set. Seeing me walk towards them with empty bags, George </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">lifted his eyebrows</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">"You didn't buy anything," he said.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">"There was nothing to buy."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Here are my impressions of the conference:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">--Most of the great vendors of two years ago were gone</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">, the ones that sold critically acclaimed readers for all ages and reading levels, readers about history, science and literature. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=node%3D4&field-keywords=usborne+series+2+and+3&x=15&y=17">Usborne readers</a> had been ubiquitous two years ago, as were vendors of the <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/search/ref=sr_kk_1?rh=i:aps,k:who+was&keywords=who+was&ie=UTF8&qid=1275674710">Who Was...?</a></i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/search/ref=sr_kk_1?rh=i:aps,k:who+was&keywords=who+was&ie=UTF8&qid=1275674710"> </a>series, or the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/search/ref=sr_kk_1?rh=i:stripbooks,k:landmark+books+series&keywords=landmark+books+series&ie=UTF8&qid=1275674632">Landmark</a> series of historical readers. I remember huge booths with swiveling displays--and me furiously writing down titles once I'd run out of money. Where were those vendors? I couldn't find them. Instead, what book racks and display cases I could find were full of workbooks of every flavor, and readers that had primarily an evangelical bent. Similarly, I couldn't find the educational toys that I regretted not buying two years ago. Many of the purveyors of great children's literature and toys had decided not to attend. Homeschoolers in Florida were not buying enough of their products.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">--The flavor of most of the materials sold was evangelical</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">. You could buy CD-roms, DVDs, CDs, workbooks, and books on subjects your children could study: history, geography, creationist science, Latin, the Bible, grammar, spelling, writing. You could also buy </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">how to</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> materials for parents with titles such as </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">How to Teach the Classics. </span></span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">--Many of the educational products sold were not written by experts. </span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> They were written by homeschooling parents. Homeschooling your child for a number of years was enough know-how to write a book on history or Latin and sell it at homeschooling convention. As the sell was hard at many booths, I kept my irritation is check by asking: "Where did the author get his/her degree?" The lack of a clear cut reply to this question left me with the impression that a significant number of homeschooling products sold at the FPEA convention are produced by people who do not have a college degree. </span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">--At a homeschooling conference in Florida, the vendor is the expert.</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> Of the 120 lectures, more than 95% are given by vendors. They call them lectures, but they are actually nothing but a sale's pitch. I found myself thinking that going to the FPEA Homeschooling Convention to hone your skills as the educator of your children is a lot like going to a pharmaceutical company rep. for medical care.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">--</span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">At the conference the air was thick with anxiety</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">. Vendors kept talking of SATs, of getting your children into college. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">If you buy my product, your child will do well.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> Implied was that if you didn't, all your hard work would be in vain, the long educational journey of your child would lead to a door, and beyond that door there would be a dark abyss. Many of the moms at the conference seemed to have been bitten by fear. They bustled frenetically between the booths, dragging a cart full of educational materials behind them, busily taking notes, spending money.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">--The absence of great teaching materials was a palpable presence.</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> Where were the classics? Where were the books that add up to a great education? Where were the books that have to be mastered to pass Advanced Placement tests? </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana;font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana;font-size:large;">What I will remember most about this weekend in Orlando--other than the Vietnamese food--is the audiobook we listened to in the car driving there and back: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Little-History-World-Classic-Collection/dp/078617286X">A Little History of the World by E. H. Gombrich.</a> I had heard of this book years ago from a homeschooling parent who it was rumored had a detailed home-made historical timeline running along all the hallways of her large Coral Gables home. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana;font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana;font-size:large;">We drove back to Miami along the Florida Turnpike through reams of rain listening to Gombrich speak of the Greeks, of Alexander the Great, of Hannibal, of the library in Alexandria. Simon knows the history from having read Susan Wise Bauer's <i>Story of the World</i>, but Gombrich veers away intermittently from simply chronicling events to give his opinion, to make comparisons, to get carried away by his own delight in and admiration for particular characters and historical periods, and his abhorrence of others. He seemed to be saying </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;font-size:large;"><i>history matters, learning matters, the classics matter, the Greeks matter. </i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana;font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana;font-size:large;">It seemed appropriate to return from the FPEA listening to the words of one of the best known art historians of the last century, a Jew from Vienna who survived the Holocaust and spoke of history with a certain urgency. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana;font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana;font-size:large;">In this country, <i>A Little History of the World</i> is put out by Yale University Press. It was not available at the conference. </span></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-62160159118412342572010-05-20T04:56:00.000-07:002010-05-21T05:04:50.755-07:00Socialization<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Whenever the subject of socialization comes up--and the pesky issue always comes up whenever you talk to someone who does </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">not</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> homeschool, homeschooling parents tie their underwear in knots, or whatever the American expression is. Gruffly they argue:</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> Our children socialize all the time in park groups and field trips.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> They say:</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> Unlike schooled children with their endless hours of homework, our children have time for play dates with their friends. </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">They point out: </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Socialization does not only take place with peers, but within the family.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> The more ambitious suggest: </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">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. </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Others say: </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Not everything that children learn from each other is worth learning.</span></i><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><i></i>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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">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, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">we do what we have to do</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">, as they say. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">We give it our best</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">. Platitudes, I know--but we need to give it our best--yes? This is a skill Simon has only recently began to develop.<br /><br />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 </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The Story of the World,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> 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.<br /><br />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?"<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br /></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Oh, </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">you will say</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">, 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?</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /><br />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.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">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 </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">not</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> 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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">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. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">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 </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">that</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">?--managing behavioral issues, trying to teach kids that cannot, or will not, learn." </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I always answer: "I've taught homeschooled kids. Simon is my son. A classroom full of public school kids--no problem." </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">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 </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">don't</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> 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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">___________________________</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Here is a link to the Bruegel painting: </span><a href="http://www.dl.ket.org/webmuseum/wm/paint/auth/bruegel/icarus.jpg"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Landscape with the Fall of Icarus.</span></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">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.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Musee des Beaux Arts</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" width="100%" id="table23"><tbody><tr><td valign="top" width="30"> </td><td valign="top" style=" width: 524px; font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:10pt;"><span style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family:Arial;font-size:14px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">About suffering they were never wrong,<br />The Old Masters; how well, they understood<br />Its human position; how it takes place<br />While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;<br />How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting<br />For the miraculous birth, there always must be<br />Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating<br />On a pond at the edge of the wood:<br />They never forgot<br />That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course<br />Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot<br />Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse<br />Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.<br /><br />In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away<br />Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may<br />Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,<br />But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone<br />As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green<br />Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen<br />Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,<br />had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table></span></div><div> </div></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-27189443278479819672010-05-11T14:25:00.000-07:002010-05-12T19:48:50.709-07:00Public Service<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">This year, the subject of Simon's future has come up repeatedly. Simon is the one bringing it up, not us. My husband George, who's a pretty smart fellow, has this unshakable certainty: any kid who can beat him at chess will be all right. This last year, Simon checkmates George, or corners him into a draw, almost every time they play.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">On the other hand, Simon, at eleven, thinks about his future a lot.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"What kind of jobs can you do in a bank?" he asks after finding out that President McKinley fell in love with a woman who was a teller in her father's bank. "Mom, if I worked in a bank, I would have money, right?" Simon wants to know.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">It's been a year of explaining basic economic principles, the relentless traffic of goods and services that drives history: how we all participate by buying and selling labor as well as mountains of stuff, how having a job means you do a service for a company, or the government, or a school, and they then pay you for it. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">All of this had been explained before, but it has only begun to sink in now, now that he finds himself exploring (and worrying about) how he will keep himself in Legos, fettucine, and audio books when he grows up. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">When I explained all the jobs available in a bank, his eyes glazed over and his face looked disappointed, so I said: "Simon, when you think about what kind of job you might want to do when you grow up, think about all the things you like to do, all the things you are good at."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"Building Legos."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"<i>Building</i>. Correct. You are <i>great</i> at building things. Maybe you want to build stuff: houses, hospitals, bridges, roads, airports. Think about it. What else are you good at?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"Chess."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"You are <i>terrific</i> at chess. When playing chess, what do you have to know how to do?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">After a minute he said: "Figure out consequences. Strategy."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"Maybe you could get a job with the army, helping with military strategy."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"I don't want to be a soldier, Mom," he said after a minute. My son--definitely my son.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"Simon, if not the military, then a company, or the government, or a school. You are good at thinking through the consequences of any given action. Most people have a very hard time doing that. It seems like an easy thing for you, but for others it is not. Many people do a lot of stupid things, things they should know are stupid, things that will have bad consequences. They do them anyway because they believe in magic, or luck, or that God watches out for them and will help them. Someone like you will always find work." </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"Mom, maybe I can do something with history."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"<i>History!</i> Of course! You can write books, or you can teach. I bet your students would think you are the coolest history teacher ever. You would bring Lego structures and figures to class and show them the Siege of Jerusalem or the Battle of Hastings, right?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Simon looked up and smiled from ear to ear: "I'm <i>never</i> giving away my Legos!" </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">These last weeks, I've found myself again and again returning to the subject of public service. I'm not completely sure why this has become a compulsion I cannot stop. I punctuate the day, the week, lunch, with little stories that are always about the same thing: I point out people who gave not only generously but recklessly of themselves, people who helped this country through difficult times, people who taught us all how to be a better people, a better nation, a more perfect union: Rosa Parks, Dr. Jonas Salk, Teddy Roosevelt, FDR, Kennedy, Martin Luther King. I find myself pointing out all the volunteering done by people we know right here in Miami, people who have careers and professions I forget to mention. And I point out everyone who gives above and beyond, working with the poor in Bolivia or Africa, going to Haiti to help out.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I should be pushing dentistry, or medicine, or law, or engineering; instead, I've told Simon all about the volunteering my mother did in the slums of South America during the years we lived there. Simon knows about open sewers, cardboard houses, and feeding slum children with sandwiches spread with a paste of peanut butter, ground up sardines, and powdered milk. He knows almost nothing about how my father traded metals, and because he was successful, Mother could volunteer in the slums, and I had endless opportunities. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">So why am I doing this? </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I worry a lot about the future, more than my mostly sunny disposition gives away. Picking up Simon from his sailing lesson yesterday, I gazed down at all the trash snagged in the bushes growing at the edge of Biscayne Bay. The oil slick in the Gulf is coming our way. So much has been coming at us for years now: environmental problems that are irreversible and apocalyptic, socio-economic-educational problems that are so hard to understand, never mind fix. I find myself hoping Simon will be part of solving some of these problems. I find myself wanting to offer him to the world. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Here's another reason: I'm getting older. Some days I'm restless and wish I could do more than hang up my laundry to dry, turn off the air-conditioner, eat less meat, and make sure I recycle. Recently I met an unforgettable twenty-one year old who just graduated from Bard and is flying off to Haiti within a few weeks to help them build a coral reef out of all the rubble they are dumping into the ocean. I wanted to pack up my bags and go with her. I asked her if she'd had a hard time finding work since graduating. Because of her studies and internships in all things "green," she'd had more offers than she could handle. The banks aren't hiring, but coral reef projects in Haiti are. I went home and told Simon all about Haiti, the earthquake, and coral reefs made of concrete debris, and how this young woman was going to live in a tent.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Finally, I feel very grateful these last many months. Gratitude is a scary wild feeling when you're not a religious person. Believers and practitioners have gestures and prayers that can tame what is in their hearts. They hold their hands together, they kneel, they bow their heads, they have words, lots and lots of words they can direct at someone, something. Agnostics like me--I just struggle through my day with a chest full of jagged emotions, feeling like an ax broke through the ice within.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Simon is doing well. He's reading, writing, doing long division, asking bigger questions every day. George and I still like each other. We have a handful of much loved friends. I spend many hours of my days reading history with my son in this country that allows me to do that. Life is good. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Over lunch today, this boy of ours who we were once told would always need "assistance," looked up from his burrito and said: "You know Mom, FDR was much better at ending the depression than Hitler. You know why?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"Why?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"Both FDR and Hitler ended the depression in their countries, but FDR created jobs with the New Deal--Hitler just invaded countries and killed Jews." </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I was going to say something about keeping his lips shut while chewing. But I didn't. I couldn't. I knew that if I opened my mouth I would lose it.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">He's going to be fine. </span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span></span></div></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-63688376185665750912010-05-04T14:58:00.000-07:002010-05-04T18:29:10.200-07:00The Kindness of Strangers<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.chinaberry.com/images/pimages/12876.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 251px;" src="http://www.chinaberry.com/images/pimages/12876.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.greathall.com/images/splash2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 327px; height: 483px;" src="http://www.greathall.com/images/splash2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Jim Weiss' audio books can be bought from his website, </span></span><a href="http://www.greathall.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Greathall Productions</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">, among other vendors. The library also tends to have copies.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">The audio books of Bible stories referred to in this piece are called </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Living Adventures from the Bible</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">. They can be purchased from </span><a href="http://eyeintheear.com/#3"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">eyeintheear.com</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">, among other vendors.</span><br /></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Some months ago, Simon and I started to drive to Miami Beach for his weekly piano lesson. It's a long drive, so I plug in an audio book and off we go. For the last few weeks, we've been working our way through stories from the Bible. Simon had noticed an advertisement for this particular series of Cd's and had asked for them.<br /><br />Few audio books have given him as much pleasure. The mix of history and grand story-telling, the looming catastrophes, the booming voice of God, the focus on obedience and its opposite, the faithful loyalty of the converted--Simon loves it all. He loves it so much that recently, while driving by a evangelical church promoting its Summer Bible Camp, Simon asked it he could go--we're secular Jews. Not since he was eight and discovered Greek mythology have I seen him so hooked on a particular cycle of stories. Every time we have to take a long car ride, he dashes back into the house to get his Cd's.<br /><br />"I'm torturing you with Bible stories, Mom," he says, giving me a sly smile as he shoves the story of Queen Esther, or Jonas and the Whale into the player.<br /><br />He's <i>torturing</i> me with these stories not because I object to them, but because he makes me listen to them over and over and over. I've allowed him to move into the front passenger seat--he's grown four inches this last year--and from that position he controls the sound. Once a story has played all the way through, he says: "It's a really good story, Mom. We have to listen to it again," and quickly presses the necessary button before I object.<br /><br />Watching him do this, I'm reminded again of the degree to which our Simon is teaching himself, is healing himself, is his own best therapist. I've never hesitated to buy audio books because since we put a CD player in his room four years ago, there's been an audio book playing in the background most of the time. He plays them over and over, decoding every nuance of meaning, of plot, of intention, even of intonation. I've noticed that when he reads to me from Vol. III of Susan Wise Bauer's<i> The Story of the World,</i> a book he has heard many times as an audio book, he aims to recreate Jim Weiss' (the reader) intonations and exaggerations.<br /><br />Moreover, Simon knows the content of his audio book library so well, he can find something in it in no time. If we watch a movie about the crusades or Cromwell, I invariably find him in his room the next day listening to those sections of<i> The Story of the World.</i> Our Simon, this child with auditory processing issues, doggedly spends most of his free time decoding auditory stimuli, making the effort to overcome his deficits. And his overall increased listening, comprehension, vocabulary and expressive skills, are in part the result of the delight he takes in the dramatic fireworks that Jim Weiss imparts to pretty ordinary historical exposition.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />I've been thinking this week about how lucky we've been, how strangers--people who were marginal in our lives or not in them at all, have provided the most important advice-- the keys to comprehending our son, the therapeutic tools, the hopeful long-term perspective.<br /><br />Many years ago, while we lived in Washington, D.C., I cold-called most of the speech therapists in the city. We'd been very unhappy with Simon's individual speech therapy sessions, so I left messages on endless machines stating that I was looking for group sessions that focused on play, games, and craft activities.<br /><br />A week or two passed and one morning the phone rang. It was someone who had received my message. She wasn't offering a group sessions, nor was she taking any new patients; however, she was curious as to why I was looking for such a group—she just had to call and find out.<br /><br />I explained that the therapist we had been working with had focused on teaching Simon new words. My sense was that Simon knew lots of words, he just didn't use them when interacting with others. Maybe a group of kids and a therapeutic game would be a more powerful modality than one-on-one therapy.<br /><br />She kept me on the phone. She asked me endless questions about Simon. She wanted to know what I and my husband thought was amiss with Simon.<br /><br />I told her we didn't think all the disorders that fall under the autism spectrum explained Simon—he was too smart, too attached, too connected, too funny a kid. Very high-functioning Asperger's maybe, but even for that he was too attached, too empathic, too charming. To us, he just seemed like a child who heard much too much and couldn't function in loud environments, couldn't decode sentences coming at him because he couldn't filter out all the other sounds in the room. And we could see him having trouble smoothly mastering basic social and academic skills because he wasn't picking up on all of the instructions or social cues.<br /><br />“I want you to get a pen and paper and write down the following: <i>semantic pragmatic disorder </i>and <i>auditory processing disorder</i>. Those terms might help you. Take good care of your little boy. Whatever you do, make sure you soak him in language. Bye, bye.”<br /><br /><i>Click.</i><br /><br />I often think about this woman who so generously gave of her time and know-how.<br /><br />The other stranger in our lives who gave us invaluable advice was the mother of a friend of ours. Because his mom had a PhD in Speech Pathology and had orchestrated special services for children in all of southern Illinois, our friend offered her to us. She would be visiting him in Miami and could come over and spend a day with Simon and me and watch me homeschool. Maybe she would have some advice to give.<br /><br />I didn't want her to come, but I couldn't say no—the offer was so generous, and this friend of ours is much loved by everyone in our family.<br /><br />I remember that when she walked through the door I had a small panic attack. She was wearing a pink pant suit, not the kind Hillary wears but one made of something synthetic with stretchy pants and a loose fitting top with buttons down the middle. How was someone from a parallel universe going to understand our choices?<br /><br />Simon was eight at the time. He read out loud for her and did some math. I came up with a treasure hunt that involved written clues. I made lunch. She looked over my curriculum and made warm, supportive noises. And then she said something that was invaluable.<br /><br />“They used to say that if your child wasn't functioning smoothly at age level by seven, you were probably looking at a child with significant disabilities. But the research shows that boys can take until age twelve to master all the basic skills.”<br /><br />It was a throw away sentence, an off the cuff comment that made all the difference. We had a few years more years. Overcome by emotion, I kissed her.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div>Simon is turning twelve this summer. A few weeks ago he won a chess tournament in his division. In math this year, he's gone from limping behind to being ahead. I've a new problem—I often have the feeling that he's not listening to my comments or observations because I bore him. <i>I know, Mom. I know that all already</i>, he says. His handwriting continues to be atrocious but the sentences are beginning to have some meat to them. At dinner, he turns to George and says: <i>Dad, how was your day</i>? His social skills have been hard won, but he's beginning to not only know about them, but also use them.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />This feels like a draft of something longer. But it's all I've time for this week.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />As for Simon's interest in the Bible, I've explained to him that next year he will read his way through the Torah, and then he'll read the Bible, even the New Testament.<br /><br />“You know, Mom," Simon said, "I'm a lot like Abraham Lincoln. I also like the Bible. You know that was one of the only books he owned? He read it over and over.”<br /><br />“The things you remember.”</span><br /></div></div></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-49377395870321253942010-04-26T17:24:00.000-07:002010-04-28T06:56:24.735-07:00Intellectual Passions<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div>We're coming to the end of the school year and there is still so much to do. I'd hoped that we'd be way ahead, but we aren't, so a few weeks ago we began to double up here and there to get it all done.<br /><br />To my surprise, Simon hasn't complained. As a matter of fact, he's welcomed it. The presidential biographies are now devoured in one or two sittings. He has taken over reading the tales in </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The American Story</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">, even though they are at an 8.1 reading level and full of figurative speech. What was impossible in the fall is now doable. I still have to stop him to make sure he understands what it means to "view life in black and white," or that Elvis moved as if "he'd swallowed a jackhammer." But mostly Simon just reads and I listen, interrupting here and there simply to posit a question or make an observation.<br /><br />Simon is older, of course. Almost a year has passed. He and his skills have matured. But he's also happily galloping through the readings because as he puts it, he's “really into” American history, the presidents in particular. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Yesterday he insisted that we go through the Netflix catalog, hunting for documentaries. And can I find him more audiobooks about American history? Furthermore, we're planning a trip to Washington, D.C. in the fall, and he's disappointed we can't go to New York as well, and Campobello Island in Maine, to track down all things FDR and Eleanor. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I sense in Simon the fetishism of the impassioned lover. He wants to see the presidential portraits, wander through the presidents' homes, and get as close as possible to the documents Dolly Madison saved when Washington was attacked in the War of 1812. He wants to gaze upon and caress (and hopefully one day read) everything that has anything to do with the objects of his affections<br /><br />And nothing makes me happier. Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the right thing, committing to tight reading schedules and ambitious curricula. “Are we reading our way through this mountain of texts for him--or for me?” I ask myself. A friend of mine once said, laughing, that my curricula for Simon bordered "child abuse." </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">So often it's breezy and sunny down here in Miami, especially during the school year months—we could be at the beach or traipsing through the Everglades. Instead we are indoors, on the couch, talking about the Great Depression late into the afternoon, how the opossum was imported into this country to serve as food, how people ate dogs and cats and lived under cardboard in the cesspool that became Central Park.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br />And then it happens. Somewhere along the year, he's hooked. So hooked I feel him drifting away from me, off in his own world, sensing what it will be like to live with him in the years to come as he slowly becomes a man full of interests, affections, and obsessions of his very own. Around this time last year it happened with world history. Every spare minute of every day was devoted to listening to the audiobook of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The Story of the World</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">. This year it's the story of this country.<br /><br />“Maybe at the library they have audiobooks about the presidents for grown-ups, Mom, and I might like them?”</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"Let's find out."<br /><br />As I said, nothing makes me happier. My most passionate and uncomplicated love affairs have been with books, and with some of their authors, whom I've never met, many of them female, or gay, or long dead. I count Virginia Woolf, Michel Montaigne and Roland Barthes among my dearest friends. They're always nothing but a source of pleasure, comfort, and companionship. I can come to them again and again and they never disappoint or break my heart.<br /><br />I grew up in Peru with a pop-up TV the size of my hand which carried very little worthwhile programming. My parents were and are omnivorous readers, consuming 2-3 books a week. I began reading books on my own when I was eleven. I can't claim my reading was erudite—at thirteen I had read every Agatha Christie available in revolutionary Peru. Books took me away from school, from home, from my changing body, from the uncertainty that the revolution unleashed in our home, from parents who were loving but mercurial. Books provided a welcoming world that was all mine just by reading.<br /><br />One of my greatest wishes for Simon is that he have intellectual passions, especially now, here, today, every day. We live in a culture governed by stuff, surrounded by people who work day and night so they can afford more stuff, who then spend their free time buying stuff, and once they have it, tending to it, perpetually tethered to it. This problem is not unique to this country. It's the complicated pleasure and the exorbitant price of affluence. It's a kind of slavery with no obvious chains, a slavery where no blood is spilled, but a slavery nonetheless. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I'm not a therapist, but I'm certain that the struggles of so many with depression, weight, and addictions have a lot to do with an abundance of stuff and an emptiness at the core of their beings. I'm always most content--and I'm not always content--when my mind is eagerly chasing down this or that idea, this or that author, recipe, painter, poet, film-maker. I feel most alive, most grateful to be here, when I'm teaching myself something new, and I don't need any stuff for that, or people for that matter. A library card will do. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Now it turns out Simon has been bitten by the same bug. I don't know exactly what I did right, other than choosing great books and making certain they were read. We have maxims in this home, one more trite than the next, but they seem to have worked their magic: </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Franklins don't give up; Franklins do what they say they are going to do; Franklins give their best.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> Simon stepped into those books, sometimes reluctantly, and doggedly week-in-week-out he read, and before he knew it fell in love, consumed by curiosity and an unrequited passion for men and women he will never meet, men and women he can only hope to bring alive, bring closer to his lips and fingertips, by reading, by learning.</span></span></div></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-20416505582143557122010-04-18T12:45:00.000-07:002010-04-19T20:55:13.495-07:00That War<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/2/26/Cologne_1945_1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 700px; height: 560px;" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/2/26/Cologne_1945_1.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><i><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Cologne, 1945</span></i></span></div></i><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">These past weeks my son has been reading me stories about that war. The book we are using, Jennifer Armstrong's </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The American Story</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">, only has two: one on the Manhattan Project, and a second story on the Navajo code talkers. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">"Only two stories on World War II?" said Simon, browsing through the index. "But, Mom, it lasted a long time." He knows a lot about that war from Susan Wise Bauer's </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The Story of the World, Vol. IV</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">And he knows about it from me. Every so often, I walk by his room and hear him telling a friend of his: "My mom doesn't like war." Sometimes he adds: "My grandma and grandpa were in a war--a real war." These words are meant to explain his foreign mom's odd behavior: why she doesn't allow violent video games, why she asks that all play involving war sounds--the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">tuck-tuck-tuck-tuck-tuck</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> of submachine gunfire, the whistling of bombs dropping, the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">kah-boom</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> of them hitting the ground, the barking commands of officers--be kept to a minimum, or be relegated to the garden or rooms with doors.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Like Simon, I was for a moment surprised by how tangentially Armstrong treats that war. But then I remembered that she is writing for middle schoolers--kids. Furthermore, the war was not fought here, on this continent, in American cities. It was fought across at least one ocean. Too many American soldiers gave their lives, and too many families suffered the loss of fathers, sons, brothers, even sisters and daughters. But civilians, the rest of the American population, the vast majority that was not fighting, they were here, safely on the American continent. Events other than World War II are more central to the story of this country than its brief but defining engagement in stopping Hitler, and Armstrong is right in devoting the bulk of her book to them.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">My first sustained contact with Americans happened when I came to college in this country. It was a good school into which I was accepted because I spoke a handful of foreign languages and had the AP scores to prove it--neither my grades nor my SATs were anything but average. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I arrived at college feeling a bit like an impostor. The other students were not eccentric but deeply accomplished; furthermore, so many seemed to come from happy-go-lucky American families that skied and played tennis. The fathers wore golf jackets or polo shirts and shook your hand with vigor, flashing teeth: "And where are </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">you</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> from, young lady?" The mothers were athletic and friendly and seemingly uncomplicated: "Must be hard to be so far from home." For most of them home had been one place for decades, centuries. Everything about them said that all was well with the world, that they knew deep in their hearts that all would always be just fine. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">For football games in the blustery New England fall, many of the parents returned to campus with the trunks of their cars full of wine and food, which they consumed on expensive fold-out chairs in the parking lot of the football field. These were alien rituals for me. Why would you want to picnic in a parking lot in the cold? But these strange creatures, full of joy and self-assurance, wrapped in L.L. Bean, pearls and baseball caps, sat in the chairs on the gravel of the parking lot, swirled wine in plastic cups and talked about their sail-boats.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I envied them. I envied the students, the parents, the whole lot of them. It wasn't their privilege and their fancy fold-out chairs--my parents had done well for themselves, and I never lacked anything money could buy. What I envied was their happiness, their innocence, their self-satisfaction, their fearlessness--the predictability of their lives.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I'm almost fifty now and from this vantage point it seems like that war has always been with me. It was there when I was a child because it was hardly mentioned, although from time to time, especially when my grandmother came to visit, suddenly nightmarish stories would emerge </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">en masse</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">: air attacks, waiting in the cellar in the dark, people praying, buildings crumbling, blindness, injuries, death of fathers, hunger, more hunger, stealing food and eating rotten potatoes, more bombs, displacement to Bavaria, abuse by other kids, by teachers, by inconsolable mothers, walking to school for three hours through the rubble, soldiers doing terrible things to women, more hunger, playing in the rubble and finding hand-grenades, or the bodies of the dead, burned, or bloated, etc, etc, etc.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">My parents were eleven when the war ended. Both of their fathers had died. Two stories always stood out. At eleven my father walked mostly alone from the south of Bavaria back to Berlin through occupied Germany. My mother was trapped in a collapsed building in Cologne at age nine for three days. Afterwards, she was blind for six months..</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The tone when these stories were told was always utterly and completely wrong. My mother would insist when pressed as to how she had felt about any of it that it hadn't been a big deal. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Nicht so schlimm.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> Not so bad. Lackadaisical. Tough as nails. She said that because it had been a "communal experience" she hadn't suffered much--my mother who is flooded by her own feelings almost every minute of every day, and the only thing predictable about her is that she lives trapped like a squirrel in a snare, unpredictable from constant pain. As for my father, he was always the hero in the adventures of his own making. That war was just another backdrop for the tale of his life, a grand mixture of luck and cunning. Of course, that was when he was happy. When he was not, he lay in bed and smoked cigarettes by the pack and roamed the house in the middle of the night. When he was neither very happy nor very sad, he worried his children and his wife were stealing his scissors, his ruler, his paper clips, his socks, his money, and that nothing worth while would ever be achieved by any of us. I loved them both fiercely and spent my childhood trying to anticipate their every mood and need.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">* * *</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I don't like living in Florida, but for Simon this house--not far from where OJ came to live when he ran out of money and moved to Miami--is the center of his universe. I might daydream of moving back to Boston and having a fireplace and neighbors who own books instead of motorcycles and boats, but there are days when I wonder if that will ever happen. I wish for Simon that mythical happy American childhood: an address that does not change, a life that is reliable, full of pleasurable rituals and a family of friends, a life he perceives as safe, a minimum of fear. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">For all our reading of history, replete with mass murders and vicious iniquities, the day to day of our lives is peaceful, joyous. It is, I think, my crowning achievement: how hard I work at making every day a day so happy, a day in which we entertain the realities of war but do not live them. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">On a more mundane note: we're thinking of building a sailboat. And a folding chair is a brilliant invention. </span></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-75059329524652294542010-04-14T02:43:00.000-07:002010-04-14T03:31:45.253-07:00Articles on Education<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://media.wiley.com/product_data/coverImage300/73/04705504/0470550473.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://media.wiley.com/product_data/coverImage300/73/04705504/0470550473.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Comic Sans MS', sans-serif;font-size:large;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">I'm having a crazy week. For now, here are some very interesting articles on education that have appeared in various publications recently. Many promising changes are happening in the American public school system. That does not mean I want Simon attending, but I do often find myself thinking that some day soon I should take what I've learned teaching Simon and move it into a classroom, or a think tank, or a textbook publishing house. I encourage you to do the same. We all have a lot to offer.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">--The </span><a target="_blank" href="http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2010/01/what-makes-a-great-teacher/7841/" style="color: blue; text-decoration: underline; cursor: pointer; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The Atlantic Monthly</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> published an article earlier this year that focuses on the research done by Teach America ("What Makes a Great Teacher? by Amanda Ripley"). The research points to specific strategies that good teachers use. Many of those strategies are discussed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">--The </span><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/07/magazine/07Teachers-t.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">New York Times Magazine</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> published an article a few weeks ago on the research done by Doug Lemov ("Building Better Teachers" by Elizabeth Green), who has studied teachers whose students perform well . Lemov came out with a book on 4/5/10 based on that research called </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 51, 102); "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Teach-Like-Champion-Techniques-Students/dp/0470550473/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1271240194&sr=8-1">Teach Like a Champion: 49 Techniques that Put Students on the Path to College</a> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">(see above). I've bought the book and am slowly working my way through it. It's focused on teaching classrooms full of kids and it's written in a very dumbed down mannner--obviously Lemov does not think much of teachers; however, I'm finding the book very useful. Every chapter yields a new strategy, a new insight. </span></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">--This is the <i>New York Times</i> page on </span><a target="_blank" href="http://topics.nytimes.com/topics/reference/timestopics/people/r/michelle_rhee/index.html" style="color: blue; text-decoration: underline; cursor: pointer; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Michelle Rhee</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">, the chancellor in charge of the DC schools. She's been shaking up that endlessly flawed and poorly performing system.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">--Last month, the </span><a href="http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2010/02/01/100201fa_fact_rotella"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">New Yorker</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"> published a piece on Arne Dunkin ("Class Warrior" by Carlo Rotella), the new secretary of education. I can only give you an abstact.</span></div></span>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-29962493482181143532010-04-05T04:10:00.000-07:002010-04-06T19:16:28.925-07:00Interpreter of Violence<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A friend keeps telling me about the varied and creative book reports her eleven-year-old son is assigned at a Jewish private school here in Miami. Their enrollment has been low these last couple of years, so she's always trying to pitch me the school. Simon would love it--small classrooms and all this creativity. She's told me that every three weeks her son has to put together a book report, usually on a Caldcott or Newberry winner at a fifth grade reading level. And yet, the reality is her son rarely has to </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">write</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> a book report--most of the assignments involve making a mobile about the characters, or a diorama, or a lap-book, or decorating a paper bag and then filling it with cardboard pictures of all the characters with descriptions written on the back. Her son rarely completes these creative assignment on his own. My friend helps him every step of the way after she goes out and purchases whatever art supplies are needed to put them together. Sometimes these reports eat up most of her weekend.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">"You should see these projects, Claudia. They are so incredibly cute," she says to me.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">We haven't done any cute and creative book reports this year. Every week Simon writes a composition on an American president. At this point in the year, they've been running 3-5 paragraphs, a full page. Last summer, when the evaluator came to review Simon's portfolio and I told her my plans for this year--lots of history and weekly reports on the presidents--she said to me: "Think about varying the writing assignments a lot. Make them fun. Don't have him doing the same thing over and over." Then she walked down the driveway toward her car, turned and waved: "Remember: variation. See you next year."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The academic year is almost up, and the paper production in this home, although extensive, has been anything but varied, or creative, or child-centered . I've asked of Simon that he do a drawing of each president--that's about as creative as it's gotten. Furthermore, we haven't been reading any grade-level Caldecott and Newberry winners because in years past, Simon either read them to me, or I read them to him, and in this manner we've read many, if not most. Fact is, the substance of the learning in this home </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">hasn't</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> leaned toward the innocent for quite a while. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Instead, Simon has been reading history: American history, world history, and presidential biographies. For every couple of historical achievements there seem to be a handful of bloody disasters, some of which topple forests of people, whole cities, oceans of life. For fiction and non-fiction, Simon has read books like </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">War Horse</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> by Micheal Morpurgo, a popular children's novel in Britain, which tells the story of the million horses that died during World War I from the perspective of a horse--that book made quite an impression on both of us. He also read a book about Pompei, another about Vietnam, and </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The Story of Slavery</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">, and books like </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The Mozart Question,</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> also by Morpurgo, which is set in Venice and deals with Holocaust survivors. Moreover, Simon has made his way through a handful of abridged Dickens novels, all of which provide a disturbing mix of villainy, generosity, poverty, monstrosity, murder, betrayal, utter indifference to the suffering of others.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">I don't think I would get a job teaching at that Jewish private school.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">These literary choices are only partially my doing. Many years ago, when my younger sister was living in London, she turned me on to the British Usborne Young Reading Series. Whenever she came to visit, she would bring a couple of Usborne readers for Simon. By the time Simon progressed to level three, the subjects had turned deadly serious: the Crusades, pirates, slavery, gladiators, Adolf Hitler, the Holocaust, the Samurai, Vietnam, the abridged </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Bleak House</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">. Still, they're always an interesting read. Simon can plow through them in two days, and they provide a week's worth of conversation and research. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The literary choices are very much Simon's. They reflect his interests. Last week, he asked me if I could help him find a book on the Crimean War because from an audio book he'd learned about Florence Nightingale. We're reading about Woodrow Wilson this week. Simon wants pictures of World War I, a whole book's worth. He wants to learn more about poison gas.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">"Those soldiers went blind, Mom. That stuff was horrible."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">I say: "You know Simon, after that war people decided that war was truly a terrible thing. It's hard to believe, but countries don't go to war as easily as they did before World War I."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">As the words leave my mouth, I'm not sure any of this is true, or that I actually believe it. But they seem the right words to say to my young son. These last months I've realized I'm not the purveyor of cute projects--of which I've done my share when Simon was younger--but something I never expected to become when I began homeschooling Simon: </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">I am an interpreter of violence</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">. My job day in day out is to make sure all that loss of life has meaning. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Which brings me back to writing the same-old-same-old report on a president every week. I wouldn't be writing this if I didn't worry at times that I'm doing the wrong thing. Maybe a mobile or two should be hanging from Simon's ceiling. Facetiously, I think, he could make one of the many heads chopped off during the French Revolution, which we studied a few weeks ago. Red tissue paper could trail from their necks. Silliness aside, I think I'm doing the right thing.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The writing goal for this year was to learn how to put a report together, how you organize your information and then say what you have to say in a coherent narration. It has taken eight month of doing the same thing over and over. The presidents change every week. The facts change. But the format remains the same. "Please write me a report about William McKinley," I said to Simon last week, and three days later he handed me such a thing. Last fall, stumped by how hard this was for Simon, I made a detailed worksheet for each one of these reports, breaking the assignment down sentence by sentence. Repetition leads to mastery. I'm not so sure cute projects are as effective. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A final word about repetition. So much of what is discussed in our home is carnage. For years, we couldn't get Simon to converse with us at dinner--he'd just sit there and shovel in his food. And then one evening he looked up and said: "Who was worse, Dad? Hitler or Genghis Khan?" Last week the conversation was about the story of Passover, how the Egyptians wanted to destroy the Jewish race. That conversation led to talk of Easter, which my mother and siblings celebrate (I was raised Catholic but converted to Judaism when I married George.) We talked of how Jesus wasn't the only one crucified. I reminded Simon that the Romans managed the outer edges of their empire with brutality, lining roads with crucifixions and leaving them there to rot as a warning. That same week we talked of the Crimean War and what army hospitals were like before Florence Nightingale came along. This led to taking a book about the Civil War off the shelf and looking at the pictures of field hospitals. I told him that they are so much better now, that soldiers survive the most devastating wounds. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">"Mom, I don't want to be a soldier," Simon said. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Reminded constantly by my son of the fragility of life, all I know to do is to practice repetition, reassuring repetitive rituals. Meals, schooling, library, chores, play-dates, chess, piano, sailing, movie night, a big lunch on Sunday, come Monday ditto all over. The days and weeks are predictable, stable, peaceful, same-old-same-old. Somehow all that repetition adds up to safety, or so I tell myself. </span></span></div><div><div> </div></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-29502501595012292322010-03-30T19:45:00.000-07:002010-04-06T14:01:35.545-07:00Patriotism and Kitsch<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#993300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">kitsch</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#993300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">: something of tawdry design, appearance, or content created to appeal to popular or undiscriminating taste.</span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Driving back from Simon's piano lesson this week, we found ourselves in the car listening to an audio book called </span><i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Living-Adventures-American-History-Washington/dp/0944168256/ref=pd_bxgy_b_text_c"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Living Adventures from American History, George Washington, </span></a></i></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Living-Adventures-American-History-Washington/dp/0944168256/ref=pd_bxgy_b_text_c"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The Hero Who Fathered America-Part I: The American Revolution</span></a></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> by Allan and Frances Kelley.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Outside our car, the Palmetto Expressway crawled along in its congested 21st century dysfunction; inside our blue Mazda, George Washington galloped around the woods of Pennsylvania and Virginia, fighting the French, the Indians, the British, accumulating victories, lands, honors. According to the Kelleys, everything the man did led to accolades. Even when he lost a battle, he seemed to win things endlessly more valuable: the approval of other men, bear hugs and promotions.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The girl in me found myself thinking: I wouldn't have liked this dude. Between his size, his athletic abilities, his cocky self-confidence, his dancing skills, his charm with the ladies, his guns, his slaves, his rum distillery, his love of fox hunting--he reminded me of the privileged, often soused preppy jocks I met at an American college decades ago. They loudly made all the right noises in class when talking about economics or politics, but privately had trouble taking no for an answer. They acted impulsively and said and took things they shouldn't, respecting only their own kin and kind. There must be some dark details to Washington's story, I thought.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">But none of that was mentioned in this narrative. The man could do no wrong. Moreover, repeatedly the narrator recounted moments in which Washington almost died. Bullets barely missed him, various of his horses were shot and buckled under him. Washington invariably survived, and surviving was able to give birth to this country.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"Mom?" Simon said from the backseat, "What would have happened if Washington had died? Maybe there would be no America? Maybe the British would have killed us all, or taxed us to death?" </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I could hear anxiety in his voice. The audio book had made an impression. What would have happened to this country without a father? It is the week of Passover and the easy extinction of a whole people has been a daily topic. The Jews would have disappeared from the face of the earth if the Egyptians had killed all the newborn sons of the Jews. Similarly, if you kill the father of a nation... I could see the wheels of Simon's mind spinning. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"Don't you think," I asked tentatively, "that someone else would have been chosen to lead the militia in the Revolutionary War? Someone who would have done as a good job?" </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"But that person would not have been so good, Mom. That person would not be Washington. Maybe that guy would have lost the battle of Yorktown." </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"Could be. But how about this? Maybe that person would have been even better. Maybe that person would had a way of getting supplies to Valley Forge sooner. Remember all those soldiers with no food or clothes in winter? Maybe that guy wouldn't have lost New York."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"Yes," Simon said, and then he added after a long pause, "but we're so lucky Washington didn't die, right?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"Yes, Sweetie. We're lucky."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">* * *</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I've wondered for weeks what all this reading about America would do for me? Would it change me in some fundamental way? Would I feel more at home here? Would my feelings about the country deepen? </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">After the Washington episode in the car, I found myself irritated to no end. Irritated by the Kelleys and their cheesy tale of George Washington which we had to play all the way through because Simon insisted. I was irritated by Simon, by his delight in the story and the figure of Washington, by the ease with which he welcomed this sentimental, one-dimensional version. I know--Simon is eleven. He's into historical heroes; I know that, too. I didn't say a thing. But I noted my irritation. Such sentimental drivel. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">* * * </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Patriotism comes hard to first generation immigrants, or so it seems to me. I am grateful to be here: the man I love and my son are here; I pay taxes and will bear arms to defend this country should it be attacked directly; I give back in many ways. But the deep passion for all things American that my son feels is foreign to me. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I've lived in other places. I know in the flesh how cheaply governments can hold the lives of its people; after Vietnam and the 5,000 already dead from the latest fiasco, this government, like so many, seems deeply flawed. Moreover, I'm full of far away places, stories, people, languages, landscapes, whole cities, a thriving parallel universe now mostly lost, but which once was all I knew, and as such will always be a source of longing. Packed tight within me is what I hold dear, what makes me different: soft boiled eggs for breakfast and grainy bread, a dozen much loved books, fresh cut flowers, meals my mother made. And I'm full of things I cannot abide. If I would have to find just one word for those things, it would be a word in German that has entered all Western languages: </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">kitsch</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Above is an elegant dictionary definition of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">kitsch; </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">however, a famous one was given by Milan Kundera in </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The Unbearable Lightness of Being</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">. He was talking of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">kitsch </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">as an effect of totalitarian regimes.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Kitsch</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> was all the ways in which authoritarian regimes gloss over and re-imagine the unacceptable realities of their policies. Here, at the risk of offending some of you, is Kundera's definition:</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#993300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">...</span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#993300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">kitsch</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#993300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> is the absolute denial of shit, in both the literal and the figurative senses of the word; </span></span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#993300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">kitsch</span></span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#993300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> excludes everything from its purview which is essentially unacceptable in human existence.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Patriotism in all its celebratory and florid rhetorical expressions always smells of </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">kitsch</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> to me. I distrust it. Like that audio book of Washington, it glosses over complexity, and purges details that are unacceptable. At times patriotism can lead to great deeds--but not always. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">* * *</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Having probably offended you all, I should confess that some things have changed these last few months. I knew so little when Simon and I began reading. Now all these figures and events fill much of our day. And slowly many characters have taken residence in my mind, keeping me company, becoming friends of sorts. I find myself making lists of the books I will read when this is over--about Lincoln and that war, and Jefferson, and Dolly Madison, and that big book on Jackson that came out a few years ago, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">American Lion,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> and the journals of Lewis and Clark. And Washington. I must read more about Washington. And I want to do a road trip with Simon. I want to see the South West and Pittsburgh and the Erie Canal and the Colorado River.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">* * *</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">For now, Simon has requested that we get a hold of Part II and Part III of the George Washington audio book biography. I will bite my tongue. I promised him I'll do my best.</span></span></div></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-21695250612702864592010-03-22T13:45:00.000-07:002010-03-24T15:53:04.275-07:00I Had Other Plans--Notes for a Future Resume<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;">"It's not the money, or even the time. It is simply that I had other plans."</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#993300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#993300;">from "On Spectrum: My Daughter, Her Autism, Our Life" by Sallie Tisdale </span></span></span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#993300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); white-space: normal; font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#993300;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">in the April 2010 issue of </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Harpers Magazine. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">The essay deals with parenting a handicapped child well into adulthood at the expense of the mother's professional and personal plans. The essay made me think of the tough choices women make when they decide to home-educate their children and back-burner their professional life. The circumstances of homeschooling mothers are different; however, just like Sally Tisdale, many "had other plans."</span></span></span></i></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">In the years since I began home-educating my son, working women in my circle of family and friends have advanced in their professions from associate to partner, from teacher to assistant principal, from untenured to tenured, from unpublished to published, from little nobody to management. I think about that often as I print up math drills, correct Latin translation--</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Sumus poetae et estis nautae--</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">and learn about the American presidents. And I think about it, sometimes all night long, whenever I've been in the company of someone who does not think much of homeschooling and has let me know exactly just how low their opinion is of homeschooling in general and my doing it in particular.</span></span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">It always hurts. It hurts for a variety of reasons. I can never help but feel that my mental health and my love of my son are being questioned. I must be homeschooling due to an excess of narcissism and a lack of love for Simon. Better parents would make better choices. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Usually I can let those feelings go. There's nothing like homeschooling to help one learn just how conventional and careful most of the people in your life are. And scared. If they're not doing what everyone else is doing, something terrible will happen, or so they believe.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The other reason that a dismissive comment about homeschooling hurts is that I've become darn good at it, and it's what I do for many hours of every day. It's what I am--a homeschooling mom. I, too, had other plans. But for now they are on hold to teach Simon to read, to write, to add and multiply, and to keep him out of the classrooms meant for atypical children: the ubiquitous behavioral classroom, the learning disabilities classroom, the ADHD classroom, the autism spectrum classroom, the pervasive developmental disorder classroom, etc. One of those classrooms would have Simon's name on it. None of those classrooms has a commitment to preparing the kids in their care for a future that involves a profession or a trade--forget grad school. These classrooms merely exist to allow the other teachers in that school to better teach all the other children--every child but mine.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Like so many homeschooling mothers, I could have spent these last years doing something out there in the world, running something, anything: a classroom, a department, a company, an organization, a school, a small country. Instead, I've spent the time at the end of a cul-de-sac in Miami learning with my son about Perseus, percents, photosynthesis and President Lincoln.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Soon this time will come to an end. Simon will decide he really wants to go to school, because schools have girls and AP history and science fairs, or he will do high school with us while attending a community college and taking online courses. He's beginning sixth grade in the fall. Within a few years, his schooling will be an independent endeavor, whether he's home-schooled or not. I will be able to go back to work.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">What do I put on my resume for this decade--this lost decade? </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">What follows are some very informal brainstorming notes to revisit when it's time to shape a formal resume:</span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I haven't killed my son.</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I've gotten pretty impatient on various occasions and, when the spirit is weak, will do so again. Some things are not easy for Simon. Sometimes he doesn't get it on the first try, or the second. But over the years, I've learned that every time I raise my voice, every time my words quivers with frustration and anger, I lose him to anxiety and fear. Nothing--absolutely nothing--is accomplished with impatience. I've learned to breathe when the going gets tough. "Silly Mommy has obviously not taught you this well enough. Let's try again tomorrow." Along the way, I've learned to teach.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Note: In a future interview, be prepared to discuss in detail what it is exactly that good teachers do.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I haven't killed friends and family.</span></span></b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">My experience has been that outside of friends who are artists, ex-teachers, or university professors, nobody has been supportive of homeschooling, although over time I've worn almost everyone down into polite silence. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Homeschooling is something poor uneducated evangelicals do who've never been to Paris or New York--why would you want to go anywhere near that? So they say.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Last summer, my father said to me: "You haven't done anything with your life."</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Tough stuff.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Lonely work.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Note: Remember to weave into interview that college professors love to have homeschooled kids in their classes. Homeschoolers read novels all the way through. They actually do the assigned work. 1 out of 3 homeschooled kids who apply get accepted to first and second tier schools. The numbers for the rest of the population are 1 out of 8.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I haven't killed anyone in the homeschooling community</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Most of us spend our lives in our little cocoons among people more or less like us. Once you homeschool and take your child to a park or enrichment group, your're out there among people with whom you share very little other than a fierce commitment to homeschooling. It is hard work to find common ground if initial greetings expand into a conversation. But it can be done. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Note: For interview be prepared to tell funny stories about meeting homeschoolers. Highlight the many times your own preconceptions were wrong. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I'm still here--with a smile no less.</span></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">These have been some of the happiest years of my life. Every week I see progress. Every week my work shows results. I never feel like I'm working just for a (nonexistent) pay-check. Every action has a purpose. I can function in utter unsupported solitude for as long as there is a purpose to my work, and the work makes a difference. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I know who Procrustes is, and so much more, so don't mess with me</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I have learned and re-learned a formidable amount of information: Greek mythology, world and American history, Latin, German, math, the minutia of grammar. I can learn anything. And then I can teach it. And then I can write about it.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I'm the decider.</span></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Most years I haven't chosen a boxed curriculum. I study what the requirements and expectations are. I go to conventions, the library, the internet. I talk to Simon. Then I decide what books we should use. The buck stops here. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">If it doesn't work, I pitch it.</span></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">If I'm not happy with how much progress Simon is making, I re-evaluate. I've often made mid-course corrections, or halted our journey through a math program for many weeks to drill certain skills. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I'm flexible and willing to concede a decision I made is not working. I can keep my eye on the ball. Results matter. Teaching Simon to write essays and getting him to read 300 page books--that matters. Compliance with a plan does not. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"> </span></span></div></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-54953569096247619622010-03-15T18:14:00.000-07:002010-03-16T05:30:30.915-07:00An Unrelenting Push Forward<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.ebookreadersreview.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2009/11/amazon_kindle_2.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 460px; height: 500px;" src="http://www.ebookreadersreview.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2009/11/amazon_kindle_2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#CC6600;"><b>unrelenting</b></span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 16px; font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><div class="luna-Ent" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 1.25em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 5px; padding-left: 3px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); display: block; font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="dnindex" style=" color: rgb(123, 123, 123); line-height: 1.25em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; font-weight: bold; display: block; float: left; width: 28px; font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">1.</span></span><div class="dndata" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 1.25em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 37px; font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">not relenting; not yielding or swerving in determination or resolution, as of or from opinions, convictions, ambitions, ideals, etc.; inflexible: </span><span class="ital-inline" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 1.25em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline; font-style: italic; font-family:Georgia, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">an unrelenting opponent of the Equal Rights Amendment.</span></span></div></div><div class="luna-Ent" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 1.25em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 5px; padding-left: 3px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); display: block; font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="dnindex" style=" color: rgb(123, 123, 123); line-height: 1.25em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; font-weight: bold; display: block; float: left; width: 28px; font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">2.</span></span><div class="dndata" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 1.25em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 37px; font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">not easing or slackening in severity: </span><span class="ital-inline" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 1.25em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline; font-style: italic; font-family:Georgia, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">an unrelenting rain.</span></span></div></div><div class="luna-Ent" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 1.25em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 5px; padding-left: 3px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); display: block; font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:1em;"><span class="dnindex" style=" color: rgb(123, 123, 123); line-height: 1.25em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; font-weight: bold; display: block; float: left; width: 28px; font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">3.</span></span><div class="dndata" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 1.25em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 37px; font-family:Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">maintaining speed, effort, vigor, intensity, rate of advance, etc.: </span><span class="ital-inline" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 1.25em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline; font-style: italic; font-family:Georgia, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">an unrelenting a</span></span><span class="ital-inline" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 1.25em; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline; font-style: italic; font-family:Georgia, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:13px;">ttack.</span></div></div></span></div></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Reading the stories these last weeks, I'm astounded by the unrelenting speed and intensity with which all things modern transformed this country: within the span of a few decades, homes and cities were illuminated by light bulbs; roads, train tracks and a variety of wires crisscrossed the landscape; women got the vote; the White House got a telephone; New York City got the Statue of Liberty and millions of immigrants who came with new ideas, old world know-how, and the will to work hard; Texas found oil and with it fueled airplanes that went up in the air and stayed there, and cars and trucks that could get from here to there lickety split.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">These last weeks Simon has found a new word:<i> technological. </i>All things great and wonderful are <i>technological</i>: youtube, computers, TVs, Legos, cellphones, anything made by Nintedo. He welcomes and celebrates every new invention and innovation we read about, understanding intuitively that electricity, oil wells, telephone wires and light bulbs have everything to do with the joy he takes in all things technological and, preferably, vaguely inappropriate. In his mind, <i>technological</i> and <i>fun</i> are linked, as are <i>old-fashioned</i> and <i>lame</i><i>.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I, in turn, find myself thinking of the word <i>unrelenting</i>. All that change came at the expense of unrelenting industriousness. The innovators changed paradigms, and then the muscle, sweat and blood of millions made those paradigms real, pushing and prodding the nation into the modern age. Nameless somebodies laid train tracks, planted telephone poles, dug ditches and road beds--a nameless multitude. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Something to think about. All that hard work. No slackers there. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I've been trying to get Simon to understand that. I've told him about my grandmother. Although of limited means and education, she had a snappy aphorism for every situation. "<i>Von garnichts kommt garnichts</i>," she would say in a thick Berlin accent--<i>from nothing comes nothing</i>. Modernity doesn't just happen. Youtube and TVs and cars and electricity don't just happen. They are the result of work--unrelenting work.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">We're in that place in the school year where you assess your child's progress and begin to make plans for the next academic year. Have your child's skills improved enough? Will he be prepared for next year's demands? It hit me hard a few weeks ago: Simon is not reading well enough--for me. He gets through grade level reading comprehension assignments, as well as stories and chapter books, if I demand it or sit by his side; however, he does not do any sustained reading on his own. And it shows. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">He spends hours looking at illustrated history encyclopedias and listening to audiobooks, but he's not independently picking up <i>Harry Potter,</i> or something much easier like <i>The Time Warp Trio</i>. There have been a few exceptions, a fifth-grade biography of Lincoln for example, but no matter what we bring home from the library, he will not repeat the accomplishment. He carefully looks at the chapter headings, illustrations, photograph captions, and learns a lot just from doing that, but he does not read the books all the way through.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">So I did what only a homeschooling parent can do: I revamped the curriculum--from now on he has to read to me at least three hours a day, whole chapters at a time. From now until further notice no more spelling, grammar, paragraph editing, reading comprehension, science and geography. From now until further notice this child will primarily read . He will read and then, with the exception of a few subjects, he will read some more. Besides all the history assignments, he will read all five volumes of Rick Riordan's <i>Percy Jackson and the Olympians</i> out loud to me. It will take a few months, but it will fix the problem.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">When presented with the change of plans, Simon wasn't happy.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"That's not fair! You know I don't like reading. Reading is hard for me. I love audiobooks. Audiobooks are technological. Audiobooks are modern. Books are old-fashioned and lame."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">We talked for a long time. I told him that I know he learns very easily listening to audiobooks and that reading does not come that easy to him. I told him that like Percy Jackson, Simon has a touch of dyslexia. Here and there he switches letters, or suddenly reads from right to left, or transposes b and d. Welcome to the club--Mom and Dad also transpose and switch to this day. But the only way reading will get easier is practice--unrelenting hard work. From nothing comes nothing. And by choosing not to read except when he has to, he isn't getting enough practice. He's going into sixth grade next year. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">He complained for a few days. It wasn't fair. It was too hard. Anxious and angry, his reading deteriorated. I wondered if I had made the wrong decision, if I was being unreasonable, unrelenting. But then Percy kills the minotaur and suddenly Simon was having fun, reading with much greater ease--he's listened to the series repeatedly on CD.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"I love this chapter, Mom. Isn't it great?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">And then technology came to our rescue. I'd done some editing work last year for a friend who surprised me over the holidays with an e-reader, a Kindle. I was delighted and bought some Alice Munro but then found I wasn't using it that much. A week ago, I paid $4.40 for a Kindle copy of Book I of Percy Jackson's adventures. I blew the text up to the max, forty words to the page, and handed it to Simon. 300% improvement. No kidding. And every day I notice it gets easier. There's greater fluency, fewer mistakes. Feeling more relaxed he tries to entertain me, doing voices, imitating the talented readers he's heard on CD. Yesterday he asked me if we can get all the books for sixth grade on the Kindle.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">"This thing is very technological, Mom." </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">We're having fun, working hard, moving forward. </span></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-69217801260097266942010-03-14T12:03:00.000-07:002010-03-15T18:13:59.422-07:00More Thoughts About What Was Wrought in Texas<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">Many thanks to those of you who dropped me a line or posted comments on the blog in response to last week's post. I'm glad I'm not alone wringing my hands about all the ways in which Christian-Right politicians are dictating the educational content presented in textbooks nationwide. Last week, the Texas Board of Education voted along predictable lines. The press responded with outrage. By week's end, there was a piece in </span><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/13/education/13texas.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The New York Times</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">, and an even more comprehensive one in </span><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/03/12/texas-education-board-app_n_497440.html?ref=email_share"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The Huffington Post</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">I do have great trust in this country and in the self-correcting powers of a market-driven economy. These textbooks have now gotten so much front page attention and such a bad rap, it is hard to imagine that the best public school systems in the country will continue to buy these products. The same applies to the top private schools. They will take their business somewhere else. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">It seems sometimes that with every minute that passes this country moves toward greater and greater class divisions. The dirty little secret about the U.S. is that for all its talk of equality and equal opportunity, it is sharply divided into socio-educational classes. The largest corporations and financial institutions, as well as the best graduate and professional schools in the country, recruit primarily at first tier colleges. Except for legacy admissions, the only way to get into those colleges is by being able to demonstrate that one has the potential to perform rigorous analytic thinking. Textbooks that focus on belief and not on facts, and that have been thoroughly discredited by experts, only limit the opportunities of those unlucky enough to learn from them, hardening these divisions even further. </span> </div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-43214180495507065752010-03-08T22:46:00.000-08:002010-03-08T23:04:05.593-08:00Some Thoughts After Reading About the Scopes Monkey Trial<div>This week we read about evolution, specifically the Scopes Trial. We learned that John Scopes, a high school teacher in Tennessee, dared to teach evolution to his students even though it was a crime in that state. Scopes felt it was important to push against that law; he was prosecuted by William Jennings Bryan and defended by Clarence Darrow. At least one play and one movie have been made about the trial.</div><div><br /></div><div>I expected Simon to be interested in the story--as a teenager, I was riveted by the play based on the trial, "Inherit the Wind." Besides, Simon's dad is a lawyer, and Simon tends to be acutely interested in any show-down between right and wrong, truth and its opposite. I thought the story would get some kind of rise out of him.</div><div><br /></div><div>"This story is totally boring, Mom. Let's read the next one. I already looked--it's about Charles Lindbergh. He was a pilot. I think he flew to Paris."</div><div><br /></div><div>"Simon, why is the story about the Scopes Monkey Trial boring?"</div><div><br /></div><div>"Well, some people don't know that the Bible is just stories, just a bunch of myths. It's like Greek mythology, but instead it's about Moses and Jesus. They're just great stories. About that Scopes trial with a lot of super ancient lawyers--that's so lame. Who cares? The world is very old and we all descend from dinosaurs and apes. Everybody knows that. Don't waste time. The pilot--he's called Lindbergh--let's read about him."</div><div><br /></div><div>I sat there flabbergasted. Where to begin? For starters, I wanted to say to Simon: <i>Those great lawyers weren't THAT old! </i>I wanted to say:<i> This trial is crucial as a way to understand some central concerns of the 19th and 20th century--how can you be so dismissive?</i> I wanted to say:<i>How can you have figured out already how you feel about the God/no God question? You're only eleven.</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>But for Simon these are all easy questions. He's growing up in a secular home; he's homeschooled in a mostly secular <i>milieu;</i> he's an equal opportunity consumer of stories and myths: the story of Joseph one day, of Athena the next, of Robin Hood the day after that. He has no intimate knowledge of a world governed and defined by belief. In our home, we talk of Jewish and Christian traditions and celebrate with vim and vigor and lots of home-made food--but belief and prayer have no part in these events. Simon does not understand all that came undone, and all that was liberated, with the theory of evolution. For him the rub, the tug of war between belief and secularism, is endlessly dull, a waste of time. No match for Lindbergh.</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center; ">* * *</div><div style="text-align: center; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: left; ">I, on the other hand, live my life in that rub, especially since I became a home-educator. Before I moved to Miami and began teaching Simon and joining homeschooling groups, I had <i>never</i> met an Evangelical--they're pretty uncommon among Boston academics. Mind you, I was forty-five before that first encounter and had lived in this country over twenty-five years--and I was out and about all that time, not hiding under a rock. I'm not kidding: I had <i>never</i> met an Evangelical. Not one.</div><div style="text-align: left; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: left; ">I have made every mistake possible in my forays into that world these last few years in Miami. I've said the wrong things, asked the wrong questions, made the wrong assumptions and jokes and suggestions, taught the wrong materials, supported the wrong party, espoused the wrong values, read the wrong books, newspapers, magazines.</div><div style="text-align: left; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: left; ">Somewhere along the line, I gave up attempting to find common ground. Expecting absolutely nothing, I'm always delighted when I can get through an hour or two of socializing among a diverse group of homeschooling parents at a park group (some families are secular, some are not) without giving offense, or driving away fighting tears. I keep the talk to all things small, educational and uncontroversial: asking questions about the best way to teach reading, grammar and writing are always safe bets.</div><div style="text-align: left; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: left; ">When I began attending these groups, I wished for friendship and community. Now I just hope I can keep my mouth shut and that Simon has fun with the other kids. Slowly, over the course of many years, Simon has made a few friends--so have I.</div><div style="text-align: left; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: left; ">So the rub is not there. Being a raised-Catholic-Jewish-convert liberal agnostic among Bible-belt conservative believers is not the easiest thing I've ever done, but it's doable. What <i>is</i> difficult to handle is how the educated and informed in this country view the homeschooling community.</div><div style="text-align: left; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: left; ">Every time one of the main publications in America prints a <i>expose</i> about how the Christian Right--and homeschoolers in particular--are fabricating a Christian take on American history, or taking science back to the 19th century, or questioning global warming, or infiltrating state education boards and thereby making sure these fictions make it into textbooks used in public schools nationwide, I get at least one e-mail from someone I know outside the insular world of homeschooling. They want to make sure I read the piece, that I know about it. They worry. I don't get a single e-mail from anyone that homeschools. The silence from that world is deafening. Oblivious to a gathering storm, they mosey along. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(For links to some of the main articles published, please see the links included in my entry for February 20, 2010. This past week, </span><i><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/04/science/earth/04climate.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">The New York Times</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"> </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">ran a story on how the Christian Right is gaining ground in some states, asking that global warming be presented in classrooms as only a theory up for debate.)</span></div><div style="text-align: left; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: left; ">Why worry? There will be a backlash. Nothing good will happen for homeschoolers of all flavors, secular and Christian, if the most respected papers and magazines in the country are running articles and cover stories presenting homeschoolers as anti-intellectual, intransigent, ignorant, nutty. Regulations will be expanded and tightened. They will.</div><div style="text-align: left; "><br /></div><div style="text-align: left; ">What can be done? There is a desperate need for all and everyone who is giving their children a rigorous college preparatory education to speak up, to write, to come forward, to organize. Those same publications need to know how diverse and varied homeschoolers are, that there are thousands and thousands--maybe the numbers are in the hundreds of thousands--among us who want our children to be ready for the 21st century.</div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-50678511745320746252010-02-28T11:50:00.000-08:002010-03-01T18:47:22.363-08:00Some Observations After Crossing the AtlanticI returned a few days ago from visiting family in Switzerland. (From my nephews, I picked up a nasty Swiss cold, so this will be brief.) Why is so much of my family in Switzerland? My brother moved there first, over fifteen years ago, the result of a job offer. My sister and her husband joined them two years ago; they were living in London and were unhappy with the school options for their small children. Smitten with the Swiss public education system, they resettled in Switzerland. As for my mother, with two of her three children in a small village a few miles out of Lucerne, she sold her place in Connecticut and joined them. All this to explain why German-Peruvians with American college degrees end up in Switzerland. <div><br /></div><div>Nursing my cold, I've been ruminating about the following:</div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The public school in that village is at the center of why both of my siblings and their mates live there. My brother and brother-in-law have had lucrative job offers in other cities, other countries, the US. Nothing thus far has tempted them to leave. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">With this in mind, I found myself reading to my six-year-old nephew. He's an imaginative builder of Legos and Brio trains who is about to enter first grade in August. The book he had brought home from the school library seemed to me at at a fifth-grade reading level--eons above <i>The Cat in the Hat</i>. The story was simple enough, how a friendship began between a lonely old farmer and Findus, a cat, but the sentences were long, full of $10.00 words. I stumbled reading--my German is a bit rusty. I thought to myself, these Swiss throw a lot of complexity at a Kindergarten kid. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>Remembering what I used to do with Simon when he was little, I tried to get my nephew involved in the reading. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>Pointing at the F in Findus I said: "What sound does this letter make?"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>"I don't know," he said. "<i>Lese weiter bitte, Tante </i>Claudia." Continue reading please, aunt Claudia.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"></span>I was struck by his politeness--at that age, Simon was mostly given to one word commands. But I was also worried. If a kid in the States does not know that F makes the sound "ffff" by the end of Kindergarten, he will be held back. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I said to my sister, ever so gently: "You know, I had a feeling he doesn't know his ABCs."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">She laughed: "I don't think he does. They don't teach them any reading or writing in Kindergarten here. Can you believe it? We attended a meeting at the school last year where we were told not to teach them at home, not to force it in any way. If, and only if, our child was craving learning to read, only then could we work with him a little bit. The truth is that at this age the school discourages reading or writing."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"So, what do they learn in Kindergarten?"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"They play and learn to get long with others. They're big into social skills; they learn to shake hands like diplomats." She chuckled, imitating a handshake, palm outstretched, firm grip, vigorous shake, bowing her head slightly. "I'm not kidding. I know--the kids are so little. And they do it with each other, before and after play-dates--looks really funny. Besides that, they draw; they get stories read out loud; they make stuff; they go for walks in the hills," she pointed to the Alps rising up steeply behind her house, "in any frigging weather. Snow, steady rain. Every week they march up, up, up into the hills for half a day. Crazy Swiss." She laughed. "But the kids love it. Sometimes they come back soaked."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I looked into those hills. I've been on that trail. I'm always grateful that I stopped smoking decades ago. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">From my many visits to Switzerland I know that elementary school kids, at least in this village, must walk to school every day and back. Through Kindergarten, they can be accompanied; after Kindergarten, they <i>must</i> walk on their own. From my brother's, it's a 20 minute hike. The children have to huff it on a sidewalk that boarders a road that has a stunning view of the Alps and Lake Lucerne; however, cars steadily whiz by at 50 miles per hour. By second grade, kids are encouraged to peddle their bike on that same road, carrying on their backs their heavy school-packs. The parking lot in front of the school fits four cars. There is no pick-up lane. If you drop off your kid by car, you get called in for a conference. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And here are some other interesting details: They barely get homework. 10 minutes in first grade. 20 in second. And yet, whatever they do in the classroom works. By the end of first grade, they all know how to read and write. By third grade they introduce English as a foreign language; in fourth grade they add French. High-school students are encouraged to pick up yet another language, if they are planning to go to university.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Back home, I'm finding myself demanding more independence from Simon. I say to him: <i>Do it yourself. Cut your own nails. Fold your own laundry. Make your own breakfast. Stack the dishwasher. Cut the cucumbers. Vacuum your room. Toss the salad. And remember, shake hands. </i>Sometimes I make my requests in German:<i> Setz den Tisch, bitte.</i> Set the table, please. Gotta push the languages. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There're no steep mountains in Miami, but I'll come up with a suitable challenge. And then maybe we'll do it in the rain. </div><div> </div></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-78667633453962206952010-02-20T13:38:00.000-08:002010-02-20T14:05:45.723-08:00Dear All,<div><br /></div><div>I am out of town visiting family and will post again on 2/28. </div><div><br /></div><div>Last weekend, the <i>New York Times Magazine</i> carried an article that might interest you all: <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/14/magazine/14texbooks-t.html">"How Christian Were the Founders? History Wars: Inside America's Textbook Battles" by Russell Shorto.</a> Many of the players in these textbook wars are homeschooling evangelicals. </div><div><br /></div><div>If after you've read that article, you want more information on providential history and its symbiotic relationship with the (Christian) homeschooling movement, you might want to also read an article that appeared in <i>Harper's</i> in 2006: <a href="http://jeffsharlet.com/content/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/through_a_glass.pdf">"Through the Glass Darkly--How the Christian Right is Re-Imagening U.S. History" by Jeff Sharlet</a> .</div><div><br /></div><div>As ever,</div><div>Claudia</div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-16940329275480320882010-02-07T11:11:00.000-08:002010-02-08T17:03:53.442-08:00Hijacking Norman Rockwell<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.pogowasright.org/blogs/dissent/images/nr_theproblem.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 553px; height: 382px;" src="http://www.pogowasright.org/blogs/dissent/images/nr_theproblem.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Some weeks ago a friend passed around an e-mail titled: Norman Rockwell. She was organizing a field trip to Fort Lauderdale to see his work. Who would like to join her and her kids?</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Although I don't care much for Rockwell's work (surprised by his success, Rockwell used to describe himself as only an "illustrator hack"), I immediately wrote back that yes, we would join them; Simon and I would be there. This is is South Florida; Vermeer and Rembrandt exhibits don't come down here; we are lucky to get Rockwell. Moreover, it occurred to me that it would be a great opportunity to point out the distinction between fine art and illustration, to talk about the great age of newspapers and <i>The Saturday Evening Post,</i> for which Rockwell did the covers for many decades. Furthermore, it seemed to me that his pictures were thoroughly accessible and uncomplicated, full of images that alluded to the Great Depression and the World War II in ways breezy and light--Simon might like them. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">A week before the field trip, my friend sent out some links to videos about Rockwell on Youtube, as well this tidbit of information: one of the main pictures featured in the exhibit was the painting he did of Ruby Bridges. We might want to see the movie by the same name, she wrote. It was made by Walt Disney but quite good, great to watch with kids. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">From one minute to the next, our visit to the exhibition had very little to do with teaching Simon about illustration and newspapers, or about Norman Rockwell, for that matter. It suddenly was singularly an opportunity to discuss segregation.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">It happened that the past two weeks we have been talking about the beginning of systematic segregation in the South. After the Civil War, federal troops were sent to the South to oversee the fair and equal treatment of former slaves. The South hated having Union troops hanging around, checking every move. At the beginning of the administration of Rutherford Hayes, in 1876, twelve years after the end of the Civil War, the troops were removed. Hayes thought the South had been occupied long enough and that the war and reconstruction had altered the South in foundational ways.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Not so. Immediately after the troops started marching north, the South began to strip blacks of their rights. Black elected leaders were voted out of office while schools, restaurants, hospitals, bathrooms, stores, beaches, etc. were segregated. Black citizens found themselves not much better off than they had been before the war.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">"All those people died for nothing," said Simon.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">"Six hundred thousand," I said. "But Simon, it wasn't for nothing. Slavery <i>did</i> end."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">"Yes, but it was a long time until Martin Luther King."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">The mail brought the movie about Ruby Bridges in its crisp red Netflix envelope, and we spent one afternoon last week on the couch watching it, or trying to watch it. The scenes in which Ruby, all of six years old, walks toward her white school through a throng of crazed white protesters are hard to watch. Maybe because I had a cold, and maybe because I wasn't ready for so much hate and viciousness, my voice kept faltering when I paused the movie to explain what was going on. To protect me, and maybe to protect himself, Simon took over the remote and pressed the mute button whenever scenes were washed in hate. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">"Mom, we know that they are saying--just mean stuff. We don't have to listen." </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Wise as Moses, Simon refused to give the remote back and said calmly over the muted image of yelling white folks: "I'll tell you what they are saying, Mom. Just bad stuff: hang, die, kill--words like that." </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">This son of mine, who loves watching sci-fi movies in which people, building, cities, whole planets and galaxies blow up, couldn't handle those words shouted in New Orleans in 1960. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">At the exhibit, Simon found most of the work "boring," however hard I tried to ask him questions, to help him find the soldiers, the cheerful children, the happy families. We spent some time in front of the Ruby Bridges painting, noticing the hurled tomato that missed its target and splattered against the wall behind her. We talked about how tiny she was, how courageous, and why Rockwell painted her in a white dress, white socks, white shoes, with a white ribbon in her hair. However hard I tried, I couldn't get Simon interested in anything else hanging on the walls at the exhibition. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">"Can we go home now?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">* * *</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">I've been persevarating this weekend about whether I had done Simon a disservice. I had hijacked Norman Rockwell to teach Simon about segregation. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">If I'm honest, I have to admit that I do this sort of thing all the time, to almost every topic we touch upon--I'm an equal opportunity hijacker. I use stories, novels, biographies, history, art, music to teach Simon all that I know about the world. Who cares about dates and details and that Norman Rockwell was a terrific illustrator who did covers for <i>The Saturday Evening Post</i> during the great age of newspapers? Instead I teach him once more about suffering and injustice, and about dignity, valor, patience, kindness, and respect. I focus on a small area of a large canvas at a spacious exhibition to point out a stinging injustice and the unstinting courage that is its match.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">Is this a pedagogical favor, or isn't it? Am I helping Simon shape his responses, or am I preempting them?</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">So here's my answer, arrived at with some hand-wringing and more than a few late night talks with George: I want Simon to care. I want him to have an opinion about everything. I want him to think critically and then take sides. I want him to learn all the facts and then decide who was right, who was wrong, and what was at stake. I want him to know that is not only his right but his duty. History, like anything else he will encounter, is not just a matter of dates and names and locations and body-counts. It demands a critical response. In the case of history, the body count alone obliges an opinion, not just any opinion, but a well-thought out strong opinion, a resounding response. Responding is a sign of respect. It means you care.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;">So, am I shaping and preempting Simon's responses to the material we cover? You bet. I'm doing both. But I hope that in the process he's learning that everything that his mind encounters--including everything that comes out of my mouth--gives him not only the opportunity but also the right to sharpen his critical skills. Obviously, he needs to use his judgment as to what opinions he keeps to himself, and which ones he voices out loud. But he must take the time to shape them--out of respect for the world around him, but also out of respect for himself. I've come to realize over the last couple of days that <i>cogito ergo sum</i> is, in part, an ethical statement.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330000;"> </span></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-58024477889883757152010-01-31T12:00:00.000-08:002010-02-04T06:19:35.741-08:00Schlock, or How Not to Manage a Visit to a Sister Who Is Having Twins<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Definition of </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">schlock</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">: </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 8px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 8px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'courier new';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Something, such as merchandise or literature, that is inferior or shoddy.</span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 65px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 65px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">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. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 112px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 112px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">In my case, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">it is implied </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">in the fine print of my job description as </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Primary Homeschooling Parent</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> 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? </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 112px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 112px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">George, my husband, is ever so helpful and supportive, but he can't take time off. Somebody has to make some money around here.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 38px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 38px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 38px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 38px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">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. M</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 65px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 65px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">y 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.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 38px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 38px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> 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?</span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 65px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 65px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">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, </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Time Warp Trio and </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">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 </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">who, what, where, how</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> and lots of </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">why</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> questions. It would take lots of work on my part, but I would find the time.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">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 </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Spectrum Reading Comprehension, Updated and Revised, Aligned to State and National Standards--an Excellent Tool for Standardized Test Preparation</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> was on its way to our home. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">****</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">You know where this is going. It arrived last week at our doorstep, in our lives. </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">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.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">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</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 575px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 575px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">. Nothing is at risk. Everything is safe, bland, utterly uncontroversial, utterly forgettable.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 575px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 575px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 575px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 575px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">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.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 575px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 575px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 575px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 575px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">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.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 575px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 575px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 993px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 993px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 575px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 575px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 993px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 993px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">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. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 575px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 575px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 993px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 993px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 575px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 575px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 993px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 993px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">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. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 575px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 575px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 993px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 993px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 575px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 575px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 993px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 993px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">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. </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 575px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 575px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 993px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 993px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 575px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 575px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 993px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 993px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">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.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 575px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 575px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 993px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 993px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 575px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 575px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 993px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 993px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I still think about that story. Nothing like that in the Spectrum workbook.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 575px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 575px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 993px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 993px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 193px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 193px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 575px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 575px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 333px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 333px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 993px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 993px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">****</span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 5120px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 5120px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">So I'm back to plan A: writing my own questions to the texts of my choice--and Simon's.</span></span></span></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-30157433831228805282010-01-25T18:04:00.000-08:002010-01-26T11:39:49.469-08:00Teddy Bears<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB20yo-MNlqPMn464U81wKnGboRQ8JMRgl6EhSYxsrQ9ZYa-hGl8x0RcgtusxhZS0HFR3f84L8qA9R35C3vFuFKnkjkmFGjXvnb30BaYLnjzfDaXP2rFPAvss4g5xExhRsPAVv4qUCt55n/s1600-h/teddy+bear.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB20yo-MNlqPMn464U81wKnGboRQ8JMRgl6EhSYxsrQ9ZYa-hGl8x0RcgtusxhZS0HFR3f84L8qA9R35C3vFuFKnkjkmFGjXvnb30BaYLnjzfDaXP2rFPAvss4g5xExhRsPAVv4qUCt55n/s320/teddy+bear.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430866768647652498" /></a>Week by week, we continue to read in <span style="font-style:italic;">The American Story</span>: stories about the building of the Brooklyn Bridge; the rebuilding of Chicago; the Johnstown flood; Ellis Island; Lizzie Borden; Mark Twain and Helen Keller; the exploding of the U.S.S. Maine; Thomas Edison; William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer; Teddy Roosevelt and the bear cub; the brothers Wright; Prohibition; Texas' oil; the San Francisco earthquake and the ensuing fire of 1906. Of all those stories, the ones that interest Si<span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-weight:bold;"></span></span>mon most are the ones that involve floods, explosions, fires and murder.<br /><br />“I want to learn everything about Lizzie Borden. She was wicked,” he says. The library has one children's book about the trial. It seems to be out on permanent loan. Someone out there shares Simon's obsessions.<br /><br />I, in turn, am smitten by a little story about Teddy Roosevelt. It's a light tangential story, slipped in between weightier, history altering events--a breezy respite of sorts.<br /><br />Story goes that Teddy Roosevelt was invited to go on a bear hunt by the governor of Mississippi. After two days, Roosevelt hadn't shot a thing, so his hosts, afraid that the president would emerge from the hunt without a kill and without his dignity, presented him with a bear cub tied to a tree.<br /><br />They said to him something to the effect of: “Here, Mister President. You can shoot this one pretty easily.”<br /><br />Roosevelt, horrified, refused. We know that he answered: “If I shot that little fellow, I couldn't be able to look my boys in the face again.”<br /><br />This story made good copy. The papers went wild. Roosevelt and the bear became symbols of compassion.<br /><br />A savvy Russian immigrant by the name Michtom suggested to his wife she make a stuffed bear and maybe they could sell it in their candy shop. Within days, she couldn't keep up with the demand. Within a year, the Michtoms had founded at toy company. Everybody had to have a teddy bear.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />Simon loves stuffed animals. He has dozens of them, all over his bed, in his closet, in a trunk. These days, he sleeps with his head on a polar bear and his arms around a huge fat kangaroo he recently bought for himself at IKEA. Near his head sits Sidney, the lion, who used to belong to his sister, keeping watch.<br /><br />I don't know what all these stuffed animals mean to Simon. Regression, an unwillingness to grow up—there is some of that. A preference for a more merciful world, one in which the strong do not eviscerate the meek, a fanciful world where loving lions and bears guard the sleep of children —there is a lot of that.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />My father had a teddy bear. At the end of the war, after his father had died, his mother and her sisters arranged for him to be sent to a school in southern Bavaria so that he would be safe from the bombs falling on Berlin. He took that teddy bear with him.<br /><br />When the war ended, the school was at loose ends. They had run out of money and provisions. The kids were sent out to beg from the farmers nearby. If that didn't yield enough food, the kids stole whatever they could get their hands on. Chickens were barbequed. Dogs were slaughtered. My father was eleven. There was no way to get in touch with his mother. Railroad tracks, telephone lines, roads—everything had been destroyed.<br /><br />A group of older boys at the school decided to just run away--walk home. My father was going to tag along. On the agreed upon morning, all the older boys wimped out. Father and another eleven-year-old decided to leave anyway.<br /><br />600 kilometers through bombed out, occupied Germany. Along the way, American soldiers gave them some food, a coat, a place to sleep, sparking my father's great love for all things American. Eventually, the other boy and my father parted ways. Father walked on alone. He crossed a ditch full of shot SS, a pond of blood. He saw pyramids of the dead, stacked, or in flooded subway stations, bloated. He swam across a river and was shot at. Somehow he made it home to his widowed mother. The teddy bear was in his coat pocket.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">* * * </div><br />I have a bear that belonged to my father. For decades, I thought that bear was the one Father had schlepped across Germany. Some years ago, he told me I had it wrong.<i> This</i> bear was not <i>that</i> bear. <i>That</i> bear was smaller and had been pitched way back when. It had been loved too much. It was too shabby.<br /><br />The wrong bear sits in my bedroom for the last twenty-five years—see above. On one of my many visits to Berlin, my grandmother said I could have him. It sounds silly and sentimental, but he keeps me safe.Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-14268327508274955522010-01-18T18:00:00.000-08:002010-01-26T15:41:55.311-08:00Bear HuntingSo many early American presidents were functionally illiterate into adulthood. Of the seventeen presidents we've read about thus far, a significant number learned the three Rs minimally, or late, very late: seventeen, eighteen, nineteen. The most striking examples are Andrew Jackson, James K. Polk, Zachary Taylor, Millard Fillmore, and Andrew Johnson.<div><br /></div><div>Jackson was dirt poor and rarely attended the local schoolhouse. By age thirteen he'd joined the revolutionary army. Polk was terribly ill with bladder stones and didn't go to school until he was seventeen. Zachary Taylor grew up in frontier Kentucky and had to work. He was embarrassed all his life by his lousy spelling and penmanship. Millard Fillmore and Andrew Johnson worked with their folks and then became apprentices, Fillmore in a cloth factory and Johnson as a tailor. Both Fillmore and Johnson were schooled only as young adults by their wives. And then there is the example of Abraham Lincoln who, growing up in the backwoods of Indiana and Illinois, only had a few months of formal schooling throughout his life. Whatever he learned, from the classics to the law, he taught himself.<br /><br />Simon's response to learning about yet another president, who as a child did not have to craft paragraphs or slog through long division, learning instead to shoot, farm, ride, hunt, sew, or fish, is always the same.</div><div><br /></div><div>“Why do I have to do school? Forget writing—let me learn to hunt instead! Who cares about math? I'll learn how to shoot now—write later.”</div><div><br />He's quick to point out that he's always doing something: building Legos, making flip-books (his latest obsession) and listening to audiobooks. </div><div><br /></div><div>“It's not like I'm super lazy, you know?”</div><div><br />And there is truth to that. If I'm really honest with myself, I would have to say that most of the information that Simon has thoroughly made his own, he has taught himself with a dogged persistence. I can take no credit. He listens to audiobooks of world history, replaying what he does not understand--until he does. If he's hearing about Peter the Great's siege of Azov, he takes his globe to bed and finds Azov. <br /><br />I think often about these presidents not learning to read as children. We live in a culture where if a child is not mastering certain skills by a certain age, he's pronounced deficient, delayed--damaged goods. To make sure the child masters these skills at the specified time, they are reviewed and drilled year in, year out, <span style="font-style:italic;">ad nauseam</span>. However, every home-educating parent, if brutally honest, will agree that you can teach all the math covered between 1-8 grade to a twelve year old in three months. Think of all the bears your child could have hunted, the horses he could have ridden, the wheat he could have harvested.<br /><br />I'm being facetious, I know. All I'm trying to point out is that children who are not being prodded to master reading and writing skills on a strict specified schedule are not necessarily being placed in an intellectual deep-freeze. Children pursue their own interests; they yearn to be independent, to be the masters of their own lives; they make an effort to accumulate skills. Zachary Taylor, one of our greatest military leaders, became a great hunter, horseback rider and fisherman long before he reached puberty, or mastered reading. Andrew Johnson was running a business before he could write. And Abraham Lincoln, with only the most limited of formal reading instruction, read everything he could get his hands on, over and over.<br /><br />We privilege formal schooling. Our (secretly) class conscious society cannot imagine substituting fishing and farming for fractions when educating a ten-year-old. How will he ever get into college? A good college? Still, not a day goes by where I do not find myself questioning the educational choices I've made.<br /><br />Teaching Simon at home was the right decision--that's not where the anxiety lies. However, every day I wonder if it wouldn't be best if we closed the books and instead hunted a bear, rode a horse, harpooned a shark, dug up all of our suburban backyard and planted rows of vegetables and berries. Maybe instead of dabbling in non-academic activities, we should put them at the heart of the curriculum. Maybe we should aim at proficiency in something useful and concrete, like sailing or ship-building or farming.<br /><br />Instead, I write myself a note to borrow a book on canoe-building from the library. I am a coward, bucking convention whole hog is not my thing. But I'm no fool, and I rarely fool myself. I know that if Simon backed off writing and spent a year building a canoe from scratch on the back porch while listening to audiobooks, the gains would be immeasurable. For starters, he would have a canoe, instead of a pile of papers that sooner or later will end up in the recycling bin. And if he can build a canoe from cut lumber <i>schlepped</i> to our house from our local Home Depot, he can do anything with his life. <div><br /></div><div>For now I lack the gumption. Tomorrow we will again hit the books. As for a canoe--I'm thinking about it. <br /> </div></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-34455121019298612212010-01-10T16:12:00.000-08:002010-01-26T15:50:15.587-08:00Why I Continue Home-Educating Simon<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.usborne.com/images/covers/eng/width_223px/85547.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 223px; height: 334px;" src="http://www.usborne.com/images/covers/eng/width_223px/85547.jpg" border="0" alt="" /></a>I can't claim that I continue to home-educate Simon--now in fifth grade--because he couldn't hack a public school. Although he hates writing, and couldn't care less about math, his academic skills are more or less at grade-level. Given the right teacher and a small classroom, he would do well enough. His auditory processing skills still leave a lot to be desired: if the topic is complex and/or I fail to nab his interest, he needs lots of re-focusing and repetition. However, given a little extra attention, he gets through the material. On the up side, if he is reading an exciting novel, or discussing history, I can't shut him up, and I struggle to cajole him onto a new subject. While reading an Usborne abridged edition of a classic this week, he said: “Mom, I'm going to read <span style="font-style:italic;">Great Expectations</span> all the way to the end and skip everything else today. OK, Mom?”<br /><br />Furthermore, I can't claim that there is absolutely no school out there in this great country that would fit my exacting demands. Somewhere there is the perfect classroom for Simon. Maybe not in Miami. School might require a move. But if Simon woke up tomorrow and said he wanted to go to regular school because schools have girls, or a computer animation class, it would take a lot of work, and maybe lots of money, but George and I would find an appropriate placement. The school might not be academically challenging enough, but the library is a three minute drive away.<br /><br />Finally, I can't argue that the larger home-schooling environment is throbbing with academic challenges that could never be matched by a school. Home-educators tend to organize themselves into online social networks. Once organized, members arrange for enrichment classes, field trips, and weekly social gatherings. However, with some exceptions, the enrichment classes here in Miami are fun but not demanding enough for us to leave the house; the academically challenging field trips are few and far between and, sadly, poorly attended; and, the social gatherings, usually in the form of a park group, although much enjoyed by all, have a very fluid and unpredictable quality. Families move in and out of home-educating, and they move in and out of park groups. Every time Simon gets attached to a home-educated child, it seems that child moves across town, or matriculates in the public school system, or goes to Europe for half a year.<br /><br />As I write this, I have already decided on the curriculum we will be using for middle school. Simon thus far has expressed no interest in going to school—from the neighborhood kids, he's learned that schools have nasty teachers and lots of homework. For as long as he does not demand to go, George and I will not send him.<br /><br />Without elaborating too much on the problems of the public school system in Florida and nationwide, what follows are the reasons why I continue to home-educate.<br /><br />It boils down to two reasons—<span style="font-style:italic;">content</span> and <span style="font-style:italic;">conversation</span>.<br /><br />I can choose the content Simon masters in one academic year.<i><b> I</b></i> get to do that, and not a public school teacher with 900 SAT scores (average for teachers in the US) and a mandate to teach No Child Left Behind. I can buy a curriculum and add to it, or I can make it up piecemeal. Hours and hours on the internet and at the library, and I can come up with a challenging and compelling reading list that stays as far away from textbooks and mind-numbing worksheets as possible. I can find the best foreign language program, the most enjoyable Latin course, the most appropriate history books, the right math program, art history introduction, and music appreciation teaching tool. Day by day, I try to light a fire--or two-- trying to elicit curiosity and interest in Dickens, or Lincoln, or Louis XIV, or Beethoven, or Velasquez, here and there taking a break to write a paragraph, or practice long division.<br /><br />Once he has a head full of stories, full of interesting content, I can ask him to think critically about those stories, teaching him how to frame and answer questions imaginatively, always entertaining multiple perspectives. This is what it means to be educated: To have a head full of stories and facts that one can deploy imaginatively and critically.<br /><br />Being home-educated, Simon has the time and the means (the curriculum I cobble together) to read and poder shelves and shelves and shelves of content. He can do it lying on his bed, at the table, at the beach, at the computer, with a friend, over cookies. It's a pretty grand way to spend the day.<br /><br />The second reason I home-educate is the conversations I have with Simon. Unlike the mothers of schooled children, I know exactly what my son is reading every minute of the day—often I am the audience for his reading. If he is reading <i>Great Expectations</i>, we can talk about it over lunch, and some more over dinner with George. A little visit to wikipedia, and over dessert I can explain what the word <i>Bildungsroma</i>n means. I can ask Simon to think about all the ways in which Pip grows up in the course of the novel. I can mention that Dickens wrote the novel because like Pip, Dickens' heart had been broken by a woman. I can explain the words <i>unrequited love</i>. We can rent the David Lean movie. We can talk about how <i>Great Expectations</i> compares to other Dickens Simon has already read (all abridged). We can talk about the mines, the factories, and the orphanages in England; the very poor, the destitute and the wealthy; the terrible <i>inequities</i>—a word I would need to define. We can get a documentary about Dickens, and then talk about that some more.<div><br /></div><div>Last weekend I found myself in Boston having lunch with old friends. They asked about Simon. Would I continue teaching him through high school? I could hear in their voice their doubts about where all this might lead. My friends are the products of New England private schools and good colleges. Their daughter teaches history at a public middle school in a posh Boston suburb. I took a deep breath and said it all depended on Simon. I told them about the power of girls. I tried to make them laugh. Of late, Simon notices girls. Their hair. Their interests. Who is beautiful and nice, who is not. My best made academic plans may crumble in the face of Simon's prurient interests. </div><div><br /></div><div>But I hope they will not. I dearly wish I can make his days enjoyable, and keep his mind turned on by ideas and concepts and texts, because I want the conversation to continue. For him. But also for me. For now, I get to read and think about Dickens and Lincoln, and unrequited love, and grave inequities. My mind and my days are hitched to work that matters.<br /></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-10637152398802690032009-12-27T19:58:00.000-08:002009-12-27T20:31:45.923-08:00Gentle, Plain, Just and Resolute<a href="http://my.en.com/~vincem/lincoln.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 468px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 249px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://my.en.com/~vincem/lincoln.jpg" /></a>We have finally reached the sixteenth president. When, at the beginning of the week, I take the Mike Venezia biography on Lincoln off the bookshelf, Simon says: “I read that already, Mom--don't you know?”<br /><br />“On your own?”<br /><br />“On my own.”<br /><br />“Wonderful!” And then, because sometimes I have little control over my mouth, I say: “Why?” Simon reading a whole book on his own, cover to cover—that's new.<br /><br />“Because it's Lincoln, Mom!” Simon says, impatiently.<br /><br />“Can you read it to me again?”<br /><br />“Sure.”<br /><br />It's December in Miami. The windows are wide open. The air is crisp and cool. We lie on the day-bed in the Learning Room. Simon reads. I smell the grass, the trees; I hear birds. The mail-man comes up the walkway and we take a break to check if we got another holiday card. We make hot chocolate and take our mugs back to the Learning Room.<br /><br />“I have to finish Lincoln all today, Mom. We cannot do Latin or German. After Lincoln, I have to read about Andrew Johnson right away. I have to find out what happened after Lincoln was shot.”<br /><br />“OK. Why is Lincoln so super interesting to you, Simon?”<br /><br />“Because he ended slavery. Even though he was very ugly, he was great. The presidents before him all sucked.”<br /><br />“Sucked” is the new word <em>d'jour.</em> George and I choose our battles when it comes to colorful language. Simon can say “sucked,” but he cannot write it. We've defined <em>formal</em> and <em>informal </em>speech.<br /><br />Simon finishes Lincoln, and then this child who does not read with pleasure immediately takes Johnson off the shelf and starts reading.<br /><br />The Venezia biographies all begin with a general assessment. Venezia writes about Johnson that he “wasn't as skilled a leader as Lincoln had been...he was stubborn and racially prejudiced ...very little was accomplished.”<br /><br />“I don't want to read anymore. Johnson sucked, too, Mom. I'll just look at the pictures. I'll read more tomorrow.”<br /><br />It's a beautiful day in Miami, I think, looking out onto a Hong Kong Orchid and a Meyer's Lemon drooping with fruit. Simon lies next to me, flipping through the book.<br /><br />“Look at this,” Simon says. He points to a picture of Richmond, Virginia, all rubble, all bombed out. “Why do people do that?” he asks.<br /><br />Instead of saying “Why do you think?” and letting him figure it out, I proceed to do an information dump. I've been tired this week, somewhat self-absorbed. I talk of military strategy, of controlling territory, of destroying not only the enemy's cities and forts, but also his spirit.<br /><br />“Did kids die in Richmond?” Simon asks.<br /><br />“Some kids died, I'm sure.”<br /><br />“Moms?”<br /><br />“Moms, too.”<br /><br />Simon is quiet. Then he says: “People are mean.” He continues looking through the Johnson biography.<br /><br />I can hear the neighborhood kids congregating down the street. They are on vacation. They have a basketball. I hear it bouncing off the pavement. Soon they will come and ring the doorbell, asking for Simon.<br /><br />“Mom, look at this picture,” Simon says. “Look how many people were in the room when Lincoln died.”<br /><br />He's gazing at the Alonzo Chappel painting--see above. I tell Simon that I know from my readings on Lincoln that the scene is fictional. Lincoln died at a roadside inn with only a few people in attendance, not a mob of all the important political figures of the time.<br /><br />“Maybe the painter wanted to show how many people would miss him,” Simon says.<br /><br />“Maybe,” I say, nodding.<br /><br />The doorbell rings and Simon bolts off the bed and runs out of the room. He ducks his head back in. “Can I go play?”<br /><br />“Go play.”<br /><br /><em>Many people would miss him,</em> Simon had said. I miss him.<br /><br />It's been a week of too much feeling. Layered on top of the exhausting, excessive, and inescapable joyousness of the season, have been my readings about Lincoln. He never went to school; he taught himself everything, even the law. He lost two of his four sons during his life-time, all much loved. He had so many friends, they made up towns, cities, states. He cared little about all the stuff that doesn't matter: clothes, manners, appearances. Acutely aware of weight of his responsibilities, the full impact of his actions, and the full measure of his--and everyone else's losses--he struggled with melancholia.<br /><br />I've poured over his key speeches. I'd never read them closely. There is something intimate, exposed, unabashedly personal about his voice, as if he's speaking to you with no reservations from the center of his heart's obsessions.<br /><br />You probably remember <em>Gettysburg</em> and the <em>2nd Inaugural</em>, but here is his <em>Farewell Address</em>, delivered as he was leaving Springfield, Illinois, to begin his first term. War was looming.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;"><span style="color:#663300;"><strong>My friends, no one, not in my situation, can appreciate my feeling of sadness at this parting. To this place, and the kindness of these people, I owe everything. Here I have lived a quarter of a century, and have passed from a young to an old man. Here my children have been born, and one is buried. I now leave, not knowing when, or whether ever, I may return, with a task before me greater than that which rested upon Washington. Without the assistance of the Divine Being who ever attended him, I cannot succeed. With that assistance I cannot fail. Trusting in Him who can go with me, and remain with you, and be everywhere for good, let us confidently hope that all will yet be well. To His care commending you, as I hope in your prayers you will commend me, I bid you an affectionate farewell.</strong> </span><br /></span><br /><br /><div>Lincoln has been on my mind this week. I lack his faith that “all will yet be well.” This week the Copenhagen meeting came to an end, and the Health Reform Bill went up for a vote in the Senate. How will we bring about all the radical changes we have to make for the sake of our planet, our economy, our children and grandchildren? Following the wranglings about health reform these last months, I've felt stuck in a Dickens novel—with few exceptions, each character more vain, foppish, thoughtless, reckless, and undignified than the next. I realize that the gains made by the Health Reform Bill are huge, but they seem so much less than what is necessary, a bill brokered in an age of relentless compromise, indomitable special interests, and men, mostly men, who are <em>not </em>Lincoln. And there are so many bills to go.<br /><br />Dark thoughts in sunny Miami this holiday season.<br /><br />Some last words by Walt Whitman:<br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;color:#663333;"><strong>This Dust Was Once the Man<br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">This dust was once the man,<br />Gentle, plain, just and resolute, under whose cautious hand,<br />Against the foulest crime in history known in any land or age,<br />Was saved the Union of these States.</span></strong></span><span style="font-size:85%;"> </span></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-42848758067206430512009-12-21T19:18:00.000-08:002009-12-21T19:44:32.410-08:00On the Five-Paragraph Essay and Other Instruments of Torture<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">(Below find Part II and Part III. For Part I go to the blog posted on Sunday 12/13/2009)</span><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> II</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Simon</div><br />This year, in fifth grade, Simon is supposed to write an essay every week. First he reads a biography about an American president; then he writes an essay. I came up with this plan last spring, when full of hope and hubris I began shaping a curriculum for the coming academic year. I felt so proud of myself. Instead of doing what every other fifth grader does, namely writing a dozen book reports and a research paper or two in the course of the year, Simon would write 44 brief essays. And if he did a portrait of each president, he would have a book by year's end. Fabulous!<br /><br />By July, as the beginning of the new school year loomed, I began to have doubts this grand plan was going to work. For starters, Simon has hated writing since I first handed him a pencil, and that hadn't changed. But I quickly came up with a fix: he would only have to write one paragraph a day. That seemed doable. Within five days, he would have an essay.<br /><br />Then there was the problem of the topic sentence. Every one of the paragraphs Simon writes is supposed to have a topic sentence, preferably at the top, or so various writing manuals for this age group suggest.<br /><br />Here, the problem was all mine. I can't stand paragraphs with a topic sentence at the top, paragraphs that begin with something like: “Abraham Lincoln was an excellent president during the years of the Civil War,” and then go on to elaborate.<br /><br />This kind of writing is torturous to read, smacking of the worst of textbook prose. A topic sentence at the top of the paragraph robs the reader of the fun of making sense of what he's reading—why bother getting through the rest of the paragraph?<br /><br />In <i>lieu</i> of the topic sentence at the top, I prefer, a snappy and opinionated sentence at the end of a paragraph, summing up and evaluating the information given in the sentences above. “Although burdened by family tragedies, doubt, and debilitating bouts of depression, Lincoln invariably rose to the demands of defending the Union.” Here is another example: “He was too skinny and quite ugly, but he was big-hearted and brilliant.”<br /><br />The reader of the paragraph can then compare his conclusions, reached while reading the paragraph, to the views of the author. This makes for a dynamic and interactive reading experience. Maybe the reader agrees. Maybe not. Either way, he keeps reading. <br /><br />The more I thought about teaching the essay, the more I remembered those topic sentence driven five-paragraph essays I'd had to read years ago, the ones I hadn't enjoyed—at all. The more I thought about teaching Simon, the clearer it became that I was dealing with a ten-year-old who loved narrating stories but hated writing. I wasn't going to be doing him a favor if I insisted that before he put any word on paper he first had to figure out the topic of each paragraph, and then shape a sentence about that topic. Only afterwards could he proceed with the rest of the paragraph. This was going to lead to tears and little else.<br /><br />As a matter of fact, a few more sleepless nights and I decided: forget the essay. I was going to ask Simon to write<i> report</i>s. I would use language he comprehends. Each week he would have to report on, or tell the story of, one president. Forget five paragraphs--begin with three. Furthermore, drop the <i>topic</i> or <i>thesis</i> or<i> analytical</i> or <i>opinionated</i> sentence for now. I would get him to identify excellent topic sentences in the writing of others by asking: “What's the most important sentence in this paragraph?” But when it came to Simon's writing, I wouldn't mention it. For now.<br /><br />Instead, we would focus heavily on getting the right information into each paragraph. In science Simon has spent much time learning to separate items by their characteristics, studying categories, taxonomies, animal kingdoms. For starters, Simon would focus on categorizing all the information, thinking of paragraphs merely as organizational categories.<br /><br />So July ended and the school year began. The first presidential biography he read was <i>George Washington</i> by Mike Venezia.<br /><br />“Simon, now that you have read about George Washington, you need to write a report about him. You're in fifth grade.”<br /><br />“But, Mom, you're killing me--I hate writing!”<br /><br />“Let's begin by writing down all the things you know about Washington. You talk. I'll write.”<br /><br />He came up with eighteen bits of information.<br /><br />“How could you organize all this information? How would you organize the story of this president? You can't begin your report with his death; then mention he had wooden teeth; then say he was the first president. That would be so confusing. How could you organize the information to tell Washington's story?”<br /><br />“From the beginning, Mom. Don't you know? He was born in 1732.”<br /><br />It took just minutes to get Simon to come up with categories. One category was going to be Washington's life before he became president. A second category was what happened once he was president. These two categories would make up his first and second paragraphs. I then urged Simon to think of a third category, something he'd learned in his reading about Washington that most people might not know. This third category would lead to a third and final paragraph.<br /><br />“Think of your readers, Simon. Always think of your readers. You want to give them a reward, something extra and unexpected--a surprise--at the end of your report. It's like a treat, a yummy dessert you're offering them for patiently reading through all your words. Mom loves reading good essays because they always have something in them I did not know, or had not thought about. And that makes my mind go: Wow! What's your wow bit of information about Washington. ”<br /><br />Simon was quiet for a minute.<br /><br />“Well, Washington was huge, super tall, very funny. He was a good dancer, and people liked him a lot.”<br /><br />I pulled out a $1.00 bill. “Does this guy look like he's funny?”<br /><br />“He looks boring and mean,” and after another few seconds Simon added, “and P.S., maybe also short.”<br /><br />“So, do you think your readers would be glad they read your report because they learned something new?”<br /><br />“I think so.”<br /><br />“I think so, too.”<br /><br />That was five months ago. Last week Simon wrote an essay on Franklin Pierce, the fourteenth president. Simon wrote about how Franklin Pierce had many family tragedies: all his children died—in case you didn't know.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">III</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Suggestions</div><br />Ask your children to write every day. Do copy-work if writing does not come easy at first. But make sure they write. The only way to master writing is by writing.<br /><br />Read. Read daily. Read good stuff. Every day, if possible, take a paragraph of something that has been read that day and take it apart. Ask questions. What is this paragraph about? How do you know? What is the most important sentence in this paragraph? Why? Is the author expressing an opinion in this paragraph, and if so, where?<br /><br />Have your child tell you (narrate) what he has read. Have him tell you the story of his reading. This is an invaluable pre-writing skill. You cannot write a report on a book you read if you cannot report on it verbally.<br /><br />Forget the five paragraph essay and all that comes with it—thesis statements and topic sentences. Don't introduce them until 9th grade. They will take all the pleasure out of writing.<br /><br />Once your child can make it through a handful of paragraphs, have her write reports. To order the information, have her come up with categories and then write a paragraph for each category. For example, if your child is writing a book report, she would organize her report around categories such as theme, plot, character, etc. If she's writing about a historical figure or event, the categories would be dictated by chronology. If she's writing about manatees, she would categorize the information by topics: type of animal, habitat, food source, etc. If your child has thought through the categories and has a history of narrating information, she will have little trouble shaping paragraphs that will naturally have a topic sentence buried in them. Children want to tame and master the information they have learned. They demonstrate that mastery with a topic sentence. “Manatees are herbivores.” “Because of Winn-Dixie is a novel set in Florida.”<br /><br />As for the essay: By 9th grade, once your child has written hundreds of reports, begin writing essays. The main difference between a report and an essay is that a report <i>reports</i> on a particular topic, while an essay <i>asks a question</i> about that topic—it is an instrument of inquiry.<br /><br />Forget the thesis statement in the opening paragraph—if you give a thesis statement, there is not enough incentive to continue reading. Instead, formulate a question in your head that you want to answer. Once you have the question, begin your essay by explaining the background to your question. “Over half a million people died during the American Civil War, etc., etc.” Then ask your question: “In these pages, I would like to attempt to answer the question: Was the Civil War avoidable?” You can follow up with related questions: “Specifically, was there anything Lincoln could have done differently?” And then you proceed to answer the question. You give the historical context. You report on your research. You evaluate the information. You try to come up with an answer.<br /><br />Remember that essays are attempts. You do not have to answer all the questions you raise. You can end by stating that many issues in your essay will remain unanswered. Trust me, most good essays do not completely answer the questions they raise. However, they do give their reader at least one interesting insight. This is the type of essay your child will have to write in college. <br /><br />Read essays written by great essayists. There are various collections. Read essays in <i>The New Yorker, Harpers, The Atlantic Monthly</i>—that is where the great essayists of today publish their work.<br /><br />Last words: Take it slow. If possible, write daily. Remind your kids to have fun and to create writing that is fun to read. Writing should not be torture.<br /></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-68777570446928426252009-12-13T17:58:00.000-08:002009-12-18T13:57:10.330-08:00On the Five-Paragraph Essay and Other Instruments of Torture<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span style="font-size:130%;">I.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br />(This is the first part of what will be at least a two-part essay. Part II will be posted next week.)</span><br /><br />I should put my academic background and prejudices on the table from the get-go. Although I now refer to myself in official documents as a “homemaker,” and otherwise I'm homeschooling my eleven-year old son at the end of a cul-de-sac in Miami, I have, in decades past, done my share of hard labor, teaching freshmen composition at colleges in the Boston area. I say “hard labor” for a reason: for the most part, I hated it.<br /><br />I hated it because every two weeks I went home with a stack of essays I was supposed to read, correct, and grade, praising what had been done well, suggesting ways to make the writing better. Reading them, I would be overwhelmed by a flood of feelings: endless boredom, frustration, rage, utter indifference, utter helplessness. How was I going got get these students to write essays that I, or anyone else, might want to read?<br /><br />The papers were plagued by grammar, spelling, punctuation, logic, and attribution problems, as well as a predilection for passive verbs (boring) and abstract nouns (even more boring), but those were minor issues compared to the fact that at least half of what came my way--no matter what the instructions were--were five paragraph essays.<br /><br />Sometimes each paragraph had been bloated to the length of a page; sometimes the structure had been expanded to absorb ten paragraphs; but the rhetorical tool at the core of so many of these essays, whether discussing a story, a poem, or presenting a research topic was almost invariably the same—that dreadful thing taught in American schools: the five-paragraph essay.<br /><br />This is what the five-paragraph essay written by too many hard-working, well indoctrinated, eager to please college freshmen reads like:<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Paragraph I: </span><span style="WHITE-SPACE: pre" class="Apple-tab-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span><span style="WHITE-SPACE: pre" class="Apple-tab-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Abraham Lincoln was a great president for three reasons.<br />Paragraph II:</span><span style="WHITE-SPACE: pre" class="Apple-tab-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span><span style="WHITE-SPACE: pre" class="Apple-tab-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Reason 1 expanded<br />Paragraph III: </span><span style="WHITE-SPACE: pre" class="Apple-tab-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Reason 2 expanded<br />Paragraph IV: </span><span style="WHITE-SPACE: pre" class="Apple-tab-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span><span style="WHITE-SPACE: pre" class="Apple-tab-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Reason 3 expanded<br />Paragraph V: </span><span style="WHITE-SPACE: pre" class="Apple-tab-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span><span style="WHITE-SPACE: pre" class="Apple-tab-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">In conclusion, Abraham Lincoln was a great president.</span></b></span><br /><br />The five-paragraph essay is first presented in the fourth grade. After eight years of steady practice and brainwashing, the above is what most freshmen produce: a padded, puffed-up, and self-satisfied tautology. In case you haven't reviewed your terms of logic this week, a tautology is the repetition of meaning, using dissimilar words to say the same thing twice. In brief: A equals A. Lincoln was a great president. Here are three reasons why. Therefore, Lincoln was a great president. The essay unsurprisingly ends exactly where it began.<br /><br />The best of these essays would get a B-. Invariably, the recipient would make his way to my office and either livid or in tears let me know that he had been at the top of his high school class in Cleveland or Atlanta or Buffalo. He had never gotten a B-. Ever. And, Professor Franklin, Abraham Lincoln was a great president, wasn't he?<br /><br />Where to begin?<br /><br />When Galileo was about to be tried for heresy in Rome in 1633, he was first taken down to a dungeon and shown the instruments of torture that he would get to know better if he did not recant. So what did he do? Being a smart fellow, he gave the powers that be what they wanted.<br /><br />I think of Galileo when I think of kids learning to write in an American school. By fourth grade, every one of them has been shown the instruments of torture; all of them know the price of not doing what they are told—they will be held back. Teachers “teach the test” and the five-paragraph essay, and kids learn the test and master the art of writing tautologies.<br /><br />Galileo comes to mind not only because, like him, students clearly come to know the price of disobedience, but also because the five-paragraph essay has more in common with a confession induced by torture, than with the essay as it was envisioned by Cicero, Plutarch, Bacon, and Montaigne. In the five-paragraph essay, the student demonstrates (under duress) that she has been a good girl, that she has learned her lessons, that she has done her research and knows three reasons why Lincoln was a good president.<br /><br />But the essay is not an instrument that is meant to perform and perpetuate indoctrination. It is, first and foremost, an instrument of inquiry. (The word “essay” actually means “attempt.”) Its present day format is very much the product of the Renaissance, a rhetorical tool that attempts to move knowledge forward in ways radical and disobedient, celebrating the individual and all that he or she is capable of. The essay might rely on what is known already, as the Renaissance painters and scholars relied enthusiastically on classical antiquity, but the thrust of the essay is into the unexplored, into new knowledge, into radical new ways of thinking and perceiving.<br /><br />So what does that mean when it comes to writing and teaching the essay? For starters, forget a five-paragraph format. Forget the cookie-cutter formulations bequeathed by No Child Left Behind. If you're a homeschooling parent reading this, if you're homeschooling because you do not want your child to only “learn the test,” have the courage to also let go of the five-paragraph essay. It's not a writing instrument used by an educated and inquiring mind.<br /><br />If you think that a liberal arts college might be in your child's future, realize that the first thing that will happen when he takes Comp. 101 is that some younger version of me will beat the five-paragraph essay out of him with a two-by-four, if he's lucky.<br /><br />Not only will he be hurt and confused, but he will have wasted time. Instead of spending his school-years proving that he was a good boy who had done the reading, his mind could have been in training, questioning, inquiring, writing.<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">(To be continued.)</span>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4883850273539144949.post-34815864243405503462009-12-06T07:41:00.000-08:002009-12-09T05:42:22.619-08:00What We Talk About When We Walk Around In VeniceThese are the things we talk about about while walking around Venice with Simon:<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAqYHBTUYwdY0o6edz1J6_MXcTxwmjTLQDoZ9cGBkLuzPhCMVo9hsZm476FjqTTe1GXbPtJ9yX_zo8XpkcQtDR89K1FmaGBYlOIbbt2F88pI-rj8_Ie4SxUbK-sd0mOVQAvPPjptsrL6Od/s1600-h/Our+Canal.JPG"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412154671217270466" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAqYHBTUYwdY0o6edz1J6_MXcTxwmjTLQDoZ9cGBkLuzPhCMVo9hsZm476FjqTTe1GXbPtJ9yX_zo8XpkcQtDR89K1FmaGBYlOIbbt2F88pI-rj8_Ie4SxUbK-sd0mOVQAvPPjptsrL6Od/s200/Our+Canal.JPG" /></span></a> <div><br /><div>~Is Venice going to drown? How can we stop global warming? Are they going to rescue the treasures? Is Miami going to dissappear into the sea? Maybe we should buy a boat.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;">"Our" canal--Rio dei Carmini<br /><br /></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:78%;"></span></div><div>~Is Italy a dictatorship? Why are things so expensive? Is Berlusconi a tyrant? Why do the dinosaurs that we can buy in America in a dollar shop for $1.oo cost Euro 8.00? Are we sure Berlusconi is not a tyrant? Italy might have a revolution if toys are so expensive--in America they had a revolutionary war because of taxes. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj6TMdFl83zQ2OiX2JJkHaNi5GPAOaiTBjfh0un82mBPvTcU7GWhL0rSeb-Fj0pLFx80uWN_RZk2odMkrR7jSneYgrVVzER8lbK3U7V-14H_MMyTgb7a7PFKDjKq8elqw_F5wut8jXY2e4/s1600-h/talking+WW+II.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412168208098754498" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj6TMdFl83zQ2OiX2JJkHaNi5GPAOaiTBjfh0un82mBPvTcU7GWhL0rSeb-Fj0pLFx80uWN_RZk2odMkrR7jSneYgrVVzER8lbK3U7V-14H_MMyTgb7a7PFKDjKq8elqw_F5wut8jXY2e4/s200/talking+WW+II.JPG" /></a></div><br /><div><br />~Why do people not like Jews? Why did they have to live in a ghetto? </div><br /><div><br /><br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:78%;">George and Simon talking in the ghetto.</span><br /><br /></div><br /><div>~Why did people come to Venice long ago? Why do Mom and Dad like coming to Venice? Why do we have to look at so many crucifixions and churches? Aren't we Jewish? Why do we have to hunt down every painting by the Bellini brothers--Ge<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX7PX8XIu6_vJZEmxzHtAs_VdLm8_FVyNijArONhwu8rmDJjEnW9l1dIPOsm9XB83crBtw5Dlc3k82onwVG5FV6dlLnKHl7kP21-JzhEgF-WuPYU-uFDymtf1v3ClYYAM-jvmr_qWroORB/s1600-h/Simon+Garibaldi.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412152917148890738" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX7PX8XIu6_vJZEmxzHtAs_VdLm8_FVyNijArONhwu8rmDJjEnW9l1dIPOsm9XB83crBtw5Dlc3k82onwVG5FV6dlLnKHl7kP21-JzhEgF-WuPYU-uFDymtf1v3ClYYAM-jvmr_qWroORB/s200/Simon+Garibaldi.JPG" /></a>ntile and Giovanni? Why does Dad like all these Madonnas painted by Giovanni Bellini? Are they really that beautiful? </div><br /><div>~How many days until we can go home? Is our dog OK? </div><br /><div>~How was Guiseppe Garibaldi like George Washington? In what way were Garibaldi, Washington, and Simon Bolivar similar? If you can answer that question, you get an ice-cream. </div><br /><div>~Can I have another ice-cream? </div><div></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;"><br />Simon checking a picture he took of Garibaldi's statue.</span><br /></div><br /><div></div><div>~Did they ever let people out of the dungeon in the Doge's Palace? What happened to them? Why did they write on <img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412154169415159938" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEfibKCnPu31Mv0PhK9Msst5Dqw5cDN71aFAe2vwE5Qyoi3CAaIlJpShQ5vroKGttZWlA9kh6uBg_Yrx8_b9X0u35CtFuP22rhFzISiX8XQvPDeWZS-n5xvIMD3th5LXW4XeyXWn05ZYw1/s200/SImon+before+Doge%27s+palace.JPG" />the walls? Did anyone give them a blanket? </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEfibKCnPu31Mv0PhK9Msst5Dqw5cDN71aFAe2vwE5Qyoi3CAaIlJpShQ5vroKGttZWlA9kh6uBg_Yrx8_b9X0u35CtFuP22rhFzISiX8XQvPDeWZS-n5xvIMD3th5LXW4XeyXWn05ZYw1/s1600-h/SImon+before+Doge%27s+palace.JPG"></a></div><div>~Why did they resettle all the glass and metal workers to Murano? It was a smart way to avoid having a great fire, like the London and Chicago fires--don't you think? Look at those cityscapes of Venice done by Carpaccio--do you see all the chimneys? In everyone of those buidings, someone was making a fire--isn't it amazing that Venice didn't go up in flames?</div><br /><div></div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEfibKCnPu31Mv0PhK9Msst5Dqw5cDN71aFAe2vwE5Qyoi3CAaIlJpShQ5vroKGttZWlA9kh6uBg_Yrx8_b9X0u35CtFuP22rhFzISiX8XQvPDeWZS-n5xvIMD3th5LXW4XeyXWn05ZYw1/s1600-h/SImon+before+Doge%27s+palace.JPG"></a></div><div>~Venice didn't burn, but I think it's going to drown. Don't you, Mom? Really?</div><br /><div></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCeMBzFOuP5pMzA9lqt8P4A9f0Lc39G6fSYWSbMbiLjj6CQ4mCd4baNoOVfgO3vmjTMODm7s-kOni_13SnlfwYWlbHr6koFRfLGR3hmooQYUlToCJraeE-zJg9grwS7kGopYMFZKWm8swJ/s1600-h/Brodsky's+grave.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 152px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412177251140075410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCeMBzFOuP5pMzA9lqt8P4A9f0Lc39G6fSYWSbMbiLjj6CQ4mCd4baNoOVfgO3vmjTMODm7s-kOni_13SnlfwYWlbHr6koFRfLGR3hmooQYUlToCJraeE-zJg9grwS7kGopYMFZKWm8swJ/s200/Brodsky's+grave.JPG" /></a><br /><div>~Why do we have to go to Joseph Brodsky's grave, if he was just a poet? Why is he buried in Venice, if he was Russian and lived in New York after the Russians kicked him out? Why did he love Venice so much?<br /><br />~Can we have pizza for dinner?<br /><br />Something we don't talk about:<br /><br />How hard it is to leave. <div><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412152343668225842" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCodf6oEDEqYy-F6u2ywst3MOeFSYPvRuA77pgWFyPbSex7BpRhFtdUXZmwX_UEFzMAh7j0dboq8WOeEzF7EdDed6Ci0jb9_DL-igeD7N3tDhzyRB-MCXsrF_dX2GKIvXM_MI0dV2rEKg/s200/Can+San+Margarita.JPG" /></div></div><div></div><div><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /><br />"Our" Campo Santa Margherita, a few steps from our rented apartment.</span></div><div></div><div></div><div></div></div>Literacy Is Not Enoughhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11843301371457737346noreply@blogger.com0