Schoolless

Who? Me? Radical?

"A strong democratic sense of your being the world's equal lets you take what you will from the endless advice it offers, and then set blithely out."
(from Out of the Labyrinth by Ellen & Robert Kaplan)

A friend whom I otherwise admire enormously sometimes wears a t-shirt that makes me absolutely crazy. On the back it says: "I think, therefore I am vegetarian."
One of the reasons I admire my friend, is that although she clearly has her own convictions and principles, she has never made me feel that whatever convictions and principles I have are any less valid.
Her t-shirt has.
My friend allows for a diversity of views.
Her t-shirt does not.

Sometimes in life, we are called upon to defend our choices and beliefs. As homeschooling parents, we are accustomed to periodically coming up against criticisms, questions and doubts from the society at large, and we are fairly adept at countering its arguments and standing our ground. We've come to expect some criticism from those quarters, and we are not that surprised on those occasions when we are asked to justify ourselves. Do we resent being thus questioned? I suppose it depends on who is doing the questioning and how they go about it. An individual who has a preconceived notion of the type of person you might be, or starts from a misguided premise that you are a bad parent, is clearly a very different case than one who questions from a point of genuine curiosity or maybe mystification of disbelief.

As I said, I've gotten used to those questions coming from outside the homeschooling community, but I've never before had an experience of being taken to task for my choices from within it. I guess when I first started reading homeschooling blogs, I picked up on a bit of a dissonance between those of a Christian bent, and those of a more inclusive persuasion. But, although I've met many different homeschoolers,  I have never come into direct confrontation with anyone whose homeschooling principles were different than my own. For one thing, I assume that, as homeschooling families, we are always in pursuit, rather than in possession of answers. For another, I believe we have chosen the homeschooling lifestyle so that we could retain the flexibility to choose what is best for ourselves and our children, and that our choices might change over time, as needs change.

I am really happy that two years before, I joined a real community of unschoolers in Chicago. During these two years after I've taken my son from school and decided against sending my daughter there, I have gradually migrated in my approach and beliefs to the unschooling end of the homeschooling spectrum. It hasn't been a particularly harrowing journey, but it was one that I undertook with a lot of trepidation, commitment, self-questioning and eyes and ears wide open to the suggestions and experiences of others.

Throughout this process, I spent a lot of time reading in print and on the internet, and talking to more experienced homeschooling and unschooling parents. As I searched, the question foremost in my mind was "what is best for my children and for my family". After a couple of years into my search, I feel that I am by no means an expert, but that I certainly have valuable input to contribute to the discussion on the topic of educating children at home. These discussions are extremely useful to both new and seasoned homeschooling parents, because, as I have observed, we are perpetually in search of something that might solve an old problem better, help address a new problem, or validate something that we have undertaken with success. And, as generous and kind-hearted souls, we are eager to share our triumphs with other families.

In my experience, what we share are not prescriptions for doing things better. We understand that each family, each group of completely unique individuals comprising each family, is entirely unlike any other. Therefore, what we exchange with one another are merely suggestions: this has worked for us; try it, if you think it might help, and see how it goes. What was engaging and helpful about these discussions is that no one knew it all. New and experienced families were all on a journey of self-discovery, ready to to offer and hear new ideas. No one had found "the way". Everyone was still searching, still learning.

It was in this spirit that I joined an online discussion about video games on Radical Unschoolers Network, a virtual community. I felt I had something in common with the woman who began the discussion and was looking for help because she did not like what was happening to her 12 year old after he had played a lot of video games. After scanning the 80+ comments submitted, most of which more or less advised her to leave the kid alone a let him play as much as he desired, I thought I'd share the fact that we have had some positive results with simply having our son write down how much time he was spending on different activities, including video games. We, as parents, were also jotting down how we spent our time, because we were curious why it sometimes seemed that we had very little of it to spare. I also disclosed that I had purchased a book called "The Kids Are Alright" on the benefits of playing video games, and invited my son to read it.

You would have thought that I had locked him in a dank dungeon with a clay tablet around his neck, and a chisel in hand, and demanded he stay there until he not only produced a publishable book review, but also accounted for every second of the time he had spent there. My comment, offered in support to the parent who confessed to having a problem, generated an avalanche of questions from others about my  parenting skills, hidden agenda, putting undue stress on my son, and culminated in one reader saying her thirteen year old was "horrified" that I would make my son read such a book. I tried to clarify my position, but I wasn't making any headway. And I didn't like having to measure my choices against some abstract, ideal and perfect way to raise children.

How can a conversation had with people on the internet, whom I don't know, and who, truth be told, care as little about me as I about them, have such a profound effect on me, that it has awakened me at in the middle of the night on a couple of occasions?

It did. I was feeling so unsettled by this online exchange, that I asked my son how he really felt about jotting down how much time he spends doing stuff.

"Uh, it's no big deal. It's like, I just put a mark on a calendar"
"You don't feel stressed out?"
"Nuh-uh."
"And how about that book, about the computer games?"
"Oh, that was kinda interesting. How they made it all scientific."
"So you don't mind reading it?"
"Well, I don't get all of it. But there are a lot of interesting things in it. I'll keep on reading it when I feel like it."

Whew! Turns out I am still more in touch with my son than is the online community.

So, I'm a little bruised. But I still feel a world's equal. And, with my vegetarian friend, I will hold on to my principles. The most important of which is to let other people stand by theirs.

Limitedlessnessibility

"Time out!" I'd say, and as I walked out of the room, my son or daughter would follow me, with strong, persuasive arguments pouring out of their mouths. Tried as I might, I could never get my children to remain in a time-out. Back when I was still convinced about the efficacy of such methods, I consulted friends who successfully kept their children confined.
"Oh, at first he wouldn't stay. I'd just hold him down the first several times, while he struggled and writhed, but eventually, he learned that I wouldn't give up."
"So, how long would you hold him like that?"
"Oh, at least fifteen minutes."
I didn't last sixty seconds. Half way through the exercise, it dawned on me how ridiculous this was from every point of view. What was my child learning? What was I learning? What would anyone say if they saw us thus engaged?! I'd release the tiger from the cage and let him roar.
This brings me to the question of limits and parental authority. Thanks to Summer, I landed on a site where vigorous discussion about the pros and cons of placing limits on children was being waged. I have to admit that I did not have the patience to read through all 93 comments. But I wasn't really interested in coming down on one side or the other.
Here's why.
First of all, I don't believe that there is such a thing as parenting completely without limits, no matter what any authority says. You may not limit your children's video game playing, or what they eat for breakfast. But by virtue of living together as a family, limits, in some fundamental form, are inevitably placed: on how and when you move around town, when you sleep and wake, what faith you belong to, or what other guiding values you use in your life. We limit our children's access to materials and activities that are beyond their age. We shield them from images and information that are painful or damaging, and which they do not yet have the capacity to understand. We stop them from hurting other living creatures. Limits are imposed constantly by our society and our environment.
Secondly, I am less interested in establishing up front which particular things are off-limits, and which are permitted, than I am in having an ongoing discussion with my family members about what is appropriate at a particular time, and how it fits into with what others might have planned, or even what the weather is like. If it is the first 60 degree sunny day after a drearily long winter, I will place strict limits on video games, and toss everyone outside. This may be an unpopular decision, and I never resort to simply saying "because I said, so, that's why." Recently such a decision occasioned a family discussion that lasted close to an hour, but resulted in everyone being on board for the outing. We don't always have the luxury of time, but whenever possible, we don't enforce, we deliberate.
On the other hand, I have frequently bent previously imposed limits because I saw something really cool happening, or for purely selfish reasons, or because I have a soft heart. Sometimes I witness a moment in my kids' imaginative play that is pure magic, and, although I've made other plans, I put them on the back burner to let the magic continue. Other times, I need to get something done, and having my kids otherwise distracted is a win-win situation. This is no different than letting your toddler watch Teletubbies so that you can take a shower. And, yes, there are times when I am persuaded by the "Bambi eyes" and the fluttering eyelashes.
Perhaps with the exception of the very strongly principled few, who either support or disdain limits, I suspect most of us struggle with them on a daily basis. Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose. Though, in truth, it is not about winning and losing. If you treat your children as fully vested human beings, I believe you learn that flexibility is more important than limits. My children are not loud and demanding, but they are strong-willed, stubborn, outspoken, and increasingly able to construct a solid, unshakable argument. My job, as I see it, is to help them place their desires against the context of the needs of family and society, and learn when and how to compromise with grace, and when and how to stand up for themselves with conviction.

Just call her Miss Tolstoy

Both my children started uttering intelligible words at the tender age of 9 months. Interestingly, they began with the same word: cat. But while Peter confined himself to the last letter of the word, allowing us to figure out what he meant by pointing to one of our household felines, Nadia enunciated the word clearly and completely from the start. Once she mastered one word, she continued in the same vein, until at eighteen months, she was speaking complete sentences, like when I tried to blow hair out of her eyes: "Mommy, don't blow me, I'm not a balloon!". To balance her brother's tight-lipness, Nadia spoke early, enthusiastically and a lot.

Naturally, we assumed that this verbal precociousness would lead to early reading. In fact, we were puzzled when she showed an interest in writing long before she ever started to read. She didn't really know how to form all the letters, but didn't let that stop her, and composed paragraph upon paragraph of remarkably writing-like... well... writing.

Here she is, at her craft. (Incidentally, my dining room table almost never looks this neat.)

About a year and and a half went by, and Nadia tried everything from active reading instruction, being left to her own device, practicing with emergent reader books, and finally starfall.com. She read street signs and cereal boxes, but was no closer to being a Reader than her brother was at her age.

On her seventh birthday, Nadia received a set of Junie B. books from one of her friends. It took her about three days to get through the first chapter, and another week to get through the second. By the end of the next week, she'd read all of the books, and was ready to move on to an older heroine, Judy Moody.

Throughout all this, she continued to compose voluminous written materials: a diary, a travelogue, picture-books about cats and dogs, and numerous letters to friends. With the discovery of chapter books came new inspiration: she decided to try her hand at writing novels. She already has several manuscripts under her belt. I've found them tucked under her bedcovers, slipped into books, spread all over the rug, and  (her favorite place to compose) on the heater in the front window.

The young author draws heavily on real-life experience (though she changes her friends' identities to protect the innocent) and spices it up with intrigue, betrayals and drama. Her characters display strong emotions, have values, loyalties, a keen sense of fair play, as well as an eye for fashion. What is remarkable about these chapter books (aside from the creative approach to spelling) is the sustained effort she puts into them. Some of the novels are well over twenty pages long, each decorated with handsome illustrations.

Upon learning that I wanted to use her compositions in my blog, Nadia was horrified. It was  only after hours of strenuous persuasion that I got her to reluctantly agree to publish her works. But she wants you to understand that these compositions are still in draft form. So don't judge her too harshly.

The bumpy road to commitment

The ranking, competition and rewards system inherent in Tae Kwon Do instruction are a bit at odds with our laissez faire approach to personal achievement, advancement and life in general. Yet, we like and respect our instructor, enjoy the challenge, and find that the structure provides a valuable counterpoint to our otherwise disorganized lives.

Peter, who was the first one in our family to take up the art, is on the verge of earning his black belt. And we are asking ourselves whether reaching that milestone is consistent with what he wants and who he is.

Lately, he's been avoiding Tae Kwon Do. I've asked him if he wants to continue with the practice, and he insists that he does, but his actions don't support that claim. "Oh, let's not go today, let's go tomorrow..." and tomorrow "can we go on Saturday?" I have also offered to discuss with his instructor the possibility of taking a break for a number of weeks to let him regroup, and come back to the practice for his own reasons, whatever they may be. Unlike many other kids, he's not motivated by the potential rewards of reaching a higher rank. He's not competitive. While he is physically agile, he doesn't have the perfectionist streak that would drive him toward achievement.

Last week, we were working on personal histories, pasting important milestones from our family life into a timeline. To my surprise, Peter took some photos of himself doing Tae Kwon Do, and put them on his personal timeline, alongside his Playstation, and getting his cat Freddy.

I bit my tongue. But if TKD ranks up there with PS2 and a kitten, then there's hope for us yet.

D**n the consequences!

I think probably the book that was most instrumental in my decision to homeschool my children was Alfie Kohn's Unconditional Parenting. I never could figure out how people got their kids to stay in time-outs, how they kept track of and were consistently able to enforce various consequences, and how, through all this, they managed to remain apparently unmoved and detached.

My own adventures with my kids were much more emotionally charged. When I first cried in sheer exasperation in front of my son, and later worried that I've scarred him for life, my husband said emotions were part of family life, and it was good for kids to see them. When I tried setting limits and consequences in more traditional ways, my mother pulled me aside and whispered: "I think you're breaking his spirit..." I was thinking the same thing.

The idea of imposing consequences never really got a toehold in our house, because, well... I don't believe in them. I've always wanted to treat my children and full-fledged members of the household, capable of speaking for themselves and making their own decisions. The problem is, of course, that children are  children, and they don't always know what they want or what is in their best interest. They're also not that great at keeping and eye on the broader view, like the needs of the whole family, or the personal or professional needs of the parents.

The way most institutions, and indeed, many families, deal with that, is to impose rules and limits of acceptable behaviors, and consequences when the limits are breached.

It's not that I don't believe in the need for any rules and limits. But I feel that for them to be meaningful, they have to to be accepted by all parties involved. And I don't believe that I can get buy-in by imposing consequences for non-compliance. And when you don't have buy-in, are you really getting your kid to understand the true consequences of his actions, or only encouraging him to become better at evading the consequences he knows you'll impose?

I don't have all the answers by any stretch. I often leave a room, and close the door with conviction and finality, only to return a few minutes later waving a white flag. I don't want consequences; I want harmony!

The other day we had a rare afternoon of sunshine. Three out of four household members were enthusiastic about taking a walk. My son was not. One thing led to another, and the idea of a pleasant walk deteriorated into a family argument, door slamming, threats and tears. I pointed out to my son for the nth time, that I couldn't make him do something he didn't want to do, but I could, as a consequence, keep him from doing something he enjoyed. Needless to say, my lecture brought only more unhappiness, more tears, and failed to resolve anything.

In the end, while Chris went for a walk with our daughter, I managed to get Peter out of doors on the condition it would only be around the block. Fine. I'll take what I can get. While climbing the mountains of plowed snow around our neighborhood, we talked about his need for control. Regardless of what I think, Peter complained that he feels he is always told what to do. Interestingly, he was willing to admit that he didn't always know what he ought to be doing, and needed some guidance. We talked quite frankly about his craving to make his own choices throughout the day on the one hand, and on the other, the need for us to accomplish things as a family, as working parents, as a homeschoolers.

Did we solve the problem? No. At least not yet. But, as many times in the past, I feel I have gotten through. I have observed him many times making the kind of argument we make with him: using his reasons, his logic, trying to find a win-win, and to get us to buy-in to whatever ideas he has of his own. Although it often seems we're taking a couple steps forward and a step back, I feel that our open discussions, frankness, and the willingness to include him as a partner in our dialog will pay off in the long run.

I hope.

Pissed.

Don't try to tell this one about the weaker sex.

The little girl who only recently was all about princesses and "here comes the bride" has developed a fondness for track pants and calling herself a tomboy.

She usually hangs out with her four-years-older brother and his buddies, and for her nearly seven short years has learned to hold her own in their company. She firmly believes herself to be every bit as clever, advanced and accomplished as the eleven-year olds that surround her.

My son never gave a rat's ass about whether he was first, last, middle, or even in the game.

Not his sister. She wouldn't be caught dead in a group of youngsters if there was any way for hear to finagle her way into her brother's group. Once in, she would rise to the occasion. Where she lacked in ability, she would make up in sheer determination. Like when, at six and without knowing how to read, she memorized her entire part in the play right along with the older kids.

Unfortunately she can't escape her birthday, and life has been throwing all sorts of indignities at her. Take today, for example. We were heading to a program at a local nature preserve.

"I'll have to stay with you in class today."
"Why?"
"Because the sheet says they need parents to stay with 6 and 7 year olds."
"I don't need any help!"

Her cheeks burned with indignation and embarrassment, but that was all she said. She has been learning that some rules are inflexible.

Like the recent girl scout trip.

At the eleventh hour, an e-mail arrived reminding all Brownies to show up for the trip with a booster seat. Booster seat?! I quickly consulted the internet resources, and found that I had been ignorant of the booster seat law on the books since 2004. The revelation that she would have to ride in a booster caused my daughter to erupt in a geyser of tears. She could simply not suffer the  humiliation. I explained to her that she was welcome to stay at home. She was unequal to making a rational choice. On the one hand, the desperate desire to participate in a weekend trip, on the other, the mortal shame!...

But that wasn't the end of it. Because of the late hour and considerable snowfall we were receiving that day, a trip to the store for a booster seat was out of the question. I suggested we ask among our neighbors to see if anyone had a booster they were not using. My daughter stared at me round-eyed, red-cheeked, with tears streaming down her face, pointing a blaming finger at my chest: now the whole neighborhood will know I need a booster seat, and IT'S YOUR FAULT!

The seat we managed to borrow had been in a garage for sometime, and was, ehm, somewhat stained. This turned out to be a good thing. Because, as I set to scrubbing and laundering it, I had a brilliant idea.

"Hey, you know those paint markers I never let you use? The silver and gold and other color ones? How would you like to use them to decorate this seat?"

!

"OK!"

As it turned out, the markers were only the beginning of a beautiful thing. We stayed up half the night coaxing that old booster back to life. I don't know if anyone there noticed, but in the end, my daughter went to camp with a booster worthy of her fierce, unquenchable spirit.

Stop-motion

Lately, Peter has been obsessed with stop-motion videos.
He had a zillion question for us every single day, even though we explained to him in no uncertain terms that neither of us knew anything on the subject. Just in case, Peter set up elaborate lego sets and scenes, and shot several hundred pictures of lego figurines making the minutest of moves.
The other day, rigorous schoolwork on my mind, I walked down to the basement, and alerted Peter that soon we would be working on a writing assignment. Sure, mom.
When I walked back down 20 minutes later, he was deeply absorbed in arranging a legion of droids in a complicated formation. He didn't even know I was down there. I gave up on the writing project, and decided to stand back and watch what would happen.
What happened, was that he uploaded over 700 pictures to iPhoto, and announced he was stuck. He had tried making a slideshow (too slow), he had tried iMovie (how do you work this?), and now, did not know what to do.
Why don't you Google it?
I already did! There isn't anything.
What?
No, really. There was a cool movie of a girl and a sock, but that's it.
Why don't we try again?
OK. Yeah, this is it.
But Peter, there are detailed instructions here for what you want to do!
Yeah? Oh, yeah. I didn't read it...
So, I kind of pointed him in the right direction, and left the room. After a few false starts, a 10-second video was produced. It was hard to follow, though, because the camera jumped all over the place. Peter figured out that he had to do something to ensure that camera stayed in the same place for all the shots. Once that problem was solved, it was smooth sailing. He imported his photos into iMovie, and created several stop-motion shorts. He also figured out how to add some rudimentary special effects using Photoshop Elements.

Adding audio will be our next challenge.
OK. Here is a link to one with audio. As Peter is experimenting with iMovie, I'm experimenting with iWeb. We'll see what will come from this collaboration.

Judge not

Interesting conversation last night.
We were discussing dissecting children's writing: their spelling, grammar, organization. How easy it is for us, said one friend, to be judgemental, and to forever cast a shadow on our kids' early attempts to write. With our critique, we may destroy any early desire they have to express themselves in writing. We never, she continued, judge their drawing the way we judge their writing.
This struck a chord.
I am a ruthless judge of writing. My expectations are enormous, my disappointment, when they are not met, bitter.
But I have rarely, if ever, criticized either of my kids' artistic efforts. Despite the fact that I was deemed to be a "good artist" myself as a kid, I don't believe I've ever drawn anything that approaches my son's creative skill. 
Perhaps because his drawings are freely and universally admired, not only by parents and grandparents (hey, that's easy!), but by other adults outside the family circle, he continues to prolifically produce more and better ones each and every day. He continues to acquire new skills, completely of his own accord, and without any nagging or prodding from us. He has mastered the Paint program, which has always mystified me, without a single word of help or instruction from anyone (click to enlarge, if you like).

Yesterday, he said that when he is stuck for someting to draw, he will make himself draw a line, or a triangle, and then just see what happens. And usually, a picture will come out. I didn't bite my tongue. I asked, why then, when stuck for something to write about, he couldn't just write a simple work and see what will follow?!
Why indeed not! Because I'm hovering over him like a hawk. Oh, it's easy, just write something, for heavens' sake!

 

Relinquishing control

National magazine cover seen at grocery checkout.

The poor kid in the photo is canned. (OK, I know the kid is a model, but I mean, the real kid he represents). His parents have made a life plan for him, which covers everything from his pre-school wardrobe, playground buddies, after school activities, number of hours spent reading, playing an accepted musical instrument, etc, etc, and is supposed to put him on the straight and narrow to the Ivy League.
We can only plan for the future based on experiences of our past. Unfortunately, this does not help us in projecting a realistic picture of the future. Think of any visionary, historical, or someone you know. They did not get to where they are by looking over their shoulder. They changed the world, society, or perhaps only themselves, by looking forward, and imagining the future the way it could be.
Parents want to ensure that, as adults, their children will be able to function as successful, happy members of society. And we imagine that this can be achieved by attaining a certain professional excellence, or even competency, which in turn ensures a certain level of income. This, in turn, provides for a comfortable, worry-free lifestyle, filled with high quality material goods, suitable recreational activities (think golf), attractive wardrobe and personal grooming, and thus, the ability to win a desirable mate to perpetuate this chain of events into eternity. Voila! happiness on a plate.
The deep-seated idea "that a worthwhile life comes about through personal achievement and the recognition of brilliance" is rarely questioned (see The Not So Big Life by Susan Susanka). Unfortunately, the chief ingredient in this recipe for happiness is the kid him or herself, who may have entirely different ideas.
Wasn't that true for you when you were a kid? How many people do you know who pursued a narrow career path and achieved BOTH success and happiness? How many people do you know who changed horses in mid-stream, and traded a large paycheck for MORE LIFE? Why is there a need for books with tiles like Is It Too Late To Run Away And Joint The Circus?
Looking at my own life (not that I have all the answers, but I'm my best point of reference), I know that I experienced the greatest moments of stress, when I tried to control the outcome the hardest. Here are some discoveries I made when I was able to relinquish control. Some are so obvious, you'll laugh!

• Education is not necessarily a way to the top, but it is a way to get to know something about myself as a person.
• Being at the top is not important to me.
• Quitting is not failing.
• Disappearing is not dropping out.
• You can't make love happen, but you can welcome it.
• Employment is not something I have to be given. I can create my own.
• I'm pretty sure I don't ever want to work for someone. But I'm OK with working for something.
• When I really need to know something, I can learn it.
• I do not have to live like my neighbors.
• I do not have to have what my neighbors have. In fact, I may not want it. Only sometimes it takes a while to realize this.
• I do not have to spend time with people who don't make me feel good about myself.
• Having a manicured lawn is not important to me.
• On the other hand, having an orderly house is, but it's not worth a divorce.
• Goal setting is overrated (this sneaking suspicion was validated for me by, surprise! an article in Newsweek)
• I would rather have time than money.
• I would rather spend time with family and friends than with strangers.
• My children's achievements are for them alone, and do not establish me as a "good parent"
• Vacation is best when I don't have an agenda.

When my son was born, I had two wishes for him: I wanted him to be happy and good. It is still my only and most ardent wish for both my children. But a wish is not a plan.