The recent University of Illinois admissions scandal has the Chicago Tribune in a tizzy, but most of the reports I’ve seen are missing the critical ethical point. The press seems to be riled by, gasp, the fact that patronage and privilege has entered into college admissions. Next we’ll see headlines about rich kids doing better in school than poor kids. Or that the sun rose in the east this morning.
Influence, money, and where daddy or mommy went to school have always had a profound influence on where junior gets in. But not at STATE universities. Those are the ones that are supposed to be fair—that striving, hard working kids who are smart, get good grades, and test scores above a certain level can rely on admission (barring getting arrested, having a known drug habit, or plagiarizing someone else’s novel—which, by the way, don’t seem to bar you from some Ivies.)
If you were smart enough to get into Harvard, but your family had 8 kids and you spent your summers working on the loading dock, the University of Illinois was always a place you could depend on for a solid education, one that you might be able to pay for. Sure, maybe the dorms have the hardest mattresses on earth, and many of your classes will be taken with 200 of your favorite freshmen, but the instruction’s fine, the libraries extensive, and sooner or later you’ll cut the herd experience down to size via all the campus groups available. When we toured the U of I, it bothered me more to see the extensive tutoring facilities for athletes and the attention paid to them than the quality of the student digs. Sports bring in money and alumni loyalty, I guess. Never been a big factor for me at the University of Chicago, and maybe I’m wrong, but studying at the Sorbonne probably doesn’t have a big athletic component, either.
The University of Illinois has always been the place for smart strivers, a place where you could be certain you could get in on your own merits, not because you knew someone. It was pretty easy to figure out the rules—right GPA, right test scores, you’re in. No sucking up to daddy’s law partner, no beating yourself into meaningless volunteer activities just to look good. No wondering what you said wrong in an admissions essay read by a snooty admissions officer five years older than you. You got in based on what you had achieved, not whom your family knew.
The trustees and politicians who put the fix in have destroyed something good and true, fair and dependable, something truly democratic. If I were a University of Illinois graduate, I’d be organizing lanterns and pitchforks rallies in front of their homes.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Sunday, August 2, 2009
No rapture
Okay, I know they’re two of the hippest authors around; Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman, that is. I know so because my in-house authority on everything cool (aka teenage daughter) has assured me so. I even heard Neil Gaiman speak at the Printers Row Lit Festival in June, and liked him a lot. He was self effacing, dressed in black (the color of the entire contents of my closet, also), and reassuringly middle aged. He had some good jokes, too, although I’ve since seen the same ones at venues all over the internet. So, the guy recognizes a good thing (in fact, several good things) when he sees it. In the weeks after the Lit Fest, I saw him here, there and everywhere. Was I just being hyper-aware? No, he gets his name and face around as much as Obama on campaign—okay, maybe I’m just a tad jealous of his promotion machine.
With great trembling and anticipation, therefore, I picked up Good Omens, which my authority cites as a cult classic. No, actually, my daughter insisted I would be hopelessly déclassé (yes she uses words like that) if I did not instantly consume it. Read it I did, all 367 pages, and the month and a half it took me to force myself to finish it seemed longer than waiting for the Second Coming. It’s a so-clever novel about the Apocalypse (wink) which you’re not supposed to figure out right away unless you’re a teen (wink, wink) or a 50 something writer who’s seen this kind of “clever” for about 45 years now. Oh, and the good angel has some faults (wink, wink, wink) and the bad angel isn’t so bad (wink). I got all that by, maybe, page 20. Then, for 347 more pages I have to trail these guys around England while they do absolutely nothing, have no character arc, and nobody in the book has the slightest human appeal. Pratchett and Gaiman must have developed serious ticks by now from all that winking. I do get to figure out who are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and other stuff that’s so obvious my Giant Schnauzer could spot it.
My opinions on this book naturally elicited a huge sigh and significant eye rolling from world’s foremost authority. However, there is one thing I’m very grateful for—I’m going straight to heaven. I already did my time in purgatory.
With great trembling and anticipation, therefore, I picked up Good Omens, which my authority cites as a cult classic. No, actually, my daughter insisted I would be hopelessly déclassé (yes she uses words like that) if I did not instantly consume it. Read it I did, all 367 pages, and the month and a half it took me to force myself to finish it seemed longer than waiting for the Second Coming. It’s a so-clever novel about the Apocalypse (wink) which you’re not supposed to figure out right away unless you’re a teen (wink, wink) or a 50 something writer who’s seen this kind of “clever” for about 45 years now. Oh, and the good angel has some faults (wink, wink, wink) and the bad angel isn’t so bad (wink). I got all that by, maybe, page 20. Then, for 347 more pages I have to trail these guys around England while they do absolutely nothing, have no character arc, and nobody in the book has the slightest human appeal. Pratchett and Gaiman must have developed serious ticks by now from all that winking. I do get to figure out who are the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and other stuff that’s so obvious my Giant Schnauzer could spot it.
My opinions on this book naturally elicited a huge sigh and significant eye rolling from world’s foremost authority. However, there is one thing I’m very grateful for—I’m going straight to heaven. I already did my time in purgatory.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Personal stimulus plan for the arts
If everyone who ever has ever thought about writing a book or majored in English would subscribe to one literary journal, those tiny and usually struggling publications would see their circulations skyrocket. If everyone whose child has ever taken dance lessons would attend one dance performance a month (hey, once a quarter), many dance troupes would find they could actually afford to continue. If everyone who ever enjoyed acting in a high school play would attend three or four experimental theater events or independent movie festivals, these projects wouldn’t have to function in borrowed spaces and decrepit venues.
My point is, all of these things are the training and proving grounds for the arts. If we want to enjoy innovative and creative arts, there has to be an audience that supports them. Plenty of us are interested in being seen ourselves. Couldn’t we benefit by seeing what others are doing? Wouldn’t it just be fun to get our car out of the usual ruts and drive somewhere different?
Not only do the arts desperately need support, but artists also crave feedback. Personally, I have really enjoyed meeting writers at bookstore signings. Hearing Robert Coles speak years ago, I’m still thinking over some of the things he said, and it was a great thrill to meet him in person, to find out how soft spoken and shy he appeared. That kind of opportunity has really diminished in the last year or so, and why? Because publishers are reluctant to take on the expense of sending an author on a book tour where she may find herself sitting alone at a table for hours. People just don’t come, unless the writer is a blockbuster. If we do read a good short story in a lit journal, would it kill us to drop a line to the author? Ever considered that it might be helpful to tell a director of that play what staging you thought worked? Sure, bestselling novelists get more mail than they can handle, but the mid-tier artist often gets very little feedback. At its best, art communicates; it would be nice if the conversation were two-way.
Most of us have cut back on eating out, and perhaps traded first run movies for discs from Netflix. If there’s any room for a tiny bit more belt tightening, perhaps those savings could be put into supporting the small arts production of your choice. I’m currently trying to pick up at least one literary journal per month at the local bookstore, with an eye to finding one or two to subscribe to that I really enjoy and will actually read. Artists and people who would like to see a vibrant arts scene might well consider the wisdom of Rabbi Hillel, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? But if I am only for myself, then what am I? If not now, when?”
Seen any good dance performances lately?
My point is, all of these things are the training and proving grounds for the arts. If we want to enjoy innovative and creative arts, there has to be an audience that supports them. Plenty of us are interested in being seen ourselves. Couldn’t we benefit by seeing what others are doing? Wouldn’t it just be fun to get our car out of the usual ruts and drive somewhere different?
Not only do the arts desperately need support, but artists also crave feedback. Personally, I have really enjoyed meeting writers at bookstore signings. Hearing Robert Coles speak years ago, I’m still thinking over some of the things he said, and it was a great thrill to meet him in person, to find out how soft spoken and shy he appeared. That kind of opportunity has really diminished in the last year or so, and why? Because publishers are reluctant to take on the expense of sending an author on a book tour where she may find herself sitting alone at a table for hours. People just don’t come, unless the writer is a blockbuster. If we do read a good short story in a lit journal, would it kill us to drop a line to the author? Ever considered that it might be helpful to tell a director of that play what staging you thought worked? Sure, bestselling novelists get more mail than they can handle, but the mid-tier artist often gets very little feedback. At its best, art communicates; it would be nice if the conversation were two-way.
Most of us have cut back on eating out, and perhaps traded first run movies for discs from Netflix. If there’s any room for a tiny bit more belt tightening, perhaps those savings could be put into supporting the small arts production of your choice. I’m currently trying to pick up at least one literary journal per month at the local bookstore, with an eye to finding one or two to subscribe to that I really enjoy and will actually read. Artists and people who would like to see a vibrant arts scene might well consider the wisdom of Rabbi Hillel, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? But if I am only for myself, then what am I? If not now, when?”
Seen any good dance performances lately?
Monday, July 27, 2009
STEM the tide
I’ve been listening to the ballyhoo about the need for more trained graduates in math and science since Sputnik shot up in 1957 and if I’d been around earlier, I’m sure I would have heard it then. Now the “rose” has another name—Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics (STEM)—but I’m not sure it doesn’t still smell of wrongheadedness. Corporations have been crying to the government for more support for these training programs for over 50 years now, and if I live another 50, my guess is I’ll still be hearing about it.
However, as soon as the STEMmys get jobs, the corporations start howling about how they can’t think beyond their technical specialty, can’t see the big picture, and can’t write any better than a fifth grader. Duh, why not? Could it be that they never studied anything that allowed them to see beyond the edge of their computer monitors? And a degree in STEM is no guarantee of a job, either, despite what the corporations would like us to believe. Ask anyone who’s worked for Motorola or Lucent in the last 20 years.
Unfortunately, even our beloved president—no graduate of STEM, he!—seems to be mouthing this conventional wisdom. It’s shocking that a guy whose thinking is so innovative on so many fronts seems to have a big blind spot where education is concerned. So, Mr. President, I’m going to make a really radical proposal.
Drop all special initiative for STEM. If the corporations need specialists, let the corporations PAY for that training. Maybe they’ll get the employees they need if they design the program. And why shouldn’t they foot the bills? They’re not going to reimburse the feds, like the banks have. But the role of government should be to support those important programs that do not necessarily have a direct profit price tag attached, but enhance and protect the quality of life. We are living in a world where too many governments have taken on the role of corporate partner, and in fact are impotent in the face of multinationals. But government is of, by and for PEOPLE, not business.
If government is going to support educational programs, I suggest we should be supporting the liberal arts and humanities. These are the areas of learning that lend intrinsic meaning, expression and connection to life, all things the robots of STEM cannot replicate. Maybe they don’t ring a corporate recruiter’s bells, but most of the English, or history, or French lit majors I know do find jobs. I also know plenty of computer science majors who are out of work right now.
More and more, arts instruction has become the province of the children of the upper middle class, whose parents know the value and purchase after-school instruction. But move down the economic ladder a bit and you’re out of luck—music, art, dance and theater programs have been sliced out of nearly all public school budgets.
We are seeing a country where the children of the rich are helped to express themselves, develop thinking ability, access culture and broaden their (already broad) experience, while the children of the working class and the poor are told to focus on getting a job, and get training for—for what? When I took computer science classes, we spent tons of time learning COBOL. I don’t think the schools know what technical skills will be useful by the time the kids graduate.
Mr. Obama did his undergraduate work at Columbia University (a school renowned for its Great Books-style curriculum) where he majored in political science. It doesn’t seem to have hurt his employability any.
However, as soon as the STEMmys get jobs, the corporations start howling about how they can’t think beyond their technical specialty, can’t see the big picture, and can’t write any better than a fifth grader. Duh, why not? Could it be that they never studied anything that allowed them to see beyond the edge of their computer monitors? And a degree in STEM is no guarantee of a job, either, despite what the corporations would like us to believe. Ask anyone who’s worked for Motorola or Lucent in the last 20 years.
Unfortunately, even our beloved president—no graduate of STEM, he!—seems to be mouthing this conventional wisdom. It’s shocking that a guy whose thinking is so innovative on so many fronts seems to have a big blind spot where education is concerned. So, Mr. President, I’m going to make a really radical proposal.
Drop all special initiative for STEM. If the corporations need specialists, let the corporations PAY for that training. Maybe they’ll get the employees they need if they design the program. And why shouldn’t they foot the bills? They’re not going to reimburse the feds, like the banks have. But the role of government should be to support those important programs that do not necessarily have a direct profit price tag attached, but enhance and protect the quality of life. We are living in a world where too many governments have taken on the role of corporate partner, and in fact are impotent in the face of multinationals. But government is of, by and for PEOPLE, not business.
If government is going to support educational programs, I suggest we should be supporting the liberal arts and humanities. These are the areas of learning that lend intrinsic meaning, expression and connection to life, all things the robots of STEM cannot replicate. Maybe they don’t ring a corporate recruiter’s bells, but most of the English, or history, or French lit majors I know do find jobs. I also know plenty of computer science majors who are out of work right now.
More and more, arts instruction has become the province of the children of the upper middle class, whose parents know the value and purchase after-school instruction. But move down the economic ladder a bit and you’re out of luck—music, art, dance and theater programs have been sliced out of nearly all public school budgets.
We are seeing a country where the children of the rich are helped to express themselves, develop thinking ability, access culture and broaden their (already broad) experience, while the children of the working class and the poor are told to focus on getting a job, and get training for—for what? When I took computer science classes, we spent tons of time learning COBOL. I don’t think the schools know what technical skills will be useful by the time the kids graduate.
Mr. Obama did his undergraduate work at Columbia University (a school renowned for its Great Books-style curriculum) where he majored in political science. It doesn’t seem to have hurt his employability any.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
10 classic books; 5 enjoyable, 5 not so much
From the 6 foot high pile next to my bed, five classic books I just can’t seem to finish:
1. Moby Dick
2. Don Quixote
I’ve made a run at both of these so many times over the years. I’d like to assign them to my daughter. I’m afraid she’ll call family services on me if I do. Has anyone besides an English professor ever finished these books?
3. The Bible. Even read as literature, I can’t do it. I’ve made it through Genesis, Daniel, Ruth and Matthew. That’s all. Several translations.
4. Herodotus, The Histories. We have the Landmark edition, which weighs a thousand pounds and stops my breathing when placed on my abdomen while lying in bed reading. My daughter “assigned” this book to me. She loved it—calls the guy the ”Ancient Geek”.
5. Sei Shonagon, The Pillow Book. This one begins with a dog story that makes me ralph. It goes on for hundreds of pages that have no point that I can ascertain, about people that make reality tv contestants look smart. Except that they murder each other. I guess it just proves that people can be vile and shallow no matter what century they live in.
And five classics that kept me up all night:
1. Sigrid Undset, Kristin Lavransdatter. Actually, this kept me up for about a week, as it’s a trilogy. I bought the first book on a Friday evening, thinking that I wasn’t sure if I wanted all three. Saturday morning I helped them open the bookstore, and the whole weekend was shot after that. Great medieval saga, heartbreaking and compelling.
2. George Elliott, Middlemarch. This was in the other pile when I was younger, but when I picked it up a couple of years ago, it suddenly had transformed from dull to compelling. Certain books speak to certain ages, and I think you might need to be over 40 to really get this one. A great delineation of older, but sadly wiser, and what we pay for that knowledge.
3. Mark Twain, Joan of Arc. Twain thought this might be his best book. It isn’t, but it’s sweet and believable, and the man sure could tell a story.
4. The Epic of Gilgamesh. Okay, maybe this is cheating because what we have is fragmentary and pretty short. But I found it a touching portrayal of friendship, the quest to find and develop an authentic self, and the despair of confronting mortality.
5. Charlotte Bronte, Wuthering Heights. I just read that this is one of the most hated books assigned to high school students. Is thwarted romance and heartbreaking yearning dead? Do we have no time for vividly evoked place and passion? Merle Oberon and Laurence Olivier are probably rolling in their graves.
I do suspect that different books speak to us at different ages and after different life events. For years, I could not get through the Iliad, then forced myself to read it before dear daughter found it on her reading list. Where before it had seemed to me a simple gory catalog, now it seems one of the greatest anti-war works ever written. Who can fail to read about all the painful, individual deaths without mourning the lost lives, the tragedies of someone’s brother, son, father? Who can fail to root for Hector, trapped in a situation not of his making, trying to do the right thing as it destroys his life? Can we not all identify with Achilles, who makes such bad decisions in anger and finds out too late what really means something to him? It didn’t keep me up nights, but it did make for compelling reading.
They’re called classics because they bear up well for a second, a third, a late-in-life reading. Just maybe not all of them. Or maybe I’m not old enough, yet.
1. Moby Dick
2. Don Quixote
I’ve made a run at both of these so many times over the years. I’d like to assign them to my daughter. I’m afraid she’ll call family services on me if I do. Has anyone besides an English professor ever finished these books?
3. The Bible. Even read as literature, I can’t do it. I’ve made it through Genesis, Daniel, Ruth and Matthew. That’s all. Several translations.
4. Herodotus, The Histories. We have the Landmark edition, which weighs a thousand pounds and stops my breathing when placed on my abdomen while lying in bed reading. My daughter “assigned” this book to me. She loved it—calls the guy the ”Ancient Geek”.
5. Sei Shonagon, The Pillow Book. This one begins with a dog story that makes me ralph. It goes on for hundreds of pages that have no point that I can ascertain, about people that make reality tv contestants look smart. Except that they murder each other. I guess it just proves that people can be vile and shallow no matter what century they live in.
And five classics that kept me up all night:
1. Sigrid Undset, Kristin Lavransdatter. Actually, this kept me up for about a week, as it’s a trilogy. I bought the first book on a Friday evening, thinking that I wasn’t sure if I wanted all three. Saturday morning I helped them open the bookstore, and the whole weekend was shot after that. Great medieval saga, heartbreaking and compelling.
2. George Elliott, Middlemarch. This was in the other pile when I was younger, but when I picked it up a couple of years ago, it suddenly had transformed from dull to compelling. Certain books speak to certain ages, and I think you might need to be over 40 to really get this one. A great delineation of older, but sadly wiser, and what we pay for that knowledge.
3. Mark Twain, Joan of Arc. Twain thought this might be his best book. It isn’t, but it’s sweet and believable, and the man sure could tell a story.
4. The Epic of Gilgamesh. Okay, maybe this is cheating because what we have is fragmentary and pretty short. But I found it a touching portrayal of friendship, the quest to find and develop an authentic self, and the despair of confronting mortality.
5. Charlotte Bronte, Wuthering Heights. I just read that this is one of the most hated books assigned to high school students. Is thwarted romance and heartbreaking yearning dead? Do we have no time for vividly evoked place and passion? Merle Oberon and Laurence Olivier are probably rolling in their graves.
I do suspect that different books speak to us at different ages and after different life events. For years, I could not get through the Iliad, then forced myself to read it before dear daughter found it on her reading list. Where before it had seemed to me a simple gory catalog, now it seems one of the greatest anti-war works ever written. Who can fail to read about all the painful, individual deaths without mourning the lost lives, the tragedies of someone’s brother, son, father? Who can fail to root for Hector, trapped in a situation not of his making, trying to do the right thing as it destroys his life? Can we not all identify with Achilles, who makes such bad decisions in anger and finds out too late what really means something to him? It didn’t keep me up nights, but it did make for compelling reading.
They’re called classics because they bear up well for a second, a third, a late-in-life reading. Just maybe not all of them. Or maybe I’m not old enough, yet.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Buy Homer, not a Hummer
Recently I heard a school librarian and a reading specialist discuss what kids are reading. It’s enough to chill the bones of any author. I don’t mean only serious children’s authors who have to compete with the likes of Captain Underpants. Adult authors, too, have plenty to worry about. Looks to me like serious writers might need to worry that they’re about to follow newspapers down the sink hole.
According to these women, historical fiction is out. Kids just don’t get enough history in K-8 to have a context in which to place these stories. The organization, content and expectations are just pitiful. Here’s what one local school system does:
3rd Grade: Early Illinois history
4th Grade: Geography
5th Grade: More geography and U.S . History through the Civil War (if we’re lucky, commented the librarian)
6th Grade: Prehistory to Ancient Rome (okay, I’m on board here)
7th Grade: back to Geography
8th Grade: U.S. Government and U.S. History from Reconstruction to the Cold War
Why on earth kids need so much geography, and why it can’t be taught in the more meaningful context of history, is beyond me. At my house dear daughter never studied geography as a separate subject (oh, okay, she did some workbook pages on Fridays in 3rd & 4th grade) until 8th grade, when dd took AP Human Geography, easily passing with a 5. What’s missing from the above curriculum? How about all of European, Middle Eastern and Asian history, with only a smidgen of African history thrown in for political correctness?
By 8th grade, some kids have discovered historical fiction on their own, but the bulk of their early reading is focused (according to these speakers) on fantasy, relationships series (if girls) and horror (if boys). Also, the classic children’s books of the past have either been moved up to high school, being too long with too difficult vocabulary, or eliminated all together, being at odds with modern political correctness. In high school it’s better—our local high school requires 4 history or social studies courses, and a judicious choice can get some pretty good survey courses. Too bad it’s their first encounter.
I firmly believe in the “inoculation” theory of education, by which I mean, you give kids a shot of something several times over a period of years, and eventually that exposure strengthens their bodies’ response to the stimulus. The kid who read a picture book of the Odyssey in 1st grade and a retelling in 5th grade will be raring to go on the real thing by high school (not bored out of their gourds, as my daughter observed at a local high school class.)
Grappling with serious literature, classics, and lengthy works only becomes easy with exposure and training. The child who is exposed to the arts early on, in a meaningful context, by a teacher (or parent) who is knowledgeable and enthusiastic, will be a lifelong fan—at least an appreciative audience if not a creator.
All the stats show that newspapers have failed to reach a younger audience, who has never developed the habit of reading the morning paper (or the afternoon one, remember those?) But ultimately, we as parents and we as artists can’t leave it up to the schools. As an old poem says, children learn what they live. Children who see us anticipating concerts with enthusiasm, reading challenging books, and actually using our museum memberships for our own adult benefit will have a whole different cultural vocabulary from those whose evenings are spent watching reality tv. If only we valued season tickets to the opera as highly as we value ownership of a Hummer.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Nag, nag, nag!
When my daughter was first taking music lessons (piano) her first teacher wisely told me that she had never seen a student progress well without a parent who kept on them. Since I vacillate between being a drill sergeant and a pushover, I never quite got my nagging program in gear. As might be expected, piano progress was so-so.
However, when she began harp lessons, I was convinced that I might as well throw $55 out the window, and my nag switch opened full throttle. Besides the fact that harp turned out to be “her” instrument (see my post on harps), she readily admits that without the...er...motivation I supplied she never would have made the progress she has.
It strikes me that as teachers and learners, we really should just admit something to ourselves and our students: some things just aren’t fun to learn. Fields that require memorization or significant practice to master are going to have a huge quantity of things you have to beat yourself into doing: the foundations of music, math and foreign languages are, let’s say it, dull and repetitious. No amount of cute computer animation or music enhanced audio flashcards, or any of the other tricks we try really make a difference. Expecting a child to have the discipline needed is unrealistic. Someone else, someone who can visualize the long term benefits, needs to supply the superego.
As I used to pound into my daughter, memorizing the 2500 or 3000 words needed to read a French newspaper is no fun, but being able to pick up a French language fashion magazine or make yourself understood while travelling is a lot of fun indeed. Getting to the fun part, at least in some fields, requires a significant amount of grinding away. For me, and for her, the study of literature or history has been intrinsically pleasurable, because it exercises the brain, but requires no particular skill building exercises once you’ve learned to read. But not so with math, languages, music and advanced art: it’s practice, review and memorize for a long time before you can think big thoughts or work with anything interesting.
“Child-led learning” sounds great and is certainly a popular concept in both traditional and homeschool settings. I wish I believed in it. I wish my child had known what she wanted to do and pursued it wholeheartedly at an early age. I wish I could fly. While I recognize that there are kids like that somewhere on the planet, I think it’s a disservice to expect all of them to be that way, or to wait until they are. How could a child discover a passion for Javanese gamelan (or harp) if she was never exposed to that possibility? So, until I’m confident that she can drive herself, I still direct the tour.
However, when she began harp lessons, I was convinced that I might as well throw $55 out the window, and my nag switch opened full throttle. Besides the fact that harp turned out to be “her” instrument (see my post on harps), she readily admits that without the...er...motivation I supplied she never would have made the progress she has.
It strikes me that as teachers and learners, we really should just admit something to ourselves and our students: some things just aren’t fun to learn. Fields that require memorization or significant practice to master are going to have a huge quantity of things you have to beat yourself into doing: the foundations of music, math and foreign languages are, let’s say it, dull and repetitious. No amount of cute computer animation or music enhanced audio flashcards, or any of the other tricks we try really make a difference. Expecting a child to have the discipline needed is unrealistic. Someone else, someone who can visualize the long term benefits, needs to supply the superego.
As I used to pound into my daughter, memorizing the 2500 or 3000 words needed to read a French newspaper is no fun, but being able to pick up a French language fashion magazine or make yourself understood while travelling is a lot of fun indeed. Getting to the fun part, at least in some fields, requires a significant amount of grinding away. For me, and for her, the study of literature or history has been intrinsically pleasurable, because it exercises the brain, but requires no particular skill building exercises once you’ve learned to read. But not so with math, languages, music and advanced art: it’s practice, review and memorize for a long time before you can think big thoughts or work with anything interesting.
“Child-led learning” sounds great and is certainly a popular concept in both traditional and homeschool settings. I wish I believed in it. I wish my child had known what she wanted to do and pursued it wholeheartedly at an early age. I wish I could fly. While I recognize that there are kids like that somewhere on the planet, I think it’s a disservice to expect all of them to be that way, or to wait until they are. How could a child discover a passion for Javanese gamelan (or harp) if she was never exposed to that possibility? So, until I’m confident that she can drive herself, I still direct the tour.
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