“What if I told you that slow pace of life you crave is achievable? What if I told you you don’t need to be a teacher, or have all the answers? What if I told… More
I first learned of John Holt when I came across this book: Better Than School by Nancy Wallace. At that time our children where in diapers. Today, they have graduated college and are leading happy, successful and productive lives.
John Holt has written many books. The following are my favorites: Learning All The Time, How Children Fail, How Children Learn, Teach Your Own. He has also written extensively in favor of homeschooling. The following article addresses many concerns and debunks many myths about homeschooling.
Common Objections to Homeschooling by John Holt
Since our countries are so large and our people are from so many different kinds of backgrounds (this was said most recently to me by a Canadian) don’t we need some kind of social glue to make us stick together, to give us a sense of unity in spite of all our differences, and aren’t compulsory public schools the easiest and best places to make this glue?
About needing the glue, he’s absolutely right. We do need such a glue, certainly in big diverse countries like the U.S. and Canada, but also in much smaller and more tightly-knit countries, many of whom are also breaking apart under the stresses of modern life.
Right now, the main social glue we seem to have here in the U.S. is hatred of “enemy” countries. Except when briefly united in such hatred, far too many of us see our fellow-citizens, even those of our own color, religion, etc., only as our natural enemies and rightful prey, to do in if we can. Indeed, we insist that this way of looking at other people is actually a virtue, which we name “competition.” This outlook may have worked fairly well when our country was young, nearly empty, and rich in natural resources, but not anymore. For our very survival, let alone health and happiness, we need a much stronger and better social glue than this.
Some kinds of community gathering places and activities might help us form this social glue. But not schools – not as long as they also have the job of sorting out the young into winners and losers, and preparing the losers for a lifetime of losing. These two jobs can’t be done in the same place at the same time.
People are best able, and perhaps only able, to cross the many barriers of race, class, custom, and belief that divide them when they are able to share experiences that make them feel good. Only from these do they get a stronger sense of their own, and therefore other people’s, uniqueness, dignity, and worth. But as long as schools have their present social tasks, they will not be able to give such experiences to most children. In fact, most of what happens in school makes children feel the exact opposite – stupid, incompetent, ashamed. Distrusting and despising themselves, they then try to make themselves feel a little better by finding others whom they can look down on even more – poorer children, children from other races, children who do less well in school.
Even if children do learn in school to despise, fear, and even hate children from other social groups, might they not hate them even more if they did not meet them in school? At least in school they see these other groups as real people. Without school, they would know them only as abstractions, bogeymen. This might sometimes be true, but only of those few children for whom the world outside of school was as dull, painful, humiliating, and threatening as school. Most children who learn without school, or who go only when they want to, grow up with a much stronger sense of their own dignity and worth, and therefore, with much less need to despise and hate others.
The important question, how can people learn to feel a stronger sense of kinship or common humanity with others who are different, is for me best answered by a story about John L. Sullivan, once the heavyweight prize fighting champion of the world. Late one afternoon he and a friend were riding standing up in a crowded New York City streetcar. At one stop, a burly young man got on who had had too much to drink. He swaggered down the center of the car, pushing people out of his way, and as he passed John L., gave him a heavy shove with his shoulder. John L. clutched a strap to keep from falling, but said nothing. As the young man went to the back of the car, John L.’s friend said to him, “Are you going to let him get away with that?.” John L. shrugged and said, “Oh, I don’t see why not.” His friend became very indignant. “You’re the heavyweight champion of the world,” he said furiously. “You don’t have to be so damned polite.” To which John L. replied, “The heavyweight champion of the world can afford to be polite.”
What we need to pull our countries more together are more people who can afford to be polite, and much more – kind, patient, generous, forgiving, and tolerant, able and willing, not just to stand people different from themselves, but to make an effort to understand them, to see the world through their eyes. These social virtues are not the kind that can be talked or preached or discussed or bribed or threatened into people. They are a kind of surplus, an overflowing, in people who have enough love and respect for themselves and therefore have some left over for others.
Children in public schools are able to meet, and get to know, many children very different from themselves. If they didn’t go to public school, how would this happen?
The first part of the answer to this question has to be that it very rarely happens in public schools. Except in very small schools, of which there are few, and which tend to be one-class schools anyway, children in public schools, other than a few top athletes, have very little contact with others different from themselves, and less and less as they rise through the grades. In most large schools the children are tracked, i.e., the college track, the business track, the vocational track. Even within each major track there may be subgroupings. Large schools may often have a half-dozen or more tracks. Students in one track go to one group of classes, students in another track go to others. Very rarely will students from different tracks find themselves in the same class. But – and here is the main point – study after study has shown that these tracks correlate perfectly with family income and social status: the richest or most socially prominent kids in the top track, the next richest in the next, and so on down to the poorest kids in the bottom track.
In theory, children are assigned to these tracks according to their school abilities. In practice, children are put in tracks almost as soon as they enter school, long before they have had time to show what abilities they may have. Once put in a track, few children ever escape from it. A Chicago second grade teacher once told me that in her bottom-track class of poor non-white children were two or three who were exceptionally good at schoolwork. Since they learned, quickly and well, everything she was supposed to be teaching them, she gave them A’s. Soon after she had submitted her first grades, the principal called her in, and asked why she had given A’s to some of her students. She explained that these children were very bright and had done all the work. He ordered her to lower their grades, saying that if they had been capable of getting A’s they wouldn’t have been put in the lowest track. But, as she found upon checking, they had been put into this lowest track almost as soon as they had entered school.
Even where the schools do not track children by classes, the teachers are almost certain to track them within their classes. In Freedom and Beyond I gave this example:
An even more horrifying example of the way this discrimination works can be found in the article “Student Social Class and Teacher Expectation: The Self-fulfilling Prophecy in Ghetto Education,” by Ray Rist, in the August 1970 issue of the Harvard Educational Review. The kindergarten teacher described, after only eight days of school, and entirely on the basis of appearance, dress, manners, in short, “middle classness”, divided her class into three tracks by seating them at three separate tables, which remained fixed for the rest of the year. One of these tables got virtually all of her teaching, attention, and support; the other two were increasingly ignored except when the teacher told them to do something or commented unfavorably on what they did. Worse yet, the children at the favored table were allowed and encouraged to make fun of the children at the other two tables, and to boss them around.
Rist followed these children through three years of school, and reported, first, that these children’s first and second grade teachers also tracked by tables within their classes, and secondly, that only one of the children assigned in kindergarten to one of the two bottom tables ever made it later to a favored table. And the odds are very good that most elementary school classes have a kind of caste system in action. Even in small and selective private schools, I found that many of my fellow teachers were quick to label some children “good” and others “bad”, often on the basis of appearance, and that children once labeled “bad” found it almost impossible to get that label changed.
Enough has been written about class and racial conflict in schools, above all in high schools, so that I don’t want to add much to it here. Where different races are integrated in schools, even after many years, this usually begins to break down around third grade, if not even sooner. From fifth grade on, in their social lives, children are almost completely separated into racial groups, which become more and more hostile as the children grow older. Even in one-race schools, white or nonwhite, there is class separation, class contempt, and class conflict. Few friendships are made across such lines, and the increasing violence in our high schools arises almost entirely from conflicts between such groups.
So the idea that schools mix together in happy groups children from widely differing backgrounds is for the most part simply not true. The question remains, how would children meet other children from different backgrounds if they did not go to school? I don’t know. While the numbers of such children remain small, this will be difficult. But as the numbers of such children grow, there will be more places for them to go and more things for them to do that are not based in school. We can certainly hope, and may to some extent be able to arrange, that in these places children from different backgrounds may be more mixed together. Also, people who teach their children at home already tend to think of themselves as something of an extended family, and using the Directory in Growing without Schooling, write each other letters, visit each other when they can, have local meetings, and so on. I hope this will remain true as more working-class and non-white families begin to unschool their children, and it well may; people who feel this kind of affection and trust in their own children tend to feel a strong bond with others who feel the same.
How are we going to prevent parents with narrow and bigoted ideas from passing these on to their children?
The first question we have to answer is, do we have a right to try to prevent it? And even if we think we do, can we?
One of the main differences between a free country and a police state, I always thought, was that in a free country, as long as you obeyed the law, you could believe whatever you liked. Your beliefs were none of the government’s business. Far less was it any of the government’s business to say that one set of ideas was good and another set bad, or that schools should promote the good and stamp out the bad. Have we given up these principles? And if we haven’t, do we really want to? Suppose we decided to give the government the power, through compulsory schools, to promote good ideas and put down bad. To whom would we then give the power to decide which ideas were good and which bad? To legislatures? To state boards of education? To local school boards?
Anyone who thinks seriously about these questions will surely agree that no one in government should have such power. From this it must follow that people have the right not only to believe what they want, but to try to pass their beliefs along to their children. We can’t say that some people have this right while others do not. Some will say, but what about people who are prejudiced, bigoted, superstitious? We’re surely not going to let people try to make their children believe that some races are superior or that the earth is flat? To which I say, what is the alternative? If we say, as many would like to, that people can tell their children anything they want, as long as it is true, we come back to our first question – who decides what is true? If we agree – as I think and hope we do – that there is no one in government or anywhere else whom we would trust to decide that, then it follows that we can’t give schools the right to tell all children that some ideas are true and others are not. Since any school, whether by what it says or what it does, must promote some ideas, it follows that while people who approve of the ideas being taught or promoted in government schools may be glad to send their children there, people who don’t approve of those ideas should have some other choice. This is essentially what the U.S. Supreme Court said in Pierce v. Society of Sisters (See Chapter 13).
One of the reasons why growing numbers of people are so passionately opposed to the public schools is that these schools are in fact acting as if someone had explicitly and legally given them the power to promote one set of ideas and to put down others. A fairly small group of people, educational bureaucrats at the state and federal level, who largely control what schools say and do, are more and more using the schools to promote whatever ideas they happen to think will be good for the children, or the country. But we have never formally decided, through any political process, to give the schools such power, far less agreed on what ideas we would like the schools to promote. On the contrary, there is every reason to believe that large majorities of the people strongly dislike many or most of the ideas that most schools promote today.
Even if we all agreed that the schools should try to stamp out narrow and bigoted ideas, we would still have to ask ourselves, does this work? Clearly it doesn’t. After all, except for a few rich kids, almost all children in the country have been going to public schools now for several generations. If the schools were as good as they claim at stamping out prejudice, there ought not to be any left. A quick glance at any day’s news will show that there is plenty left. In fact, there may well be less support today than ever before for the tolerance and open-mindedness that the schools supposedly promote.
If you don’t send your children to school, how are they going to learn to fit into a mass society?
If you don’t send children to school, how are they going to be exposed to any values other than the commercial values of a mass society?
Educators often ask me these two questions in the same meeting, often within a few minutes of each other. Obviously, they cancel each other out. The schools may in fact be able to prepare children to fit into the mass society, which means, among other things, believing what most people believe and liking what most people like. Or they may be able to help children find a set of values with which they could resist and reject at least many of the values of the mass society. But they certainly can’t do both.
It seems to be one of the articles of faith of educators that they, and they alone, hold out to the young a vision of higher things. At meetings, they often talk as if they spent much of their time and energy defending children from the corrupt values of the mass media and the television set. Where, but from us, they say, are children going to hear about good books, Shakespeare, culture? We are the only ones who are thinking about what is good for them; everyone else is just trying to exploit them. The fact is, however, that most schools are far more concerned to have children accept the values of mass society than to help them resist them. When school people hear about people teaching their children at home, they almost always say, “But aren’t you afraid that your children are going to grow up to be different, outsiders, misfits, unable to adjust to society?” They take it for granted that in order to live reasonably happily, usefully, and successfully in the world you have to be mostly like most other people.
In any case, the schools’ efforts to sell children the higher culture seldom work, since they obviously value it so little themselves. In my introduction to Roland Betts’s Acting Out (Boston: Little, Brown, 1978), a frightening account of life in New York City’s public schools, I wrote:
Our big city schools are largely populated, and will be increasingly populated, by the children of the non-white poor, the youngest members and victims of a sick subculture of a sick society, obsessed by violence and the media-inspired worship of dominance, luxury, and power. This culture, or more accurately, anticulture, has done more harm to its members and victims, has fragmented, degraded, and corrupted them more than centuries of slavery and the most brutal repression were able to do. Every day this anticulture, in the person of the children, invades the schools. If the schools had a true and humane culture of their own, which they really understood, believed in, cared about, and lived by, as did the First Street School some years ago, they might put up a stiff resistance, might even win some of the children over. But since the culture of the school is only a pale and somewhat more timid and genteel version of the culture of the street outside… nothing changes. Far from being able to woo the children away from greed, envy, and violence, the schools cannot even protect them against each other.
A friend of mine, in his early thirties, is a journalist, generally liberal, and sympathetic to the young. Not long ago, he visited a number of high schools in the affluent suburbs of Los Angeles where he grew up, talking to the students, trying to find out what they seemed most interested in and cared most about. I asked eagerly what he had found. After a silence, he said, “They seem to be mostly interested in money, sex, and drugs.” He was clearly as unhappy to say it as I was to hear it. We would both like to have found out that these favored young people wanted to do something to make a better world, as many did fifteen years ago. But we should not be surprised that young people should be most interested in the things that most interest their elders.
Nor is it fair to blame the schools, as many people do, for the interest of the young in these things. Attacked from all sides, the schools say plaintively, “But we didn’t invent these values.” Quite right; they didn’t. What we can and must say is that to whatever extent the schools have tried to combat these values, they have almost totally failed. In any case, to return once more to my first point, they can hardly claim that they are at one and the same time teaching children to accept and also to resist these dominant values of our commercial culture.
If children are taught at home, won’t they miss the valuable social life of the school?
If there were no other reason for wanting to keep kids out of school, the social life would be reason enough. In all but a very few of the schools I have taught in, visited, or know anything about, the social life of the children is mean-spirited, competitive, exclusive, status-seeking, snobbish, full of talk about who went to whose birthday party and who got-what Christmas presents and who got how many Valentine cards and who is talking to so-and-so and who is not. Even in the first grade, classes soon divide into leaders (energetic and – often deservedly – popular kids), their bands of followers, and other outsiders who are pointedly excluded from these groups.
I remember my sister saying of one of her children, then five, that she never knew her to do anything really mean or silly until she went away to school – a nice school, by the way, in a nice small town.
Jud Jerome, writer, poet, former professor at Antioch, wrote about his son, Topher, meeting this so-called “social life” in a free school run by a commune:
… Though we were glad he was happy and enjoying himself (in school), we were also sad as we watched him deteriorate from a person into a kid under peer influence in school. It was much like what we saw happening when he was in kindergarten. There are certain kinds of childishness which it seems most people accept as being natural, something children have to go through, something which it is, indeed, a shame to deny them. Silliness, self-indulgence, random rebelliousness, secretiveness, cruelty to other children, clubbishness, addiction to toys, possessions, junk, spending money, purchased entertainment, exploitation of adults to pay attention, take them places, amuse them, do things with them – all these things seem to me quite unnecessary, not “normal” at all (note: except in the sense of being common), and just as disgusting in children as they are in adults. And while they develop as a result of peer influence, I believe this is only, and specifically, because children are thrown together in school and develop these means, as prisoners develop the means of passing dull time and tormenting authorities to cope with an oppressive situation. The richer the families the children come from, the worse these traits seem to be. Two years of school and Topher would probably have regressed two years in emotional development. I am not sure of that, of course, and it was not because of that fear that we pulled him out, but we saw enough of what happened to him in a school situation not to regret pulling him out…
One of our readers gave us a vivid description of what must be a very typical school experience:
My mother tells me that after the first day in kindergarten I told her that I didn’t need to go to school anymore because I knew everything already. Great arrogance? Not really. I knew how to be quiet, how to listen to children’s stories, and how to sing. I wanted to learn about the adult world, but was restricted to a world which adults believed children wanted. My great pre-school enthusiasm died an early death….
Shame was one of the first lessons that I learned. In the first grade I was told to color a picture of a mother and daughter working in a kitchen. It struck me that if I were to color the entire picture yellow, then it would be different from all the other pictures. When I handed it in to the teacher I expected her to be pleased, if not genuinely excited. She, instead, glared at me for what seemed to be a long time and caused me to feel the deepest shame and self-contempt. . . I was six years old.
Since spontaneity was dangerous – it conflicted with the teacher’s view of how children should act – lying was a valuable survival technique. . . In first grade, the class was sent to the kindergarten room to do some work without supervision. I used this opportunity to take a plastic doll and stick the head into a plastic toilet in one of the furnished doll houses in the room. No one was sure who did it, but everyone thought it was amusing – except the teacher. She was red with anger (she was a nun, and working-class Catholic schools in the early 1960s were not the most humane institutions) and I feared a severe beating. Suspicion was eventually focused on me and I lied with complete success, at least for me; another boy was blamed for the incident. I wish that I had said, “Yes, I did it, so what.” But I was afraid. . .
Other incidents occurred to other people and were much more serious. I saw a boy of thirteen, seventh grade, try to explain why he did not have an assignment. His crime was that he spoke with indignation. Before he said three words, the teacher stopped him and with a “who-the-hell-do-you-think-you-are” tone of voice called him to the desk and slapped him across the face with a rubber strap, which was about 6 to 8 inches long and 1/4 inch thick. He cried; they always did when it was in the face. He never did get the chance to explain why he did not have the assignment. I’m not so sure that he didn’t have it. It may have been that he could not find it quickly enough… This teacher, the principal, was a “textbook” authoritarian. Every violation of her largely unwritten rules would lead her to deliver the same angry statement: “Don’t challenge me.” She saw challenges in virtually everything – even though we would never have challenged her. I’ll just give two of her biggest challenges.
Challenge number one involved misbehavior which the teacher present did not see, but the principal looking into the room did. The fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth grades (it was a small school) were in this room to practice singing. She was furious, talked about challenges, and scolded the student vehemently. Then she proceeded to slap him halfway across the room. She gave him about eight or ten real haymaker slaps. I was standing only a few feet away at the time… One fact about this event showed how much in awe of authority we were: the victim of this violence did not raise his hands to protect his face. When it was over, all I could hear was the boy crying and my own heart beating.
Challenge number two involved the same boy. This time he urinated, or defecated, or both, in his pants. Perhaps he was ill or maybe he had a mental problem. [Author’s note: Or perhaps he had merely been denied permission to go to the bathroom, which happens quite often in school.] He didn’t do this regularly. He was about twelve years old. Naturally this called for punishment. He was forced to stand in front of each class in the school while the teacher explained to the class his crime. When he came to our classroom the principal named him the school’s stinker and told us why. But what I remember most clearly is the pained smile on his face.
There were many incidents of fear and humiliation. Even though there were not many savage beatings, the point is that we lived in an environment where this could happen anytime. And we knew that. I had no clear idea that there was anything wrong with the school; I only had a vague feeling that things didn’t have to be the way they were. I wasn’t a noble child resisting tyrannical teachers. No, I loved the game of fear and humiliation and played like the masters.
“We can hardly wait to make someone pay for our humiliation, yield to us as we were once made to yield.” (Freedom and Beyond, p. 114)
I’m not sure when it started, but in the eighth grade a number of us would terrorize one of the timid boys in the school. We would push the victim around, ridicule him, pull his shirt out, spin him around, dust the chalk erasers on his clothes, mess up his hair, and chase him on the playground. It was easy to be friends with these boys when I was alone with them. But when there was a group of us, the teasing would begin. Since we were always in groups [author’s emphasis], the teasing of these boys, two in particular, was nearly unending. On the playground they had to avoid being seen. One of the boys would go home for lunch and not return until the last minute of recess. We did it without thought and it seemed to be only boyish pranks. It was sadism and I found it to be almost irresistible.
We then started to turn on the group members and practice our arts on the selected victim. I remember coming home with sore sides from laughing so hard at another’s humiliation, but I felt empty and actually unhappy. The next day I would do it again. This only stopped when I became the victim. It was pure hell. Everyone you knew devoted all his time to your being humiliated. Any one act was insignificant: slapping an unaware student in the back of the head was popular. But it happened all day long in a multitude of ways. Christmas vacation came and one of my prime torturers transferred to another school. Things cooled off for me, but not for the timid boys or the younger children in the school. We almost had serious violence with the male students several years younger than us.
I don’t remember the beginning or the end of this sadistic behavior. I know that I didn’t act this way before my last two years in grade school or since then.
This reader’s experience is surely not unusual. When I was nine, I was in a public elementary school, in a class in which almost all the boys were bigger and older than I was, most of them from working-class Italian or Polish families. One by one, the toughest ones first, then the others, more or less in order of toughness, beat me up at recess, punched me until they knocked me down and/or made me cry. Once a boy had beaten me up, he rarely bothered to do it again. There didn’t seem to me to be much malice in it; it was as if this had to be done in order to find my proper place in the class. Finally everyone had beaten me except a boy named Henry. One day the bigger boys hemmed us in and told us that we had to fight to find who was the biggest sissy in the sixth grade. Henry and I said we didn’t want to fight. They said if we didn’t, they would beat up both of us. So for a while Henry and I circled around, swinging wildly at each other, the bigger boys laughing and urging us on. Nothing happened for some time, until one of my wild swings hit Henry’s nose. It began to bleed, Henry began to cry, and so did I. But the bigger boys were satisfied; they declared that Henry was now the official biggest sissy in the class.
A teacher writes:
On Friday I was reading GWS and intrigued with it as usual. I’m especially interested in the “social life” aspect of schools and the damage it causes. This morning I asked my third graders, “Do you feel that in our school kids are nice, kind to each other?”
Out of 22 kids, only two felt that they saw kindness, and the rest felt most kids are mean, call names, hurt feelings, etc. Frankly I was amazed. I have always felt our school is a uniquely friendly place….
When I point out to people that the social life of most schools and classrooms is mean-spirited, status-oriented, competitive, and snobbish, I am always astonished by their response. Not one person of the hundreds with whom I’ve discussed this has yet said to me that the social life at school is kindly, generous, supporting, democratic, friendly, loving, or good for children. No, without exception, when I condemn the social life of school, people say, “But that’s what the children are going to meet in Real Life.”
The “peer groups” into which we force children have many other powerful and harmful effects. Every now and then, in the subway or some public place, I see young people, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old, sometimes even as young as ten, smoking cigarettes. It is a comic and pitiful sight. It is also an ordeal. The smoke tastes awful. Children have sensitive taste buds, and that smoke must taste even worse to them than to most nonsmoking adults, which is saying a lot. They have to struggle not to choke, not to cough, maybe even not to get sick. Why do they do it? Because “all the other kids” are doing it, or soon will be, and they have to stay ahead of them, or at least not fall behind. In short, wanting to smoke, or feeling one has to smoke whether one wants to or not, is one of the many fringe benefits of that great “social life” at school that people talk about.
I feel sorry for all the children who think they have to smoke, and even sorrier for any nonsmoking parents who may desperately wish they could persuade them not to. If the children have lived in the peer group long enough to become enslaved to it, addicted to it – we might call them “peer group junkies” – then they are going to smoke, and do anything and everything else the peer group does. If Mom and Pop make a fuss, then they will lie about it and do it behind their backs. The evidence on this is clear. In some age groups, fewer people are smoking. But more children are smoking every year, especially girls, and they start earlier.
The same is true of drinking. We hear more and more about drinking, drunkenness, and alcoholism among the young. Some states have tried in recent years to deal with the problem by raising the minimum drinking age. It doesn’t seem to have helped; if anything, the problem only gets worse. One news story sticks in my mind. One night last summer, in a town near Boston, four high school girls, all about sixteen or seventeen, were killed and another seriously injured in an auto accident. Earlier in the evening, they had loaded up their small car with beer and several kinds of liquor and had gone out for an evening of driving and drinking. By the time of the accident, all were drunk. The one survivor was later quoted by the papers as saying, from her bed in the hospital, “I didn’t think there was anything wrong with what we were doing; all the kids around here do it.”
Of course, children who spend almost all their time in groups of other people their own age, shut out of society’s serious work and concerns, with almost no contact with any adults except child-watchers, are going to feel that what “all the other kids” are doing is the right, the best, the only thing to do.
How are we going to prevent children being taught by “unqualified” teachers?
First of all, to know what is meant by “qualified”, we have to know what is meant by quality. We could hardly agree on who was or was not a good painter if we did not to a large extent agree on what was or was not a good painting. The question asked above assumes that since educators agree on and understand correctly what is meant by good teaching, they are able to make sound judgments about who is or is not a good teacher. But the fact is that educators do not understand or agree about what makes good teaching. The dismal record of the schools is proof enough of this. Still further proof is that, when charged in court with negligence (see the section “A Doubtful Claim” in Chapter 14), educators defend themselves by saying (with the approval of the courts) that they cannot be judged guilty of not having done what should have been done, because no one knows what should have been done. This may be so. But it clearly follows that people who don’t know what should be done can hardly judge who is or is not competent to do it.
In practice, educators who worry about “unqualified” people teaching their own children almost always define “qualified” to mean teachers trained in schools of education and holding teaching certificates. They assume that to teach children involves a host of mysterious skills that can be learned only in schools of education, and that are in fact taught there; that people who have this training teach much better than those who do not; and indeed that people who have not had this training are not competent to teach at all.
None of these assumptions are true.
Human beings have been sharing information and skills, and passing along to their children whatever they knew, for about a million years now. Along the way they have built some very complicated and highly skilled societies. During all those years there were very few teachers in the sense of people whose only work was teaching others what they knew. And until very recently there were no people at all who were trained in teaching, as such. People always understood, sensibly enough, that before you could teach something you had to know it yourself. But only very recently did human beings get the extraordinary notion that in order to be able to teach what you knew you had to spend years being taught how to teach.
To the extent that teaching involves and requires some real skills, these have long been well understood. They are no mystery.
Teaching skills are among the many commonsense things about dealing with other people that – unless we are mistaught – we learn just by living. In any community people have always known that if you wanted to find out how to get somewhere or do something, some people were much better to ask than others. For a long, long time, people who were good at sharing what they knew have realized certain things:
(1) to help people learn something, you must first understand what they already know;
(2) showing people how to do something is better than telling them, and letting them do it themselves is best of all;
(3) you mustn’t tell or show too much at once, since people digest new ideas slowly and must feel secure with new skills or knowledge before they are ready for more;
(4) you must give people as much time as they want and need to absorb what you have shown or told them;
(5) instead of testing their understanding with questions you must let them show how much or how little they understand by the questions they ask you;
(6) you must not get impatient or angry when people don’t understand;
(7) scaring people only blocks learning, and so on.
These are clearly not things that one has to spend three years talking about.
And in fact these are not what schools of education talk about. They give very little thought to the act of teaching itself-helping another person find something out, or answering that person’s questions. What they spend most of their time doing is preparing their students to work in the strange world of schools – which, in all fairness, is what the students want to find out: how to get a teaching job and keep it. This means learning how to speak the school’s language (teeny little ideas blown up into great big words), how to do all the things schools want teachers to do, how to fill out its endless forms and papers, and how to make the endless judgments it likes to make about students. Above all else, education students are taught to think that what they know is extremely important and that they are the only ones who know it.
As for the idea that certified teachers teach better than uncertified, or that uncertified teachers cannot teach at all, there is not a shred of evidence to support it, and a great deal of evidence against it. One indication is that our most selective, demanding, and successful private schools have among their teachers hardly any, if indeed any at all, who went to teacher training schools and got their degrees in education. Few such schools would even consider hiring a teacher who had only such training and such a degree. How does it happen that the richest and most powerful people in the country, the ones most able to choose what they want for their children, so regularly choose not to have them taught by trained and certified teachers? One might almost count it among the major benefits of being rich that you are able to avoid having your children taught by such teachers.
In this connection, the following story from the Philadelphia Inquirer, November 18, 1979, may be of interest:
Between 1978 and 1979, public school enrollment in New Jersey fell 3% from 1.38 million to 1.33 million. But enrollment in private non-parochial schools from 1978 to 1979 rose 8.5%, from 14,000 to 15,200. And, while attendance data for parochial schools is not yet available, indications are that it experienced a similar jump.
… Rev. Peder Bloom, Assistant Headmaster of Doane Academy at St. Mary’s Hall, an independent Episcopalian school founded in 1837, sees not only a larger, but a more varied clientele applying.
“Any number” of parents are both working to pay tuition bills, he says, and presently the biggest single occupational parent group is public school administrators [Author’s emphasis], according to private school administrators. It used to be doctors; now they are second…
As we will see in Chapter 13, when a district court in Kentucky challenged the state board of education to show evidence that certified teachers were better than uncertified, the board was unable to produce (in the judge’s words) “a scintilla of evidence” to that effect. The same thing happened more recently in a Michigan court. It is very unlikely that any other state boards would be able to do so.
In the state of Alaska, hundreds or perhaps thousands of homesteading families live many miles from the nearest town, or even road. The only way they can get in and out of their homes is by plane. Since the state cannot provide schools for these families, or transport their children to and from existing schools, it very sensibly has a correspondence school of its own which mails school materials to these families, who then teach their children at home. Nobody seems to worry very much about whether these families are “qualified”, and no one has yet brought forth any evidence that home-taught children in Alaska do less well in their studies than school-taught children, there or in other states. For that matter, many states in the Lower 48 have laws saying that if children live more than so many miles from the nearest school, or bus route to a school, they don’t have to go to school. It would be interesting to find out how many such children there are, and what provisions these states make for their education, and how well these children do in their schoolwork.
Perhaps the leading correspondence school for school-aged children is the Calvert Institute of Baltimore, Maryland. It has been in business for a long time, and for all that time most school districts – I know of no exceptions – have been willing to accept a year of study under Calvert as equal to a year of study in school. Indeed, this assurance that Calvert-taught children would not fall behind has been part of what Calvert offered and sold its customers and clients. These have been, for the most part, American families living overseas – missionaries, military or diplomatic people, people working in foreign offices of American firms, etc. A recent Calvert ad said they have had over three hundred thousand customers. Clearly a very large number of parents have taught and are teaching their children at home, without these children falling behind. But very few of these parents can have been certified teachers.
The same must be true of the Home Study Institute, of Washington, DC, which has served mostly, but not exclusively, members of the Seventh-Day Adventist Church. I don’t know how many families use or have used their materials, but the quality of the materials I have seen, and the range of courses they offer, suggest that this organization, too, serves a large number of people, few of whom can have been or be certified teachers. Yet again, there is no evidence that the students who learn at home from these materials are failures either in school or later in life.
Years ago I read that one or more inner-city schools had tried the experiment of letting fifth graders teach first graders to read.
They found, first, that the first-graders learned faster than similar first-graders taught by trained teachers, and secondly, that the fifth-graders who were teaching them – many or most of whom had not been good readers themselves – also improved a great deal in their reading. These schools apparently did these experiments in desperation. It is easy to see why they have not been widely repeated. Even in those schools that are willing to allow “paraprofessional” adults, that is, people without teachers’ certificates, in their classrooms, the regular teachers almost always insist that these paraprofessionals not be allowed to do any teaching. But poor countries have found in mass literacy programs that almost anyone who can read can teach anyone else who wants to learn.
I found in my own classes, as in others I have since observed where children are allowed to talk to each other and to help each other with schoolwork, that many children were very good at teaching each other. There were many reasons for this. Even though I did my best to convince them that ignorance was no shame, they felt much freer to confess ignorance and confusion to each other than to me, since they knew that they knew little and wrongly thought that I knew almost everything. Also, they did not have to fear that their friends might give them a bad grade. I had told them that I did not believe in grades, and I think they believed me. But they understood, as I did, that this had little to do with reality; both the school and their parents demanded grades, and I had to give them. Some of them, who really liked me, may have feared that after struggling to teach them something I would be disappointed if they didn’t learn it. Indeed this was true, and though I tried not to be disappointed or at least not to show that I was, I never really succeeded. They wanted to please me, and knew when they hadn’t.
Learning from each other, they didn’t have to worry about this. A child teaching another is not disappointed if the other does not understand or learn, since teaching is not his main work and he is not worried about whether he is or is not a good teacher. He may be exasperated, may even say, “Come on, dummy, pay attention, what’s the matter with you?” Since children tend to be direct and blunt with each other anyway, this probably won’t bother the learner. If it does, he can say so. Either the other will be more tactful, since he rightly values their friendship more than the effectiveness of his teaching, or the learner will find another helper. And this is another and important reason why children are good at teaching each other. Both child-teacher and child-learner know that this teacher-learner relationship is temporary, much less important than their friendship, in which they meet as equals. This temporary relationship will go on only as long as they are both satisfied with it. The child-teacher doesn’t have to teach the other, and the child-learner doesn’t have to learn from the other. Since they both come to the relationship freely and by their own choice, they are truly equal partners in it. I want to stress very strongly that the fact that their continuing relationship as friends is more important than their temporary relationship as learner and teacher is above all else what makes this temporary relationship work.
There is an old rule in medicine (not always obeyed): “First, do no harm.” In other words, in treating patients, make sure you do not injure them. The rule is just as true for teaching. Above all else, be sure that in your eagerness to make them learn, you do not frighten, offend, insult, or humiliate those you are teaching. Teachers of animals, whether dogs, dolphins, circus animals, or whatever, understand that very well-it is the first rule in their book. It is only among teachers of human beings that many do not understand and even hotly deny this rule.
It is because they understand this rule, if not in words at least in their hearts, that the kind of parents who teach their own children are likely to do it better than anyone else. Such people do not knowingly hurt their children. When they see that something they are doing is hurting their child, they stop, no matter how good may have been their reasons for doing it. They take seriously any signals of pain and distress that their children give them. Of course, the distress signals that children make when we try too hard to teach them something are quite different from the signals they make when something hurts them. Instead of saying “Ow!” they say, “I don’t get it,” or “This is crazy.” It took me years, teaching in classrooms, to learn what those signals were, and still longer to understand how I was causing the distress. But parents teaching at home are in a much better position to learn these distress signals than a classroom teacher. They are not distracted by the problems of managing a class, they know the children better, and their spoken and unspoken languages, and they care about them more. Also, as I have said elsewhere, they can try things out to see what works, and drop whatever does not. Since they control their experience, they can learn more from it.
This is not to say that all families who try to teach their own children will learn to do it well. Some may not. But such families are likely to find homeschooling so unpleasant that they will be glad to give it up, the children most of all. A home-schooling mother wrote me that when, simply out of fear of the schools, she began to give her children a lot of conventional schoolwork, they said, “Look, Mom, if we’re going to have to spend all our time doing this school junk, we’d rather do it in school.” Quite right. If you are going to have to spend your days doing busywork to relieve adult anxieties, better do it in school, where you only have one-thirtieth of the teacher’s anxieties, rather than at home, where you have all of your parent’s. So far, only one family I know of has given up home-schooling as a failure, largely because the parents couldn’t control their anxieties. In time, there may well be others. I doubt that there will be many.
We can sum up very quickly what people need to teach their own children. First of all, they have to like them, enjoy their company, their physical presence, their energy, foolishness, and passion. They have to enjoy all their talk and questions, and enjoy equally trying to answer those questions. They have to think of their children as friends, indeed very close friends, have to feel happier when they are near and miss them when they are away. They have to trust them as people, respect their fragile dignity, treat them with courtesy, take them seriously. They have to feel in their own hearts some of their children’s wonder, curiosity, and excitement about the world. And they have to have enough confidence in themselves, skepticism about experts, and willingness to be different from most people, to take on themselves the responsibility for their children’s learning. But that is about all that parents need. Perhaps only a minority of parents have these qualities. Certainly some have more than others. Many will gain more as they know their children better; most of the people who have been teaching their children at home say that it has made them like them more, not less. In any case, these are not qualities that can be taught or learned in a school, or measured with a test, or certified with a piece of paper.
Are there then no requirements of schooling or learning? Isn’t there some minimum that people ought to know? Could people teach their children who had never been to school themselves? Even if they didn’t know how to read and write?
I think even then they probably could. A woman told me not long ago, after a meeting, that though she had a degree from Radcliffe and a Ph.D. from Harvard, the most helpful, influential, and important of all the teachers she had ever had was her mother, who had come to this country as an immigrant and who was illiterate not only here but in the country of her birth. And while working as a consultant to a program to teach adult illiterates to read, I heard about one of the students, a middle-aged woman who had for years concealed her illiteracy from her college graduate husband and her children, whom she used to regularly help with their schoolwork. For many years I told her story to show how cleverly people can bluff and fake. Only recently did I realize that this woman’s children would not have come to her year after year for help on their schoolwork unless her help had been helpful. She was in short not just a clever bluffer, but a very good teacher.
I don’t expect many illiterate parents to ask me how they can take their children out of school and teach them at home. But if any do, I will say, “I don’t think that just because you have not yet learned to read and write means that you can’t do a better job of helping your children learn about the world than the schools. But one of the things you are going to have to do in order to help them is learn to read and write. It is easy, if you really want to do it, and once you get out of your head the idea that you can’t do it. If any of your children can read and write, they can help you learn. If none of them can read and write, you can learn together. But it is important that you learn. In the first place, if you don’t, and the schools find out, there is no way in the world that they or the courts are going to allow you to teach your children at home. In the second place, if you don’t know how to read and write, your children are likely to feel that reading and writing are not useful and interesting, or else that they are very difficult, neither of which is true. So learning to read and write will have to be one of your first tasks.”
How am I going to teach my child six hours a day?
Who’s teaching him six hours a day right now?
As a child, I went to the “best” schools, some public, most private. I was a good student, the kind that teachers like to talk to. And it was a rare day indeed in my schooling when I got fifteen minutes of teaching, that is, of concerned and thoughtful adult talk about something that I found interesting, puzzling, or important. Over the whole of my schooling, the average was probably closer to fifteen minutes a week. For most children in most schools, it is much less than that. Many poor, nonwhite, or unusual kids never get any real teaching at all in their entire schooling. When teachers speak to them, it is only to command, correct, warn, threaten, or blame.
Anyway, children don’t need, don’t want, and couldn’t stand six hours of teaching a day, even if parents wanted to do that much. To help them find out about the world doesn’t take that much adult input. Most of what they need, parents have been giving them since they were born. As I have said, they need access. They need a chance, sometimes, for honest, serious, unhurried talk; or sometimes, for joking, play, and foolishness; or sometimes, for tenderness, sympathy, and comfort. They need, much of the time, to share your life, or at least, not to feel shut out of it; in short, to go some of the places you go, see and do some of the things that interest you, get to know some of your friends, find out what you did when you were little and before they were born. They need to have their questions answered, or at least heard and attended to-if you don’t know, say “I don’t know.” They need to know more and more adults whose main work in life is not taking care of kids. They need some friends their own age, but not dozens of them; two or three, at most half a dozen, is as many real friends as any child can have at one time. Perhaps above all, they need a lot of privacy, solitude, calm times when there’s nothing to do.
Schools rarely provide any of these, and even if radically changed, never could provide most of them. But the average parent, family, circle of friends, neighborhood, and community can and do provide all of these things, perhaps not as well as they once did or might again, but well enough. People do not need a Ph.D. or some kind of certificate to help their children find their way into the world.
How are children going to learn what they need to know?
About this, a parent wrote:
. . . During his early years, my wife and I and a couple of friends taught him all he wanted to know, and if we didn’t know it, which usually was the case, it was even better, for we all learned together. Example: at 7, he saw the periodic table of elements, wanted to learn atoms and chemistry and physics. I had forgotten how to balance an equation, but I went out and bought a college textbook on the subject, a history of discovery of the elements, and some model atoms, and in the next month we went off into a tangent of learning in which somehow we both learned college-level science. He has never returned to the subject, but to this day retains every bit of it because it came at a moment in development and fantasy that was meaningful to him.
Of course, a child may not know what he may need to know in ten years (who does?), but he knows, and much better than anyone else, what he wants and needs to know right now, what his mind is ready and hungry for. If we help him, or just allow him, to learn that, he will remember it, use it, build on it. If we try to make him learn something else that we think is more important, the chances are that he won’t learn it, or will learn very little of it, that he will soon forget most of what he learned, and – what is worst of all – will before long lose most of his appetite for learning anything.
Other parents have asked me similar questions, and to one I wrote:
… With respect to your question, about how a parent could teach something like chemistry, there seem to be a number of possibilities, all of which people have actually done in one place or another. (1) The parent finds a textbook(s), materials, etc., and parent and child learn the stuff together. (2) The parent gets the above for the child, and the child learns it alone. (3) The parent or the child finds someone else who knows this material, perhaps a friend or neighbor, perhaps a teacher in some school or even college, and learns from them.
As for equipment, you say that your high school had a very extensive chem lab, but I’ll bet that very few of the students ever used more than a small part of the materials in the lab. I have known kids who were interested in chemistry and did it in their own basements, who were able to do a great deal of work with, at today’s prices, less than $200 or maybe $100 worth of equipment. The catalog of the Edmund Scientific Corp. (and many other companies) is full of such equipment. The same thing is true of physics. As for biology, except perhaps in the heart of the city, it is not difficult to find plants and animals for observation and classification, if that is what children want to do.
I won’t say these are not problems, but people who want to solve them can solve them.
You ask “Would you expect a parent to purchase test tubes, chemicals, instruments, etc., that would perhaps only be used for one or two years, only to have the child become an artist or musician?” Well, why not? People purchase bicycles, sports equipment, musical instruments, without knowing that their children will ever become professional athletes, musicians, etc. None of this equipment (unless broken) loses any of its value – it could probably be sold later for at least a significant part of the purchase price. And, as time goes on, and more people are teaching their children at home, it will be easier to get these materials from other parents who have used them, or to arrange for swaps, etc.
I see no real need for “institutional” education at any age. There is in Michigan a man named Ovshinsky who stood solid-state physics on its ear by inventing a theory by which non-crystalline substances could be used to do things which, according to orthodox theory, only crystalline materials could do. For a number of years orthodox physicists dismissed Ovshinsky’s ideas. But he was able to demonstrate them so clearly in laboratory experiments that they were finally obliged to admit that he was right. Ovshinsky never finished high school. There are probably more cases like this than we know, and there would be a great many more except for compulsory schooling laws. It is a kind of Catch-22 situation to say, first, that all children have to spend all that time in schools, and then to say that all kinds of things can only be learned in schools. How do we know? Where have we given people a chance to learn them somewhere else?
A very important function of institutions of so-called higher learning is not so much to teach people things as to limit access to certain kinds of learning and work. The function of law schools is much less to train lawyers than to keep down the supply of lawyers. Practically everything that is now only done by people with Ph.D.s was, not so very long ago, done by people with no graduate training or in some cases, even undergraduate training.
I hope you will not doubt your competence to help your children learn anything they want to learn, or indeed their competence to learn many things without your help.
One mother wrote me some particularly challenging questions [10-17], to which I gave these answers:
My greatest concern is that I don’t want to slant my children’s view of life all through “mother-colored ” glasses. .
If you mean, determine your children’s view of life, you couldn’t do it even if you wanted to. You are an influence on your children, and an important one, but by no means the only one, or even the only important one. How they later see the world is going to be determined by a great many things, many of them probably not to your liking, and most of them out of your control. On the other hand, it would be impossible, even if you wanted to, not to have some influence on your children’s view of life.
I also wonder if I can have the thoroughness, the follow-through demanded, the patience, and the continuing enthusiasm for the diversity of interests they will undoubtedly have.
Well, who in any school would have more, or even as much? I was a good student in the “best” schools, and very few adults there were even slightly concerned with my interests. Beyond that, you may expect too much of yourself. Your children’s learning is not all going to come from you, but from them, and their interaction with the world around them, which of course includes you. You do not have to know everything they want to know, or be interested in everything they are interested in. As for patience, maybe you won’t have enough at first; like many home-teaching parents, you may start by trying to do too much, know too much, control too much. But like the rest, you will learn, from experience mostly, to trust your children.
Most unschoolers seem to live on farms growing their own vegetables (which I’d like) or have unique life-styles in urban areas, and heavy father participation in children’s education. What about suburbanites with modern-convenienced homes and fathers who work for a company 10 to 12 hours a day away from home? What differences will this make? Will unschooling work as well?
Well enough. You and your children will have to find out as you go along what differences they make, and deal with them as best you can. Once, people said that the suburbs were the best of all possible worlds in which to bring up children; now it is the fashion to say they are the worst. Both views are exaggerated. In city, country, or suburb, there is more than enough to give young people an interesting world to grow up in, plenty of food for thought and action. You don’t have to have every resource for your children, and if you did, they wouldn’t have enough time to make use of all of them. As for the father’s involvement, it can certainly be helpful, but it is not crucial. Some of the most successful unschoolers we know of are single mothers.
What if the children want to go to school?
This is a hard question. There is more than one good answer to it, and these often conflict. Parents could argue, and some do, that since they believe that school can and probably will do their children deep and lasting harm, they have as much right to keep them out, even if they want to go, as they would to tell them they could not play on a pile of radioactive waste. This argument seems more weighty in the case of younger children, who could not be expected to understand how school might hurt them. If somewhat older children said determinedly and often, and for good reasons, that they really wanted to go to school, I would tend to say, let them go. How much older? What are good reasons? I don’t know. A bad reason might be, “The other kids tell me that at school lunch you can have chocolate milk.”
I’m concerned that someone might be eager to take us to court and take away our children.
The schools have in a number of cases tried – shamefully – to take children away from unschooling parents. I think there are legal counters to this, strategies that would make it highly unlikely that a court would take such action. And if worse came to worst, and a court said, “Put your children back in school or we’ll take them away,” you can always put them back in while you plan what to do next – which might simply be to move to another state or even school or judicial district. [Note: homeschooling is now legal in all US states and Canadian provinces, and in many other countries, due in no small part to John Holt’s work and writing, and to the support and work of the organization he founded, John Holt Associates.]
I don’t want to feel I’m sheltering my children or running away from adversity.
Why not? It is your right, and your proper business, as parents, to shelter your children and protect them from adversity, at least as much as you can. Many of the world’s children are starved or malnourished, but you would not starve your children so that they would know what this was like. You would not let your children play in the middle of a street full of high-speed traffic. Your business is, as far as you can, to help them realize their human potential, and to that end you put as much as you can of good into their lives, and keep out as much as you can of bad. If you think – as you do – that school is bad, then it is clear what you should do.
I value their learning how to handle challenges or problems. . .
There will be plenty of these. Growing up was probably never easy, and it is particularly hard in a world as anxious, confused, and fear-ridden as ours. To learn to know oneself, and to find a life worth living and work worth doing, is problem and challenge enough, without having to waste time on the fake and unworthy challenges of school – pleasing the teacher, staying out of trouble, fitting in with the gang, being popular, doing what everyone else does.
Will they have the opportunity to overcome or do things that they think they don’t want to do?
I’m not sure what this question means. If it means, will unschooled children know what it is to have to do difficult and demanding things in order to reach goals they have set for themselves, I would say, yes, life is full of such requirements. But this is not at all the same thing as doing something, and in the case of school usually something stupid and boring, simply because someone else tells you you’ll be punished if you don’t. Whether children resist such demands or yield to them, it is bad for them. Struggling with the inherent difficulties of a chosen or inescapable task builds character; merely submitting to superior force destroys it.
“I have come to understand, finally, and even to accept, that in almost everything I believe and care about, I am a member of a minority in my own country. This is certainly true of all my ideas about children and education. We who do not believe in compulsory schooling, who believe that children want to learn about the world, are good at it, and can be trusted to do it, without much adult coercion and interference, are surely not more than one per cent of the population and perhaps much less than that. This doesn’t trouble me any more, as long as those minorities of which I am a member go on growing. My work is to help them grow.” – John Holt, Growing Without Schooling, 1977, Issue 1
For more on John Holt: https://www.johnholtgws.com/
Our children attend school at earlier ages and graduate at older ages than they did in previous generations; we make going to college a modern, tribal ritual that socially shames those who can’t afford it or who don’t thrive there; we focus on degrees awarded but not on competencies earned outside of degree programs; we increase standardized testing and the pressure on teachers and students to produce better grades; we reduce play and private time for children outside of school; we eliminate recess and after-school programs inside school and turn them into instruction and homework time.
This is considered to be the norm we want to make children adjust to.
Is it any wonder they are anxious?
Writers make writing look so easy. Is writing as difficult for them as it is me? I’m certainly not an avid writer but I do write: journals, letters, notes, lists. I seem to be more of a lister than a writer. I have many lists of things I want to write about. The problem is getting started and I’m easily distracted. Of course any distraction could be considered a stalling tactic by the inner critic that seems to whisper disparaging remarks:
“What do YOU have to say?”
“Who wants to read THAT!”
“You can’t say that!”
And so, I find something else to do.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been reading about writing and writing about writing; taking notes and listing, of course. I came across this quote by E.B. White:
Writing is for most, laborious and slow. The mind travels faster than the pen.
I don’t know about my mind traveling faster than my pen but I do know my mind wanders. As for writing being laborious and slow, I think the over all process, start to finish, is arduously slow but the actually physical writing, putting pen to paper, is almost art-like; pencil and paper meet in a series of lines and curves. (Flash backs of doodling in class comes to mind! A distraction, perhaps?).
The physical act of writing is fluid and creative a lot like drawing.This notion reminded me of what I learned in Betty Edwards’ excellent book Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain.
(I highly recommend this book, by the way! We used it for our high school art curriculum.)
But writing is an art form. Using line, one of the most basic elements of art, handwriting can function as a means of artistic self expression. …letters of the alphabet have evolved into shapes of great beauty that communicate verbally. …linking writing once again to the esthetic purpose of drawing.
Without going into all the right brain – left brain detail, one of the main ideas in Betty Edwards’ book, is how to silence the critical verbal left brain by learning to make a shift to the noncritical nonverbal right brain. It is here, in the right brain, where one looses track of time and where artisans, what ever their trade, get into “the zone”.
A surgeon once told me that while operating on a patient (mainly a visual task, once a surgeon has acquired the knowledge and experience needed) he would find himself unable to name the instruments. He would hear himself saying to an attendant, “Give me the . . .the . . . you know, the . . . thingamajig!
This shift from left brain to right brain is a skill that can be developed by setting up conditions that will allow this shift to happen. As I was learning to draw following Betty Edwards’ course in her book, I learned some of her techniques that I think have helped me with writing. Betty Edwards suggests finding a quiet place void of people talking so the left brain doesn’t focus on the task of decoding the verbal signals coming into the brain. She also suggests listening to instrumental music only; again leaving the left brain void of any verbal messages. Like with drawing, I’m finding this to be a good combination for silencing the verbal left brain critic so I can move on to the art of writing – pencil to paper, lines and curves.
So far, it seems to be working. Doodles AND words!
Imagine if when you told people you had chosen to send your kids to school, you were met with the kind of assumptions, judgement and questioning that is typical of families who have chosen to homeschool.
“I knew someone who was schooled and they were freaks”
“Oh I don’t know if she would suit school, she’s a bit too spirited for school”
“Are you going to miss them? I would just miss mine too much”
Are you concerned about negative socialisation? Bullying? Peer pressure?”
“Is that legal?”
Read the whole thing and enjoy! Source: Turning the tables: questions for school parents | Racheous
“Nothing could be more simple – or more difficult. Difficult, because to trust children we must trust ourselves – and most of us were taught as children that we could not be trusted.” Deborah Meier
“If not for the photographs, I might have a hard time believing they ever existed. The pensive infant with the swipe of dark bangs and the black button eyes of a Raggedy Andy doll. The placid baby with the yellow ringlets and the high piping voice. The sturdy toddler with the lower lip that curled into an apostrophe above her chin.
All my babies are gone now. I say this not in sorrow but in disbelief. I take great satisfaction in what I have today: three almost-adults, two taller than I am, one closing in fast. Three people who read the same books I do and have learned not to be afraid of disagreeing with me in their opinion of them, who sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me laugh until I choke and cry, who need razor blades and shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their doors closed more than I like. Who, miraculously, go to the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food from plate to mouth all by by themselves. Like the trick soap I bought for the bathroom with a rubber ducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within each, barely discernible except through the unreliable haze of the past.
Everything in all the books I once pored over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach, T. Berry Brazelton, Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education, all grown obsolete. Along with goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories.What those books taught me, finally and what the women on the playground taught me, and the well-meaning relations — what they taught me was that they couldn’t really teach me very much at all.
Raising children is presented at first as a true-false test, then becomes multiple-choice, until finally, far along, you realize that it is an endless essay. No one knows anything. One child responds well to positive reinforcement, another can be managed only with a stern voice and a timeout. One child is toilet trained at 3, his sibling at 2.When my first child was born, parents were told to put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not choke on his own spit-up. By the time my last arrived, babies were put down on their backs because of research on sudden infant death syndrome. To a new parent this ever-shifting certainty is terrifying, and then soothing. Eventually you must learn to trust yourself. Eventually the research will follow.
I remember 15 years ago pouring over one of Dr. Brazelton’s wonderful books on child development, in which he describes three different sorts of infants: average, quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet codicil for an 18-month old who did not walk. Was there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was he developmentally delayed, physically challenged? Was I insane? Last year he went to China. Next year he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can walk too.
Every part of raising children is humbling, too. Believe me, mistakes were made. They have all been enshrined in the, “Remember-When-Mom-Did Hall of Fame.” The outbursts, the temper tantrums, the bad language, mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell off the bed. The times I arrived late for preschool pickup. The nightmare sleep over. The horrible summer camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test, and I responded, What did you get wrong? (She insisted I include that.) The time I ordered food at the McDonald’s drive-through speaker and then drove away without picking it up at the window. (They all insisted I include that.) I did not allow them to watch the Simpsons for the first two seasons. What was I thinking?
But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them, sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.
Even today I’m not sure what worked and what didn’t, what was me and what was simply life. When they were very small, I suppose I thought someday they would become who they were because of what I’d done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true selves because they demand in a thousand ways that I back off and let them be.The books said to be relaxed and I was often tense, matter-of-fact and I was sometimes over the top. And look how it all turned out. I wound up with the three people I like best in the world, who have done more than anyone to excavate my essential humanity. That’s what the books never told me. I was bound and determined to learn from the experts. It just took me a while to figure out who the experts were.” By Anna Quindlen Newsweek Columnist and Author
Thank you, Anna Quindlen, for this eloquent essay.
Happy Mother’s Day!
The Counting-Action Dice game is a big hit at our house: grandparent-parent tested, child approved and low tech (easy for this grandma to make).
The Counting-Action Dice game is a gross motor math game perfect for preschoolers. Kids can practice counting and one-to-one correspondence while doing fun body movements like clapping, jumping and spinning.
This math game is so simple to make and loads of fun for the kids! And because it gets them moving, it’s perfect if you’re stuck inside on a rainy or snowy day.
Also, check out Peggy Kaye‘s time-tested book Games For Math. The book addresses some basic math concepts for kindergartners through third grade. I found her book to be easily incorporated into our home school. The games are tangible ways to enjoy math. (Yes, the word “math” and “enjoy” in one sentence!)
“Play is often talked about as if it were a relief from serious learning. But for children, play is serious learning. Play is really the work of childhood.” ~ Mr. Rogers
Play is such an integral and natural part of childhood. It is how all children learn. Play was one of the main reasons we decided to home school our children.
Sara wrote an excellent blog post on why kids need messy, free, unstructured, REAL play time. And some tips for making it more manageable. Check it out at Happiness Is Here: Why Kids Need Real Play
If you don’t know John Taylor Gatto, I would like to introduce him to you. He is an excellent teacher, thinker and an advocate for youth, school reform and home schooling. I came across John Gatto’s speech “Why Schools Don’t Educate” at the website The Natural Child Project back in the early 1990’s. As a teacher myself back then and starting a home school journey with our children , his speech resonated with me as I think it will with anyone who is a teacher.
The preceding is the text of a speech by John Taylor Gatto accepting the New York City Teacher of the Year Award on January 31, 1990.
I accept this award on behalf of all the fine teachers I’ve known over the years who’ve struggled to make their transactions with children honorable ones, men and women who are never complacent, always questioning, always wrestling to define and redefine endlessly what the word “education” should mean. A Teacher of the Year is not the best teacher around, those people are too quiet to be easily uncovered, but he is a standard-bearer, symbolic of these private people who spend their lives gladly in the service of children. This is their award as well as mine.
We live in a time of great school crisis. Our children rank at the bottom of nineteen industrial nations in reading, writing and arithmetic. At the very bottom. The world’s narcotic economy is based upon our own consumption of the commodity, if we didn’t buy so many powdered dreams the business would collapse – and schools are an important sales outlet. Our teenage suicide rate is the highest in the world and suicidal kids are rich kids for the most part, not the poor. In Manhattan fifty per cent of all new marriages last less than five years. So something is wrong for sure.
Our school crisis is a reflection of this greater social crisis. We seem to have lost our identity. Children and old people are penned up and locked away from the business of the world to a degree without precedent – nobody talks to them anymore and without children and old people mixing in daily life a community has no future and no past, only a continuous present. In fact, the name “community” hardly applies to the way we interact with each other. We live in networks, not communities, and everyone I know is lonely because of that. In some strange way school is a major actor in this tragedy just as it is a major actor in the widening guilt among social classes. Using school as a sorting mechanism we appear to be on the way to creating a caste system, complete with untouchables who wander through subway trains begging and sleep on the streets.
I’ve noticed a fascinating phenomenon in my twenty-five years of teaching – that schools and schooling are increasingly irrelevant to the great enterprises of the planet. No one believes anymore that scientists are trained in science classes or politicians in civics classes or poets in English classes. The truth is that schools don’t really teach anything except how to obey orders. This is a great mystery to me because thousands of humane, caring people work in schools as teachers and aides and administrators but the abstract logic of the institution overwhelms their individual contributions. Although teachers do care and do work very hard, the institution is psychopathic – it has no conscience. It rings a bell and the young man in the middle of writing a poem must close his notebook and move to different cell where he must memorize that man and monkeys derive from a common ancestor.
Our form of compulsory schooling is an invention of the state of Massachusetts around 1850. It was resisted – sometimes with guns – by an estimated eighty per cent of the Massachusetts population, the last outpost in Barnstable on Cape Cod not surrendering its children until the 1880’s when the area was seized by militia and children marched to school under guard.
Now here is a curious idea to ponder. Senator Ted Kennedy’s office released a paper not too long ago claiming that prior to compulsory education the state literacy rate was 98% and after it the figure never again reached above 91% where it stands in 1990. I hope that interests you.
Here is another curiosity to think about. The homeschooling movement has quietly grown to a size where one and a half million young people are being educated entirely by their own parents. Last month the education press reported the amazing news that children schooled at home seem to be five or even ten years ahead of their formally trained peers in their ability to think.
I don’t think we’ll get rid of schools anytime soon, certainly not in my lifetime, but if we’re going to change what is rapidly becoming a disaster of ignorance, we need to realize that the school institution “schools” very well, but it does not “educate” – that’s inherent in the design of the thing. It’s not the fault of bad teachers or too little money spent, it’s just impossible for education and schooling ever to be the same thing.
Schools were designed by Horace Mann and Barnard Sears and Harper of the University of Chicago and Thorndyke of Columbia Teachers College and some other men to be instruments of the scientific management of a mass population. Schools are intended to produce through the application of formulae, formulaic human beings whose behavior can be predicted and controlled.
To a very great extent, schools succeed in doing this. But our society is disintegrating, and in such a society, the only successful people are self-reliant, confident, and individualistic – because the community life which protects the dependent and the weak is dead. The products of schooling are, as I’ve said, irrelevant. Well-schooled people are irrelevant. They can sell film and razor blades, push paper and talk on the telephones, or sit mindlessly before a flickering computer terminal but as human beings they are useless. Useless to others and useless to themselves.
The daily misery around us is, I think, in large measure caused by the fact that – as Paul Goodman put it thirty years ago – we force children to grow up absurd. Any reform in schooling has to deal with its absurdities.
It is absurd and anti-life to be part of a system that compels you to sit in confinement with people of exactly the same age and social class. That system effectively cuts you off from the immense diversity of life and the synergy of variety, indeed it cuts you off from your own part and future, scaling you to a continuous present much the same way television does.
It is absurd and anti-life to be part of a system that compels you to listen to a stranger reading poetry when you want to learn to construct buildings, or to sit with a stranger discussing the construction of buildings when you want to read poetry.
It is absurd and anti-life to move from cell to cell at the sound of a gong for every day of your natural youth in an institution that allows you no privacy and even follows you into the sanctuary of your home demanding that you do its “homework”.
“How will they learn to read?” you say and my answer is “Remember the lessons of Massachusetts.” When children are given whole lives instead of age-graded ones in cellblocks they learn to read, write, and do arithmetic with ease if those things make sense in the kind of life that unfolds around them.
But keep in mind that in the United States almost nobody who reads, writes or does arithmetic gets much respect. We are a land of talkers, we pay talkers the most and admire talkers the most, and so our children talk constantly, following the public models of television and schoolteachers. It is very difficult to teach the “basics” anymore because they really aren’t basic to the society we’ve made.
Two institutions at present control our children’s lives – television and schooling, in that order. Both of these reduce the real world of wisdom, fortitude, temperance, and justice to a never-ending, non-stopping abstraction. In centuries past the time of a child and adolescent would be occupied in real work, real charity, real adventures, and the realistic search for mentors who might teach what you really wanted to learn. A great deal of time was spent in community pursuits, practicing affection, meeting and studying every level of the community, learning how to make a home, and dozens of other tasks necessary to become a whole man or woman.
But here is the calculus of time the children I teach must deal with:
Out of the 168 hours in each week, my children sleep 56. That leaves them 112 hours a week out of which to fashion a self.
My children watch 55 hours of television a week according to recent reports. That leaves them 57 hours a week in which to grow up.
My children attend school 30 hours a week, use about 6 hours getting ready, going and coming home, and spend an average of 7 hours a week in homework – a total of 45 hours. During that time, they are under constant surveillance, have no private time or private space, and are disciplined if they try to assert individuality in the use of time or space. That leaves 12 hours a week out of which to create a unique consciousness. Of course, my kids eat, and that takes some time – not much, because they’ve lost the tradition of family dining, but if we allot 3 hours a week to evening meals, we arrive at a net amount of private time for each child of 9 hours.
It’s not enough. It’s not enough, is it? The richer the kid, or course, the less television he watches but the rich kid’s time is just as narrowly proscribed by a somewhat broader catalog of commercial entertainments and his inevitable assignment to a series of private lessons in areas seldom of his actual choice.
And these things are oddly enough just a more cosmetic way to create dependent human beings, unable to fill their own hours, unable to initiate lines of meaning to give substance and pleasure to their existence. It’s a national disease, this dependency and aimlessness, and I think schooling and television and lessons – the entire Chautauqua idea – has a lot to do with it.
Think of the things that are killing us as a nation – narcotic drugs, brainless competition, recreational sex, the pornography of violence, gambling, alcohol, and the worst pornography of all – lives devoted to buying things, accumulation as a philosophy – all of them are addictions of dependent personalities, and that is what our brand of schooling must inevitably produce.
I want to tell you what the effect is on children of taking all their time from them – time they need to grow up – and forcing them to spend it on abstractions. You need to hear this, because no reform that doesn’t attack these specific pathologies will be anything more than a facade.
1. The children I teach are indifferent to the adult world. This defies the experience of thousands of years. A close study of what big people were up to was always the most exciting occupation of youth, but nobody wants to grow up these days and who can blame them? Toys are us.
2. The children I teach have almost no curiosity and what they do have is transitory; they cannot concentrate for very long, even on things they choose to do. Can you see a connection between the bells ringing again and again to change classes and this phenomenon of evanescent attention?
3. The children I teach have a poor sense of the future, of how tomorrow is inextricably linked to today. As I said before, they have a continuous present, the exact moment they are at is the boundary of their consciousness.
4. The children I teach are ahistorical, they have no sense of how past has predestined their own present, limiting their choices, shaping their values and lives.
5. The children I teach are cruel to each other, they lack compassion for misfortune, they laugh at weakness, and they have contempt for people whose need for help shows too plainly.
6. The children I teach are uneasy with intimacy or candor. My guess is that they are like many adopted people I’ve known in this respect – they cannot deal with genuine intimacy because of a lifelong habit of preserving a secret inner self inside a larger outer personality made up of artificial bits and pieces of behavior borrowed from television or acquired to manipulate teachers. Because they are not who they represent themselves to be the disguise wears thin in the presence of intimacy so intimate relationships have to be avoided.
7. The children I teach are materialistic, following the lead of schoolteachers who materialistically “grade” everything – and television mentors who offer everything in the world for free.
8. The children I teach are dependent, passive, and timid in the presence of new challenges. This is frequently masked by surface bravado, or by anger or aggressiveness but underneath is a vacuum without fortitude.
I could name a few other conditions that school reform would have to tackle if our national decline is to be arrested, but by now you will have grasped my thesis, whether you agree with it or not. Either schools have caused these pathologies, or television, or both. It’s a simple matter [of] arithmetic, between schooling and television all the time the children have is eaten away. That’s what has destroyed the American family, it is no longer a factor in the education of its own children. Television and schooling, in those things the fault must lie.
What can be done? First we need a ferocious national debate that doesn’t quit, day after day, year after year. We need to scream and argue about this school thing until it is fixed or broken beyond repair, one or the other. If we can fix it, fine; if we cannot, then the success of homeschooling shows a different road to take that has great promise. Pouring the money we now pour into family education might kill two birds with one stone, repairing families as it repairs children.
Genuine reform is possible but it shouldn’t cost anything. We need to rethink the fundamental premises of schooling and decide what it is we want all children to learn and why. For 140 years this nation has tried to impose objectives downward from the lofty command center made up of “experts”, a central elite of social engineers. It hasn’t worked. It won’t work. And it is a gross betrayal of the democratic promise that once made this nation a noble experiment. The Russian attempt to create Plato’s republic in Eastern Europe has exploded before [our] eyes, our own attempt to impose the same sort of central orthodoxy using the schools as an instrument is also coming apart at the seams, albeit more slowly and painfully. It doesn’t work because its fundamental premises are mechanical, anti-human, and hostile to family life. Lives can be controlled by machine education but they will always fight back with weapons of social pathology – drugs, violence, self-destruction, indifference, and the symptoms I see in the children I teach.
It’s high time we looked backwards to regain an educational philosophy that works. One I like particularly well has been a favorite of the ruling classes of Europe for thousands of years. I use as much of it as I can manage in my own teaching, as much, that is, as I can get away with given the present institution of compulsory schooling. I think it works just as well for poor children as for rich ones.
At the core of this elite system of education is the belief that self-knowledge is the only basis of true knowledge. Everywhere in this system, at every age, you will find arrangements to place the child alone in an unguided setting with a problem to solve. Sometimes the problem is fraught with great risks, such as the problem of galloping a horse or making it jump, but that, of course, is a problem successfully solved by thousands of elite children before the age of ten. Can you imagine anyone who had mastered such a challenge ever lacking confidence in his ability to do anything? Sometimes the problem is the problem of mastering solitude, as Thoreau did at Walden Pond, or Einstein did in the Swiss customs house.
One of my former students, Roland Legiardi-Lura, though both his parents were dead and he had no inheritance, took a bicycle across the United States alone when he was hardly out of boyhood. Is it any wonder then that in manhood when he decided to make a film about Nicaragua, although he had no money and no prior experience with film-making, that it was an international award-winner – even though his regular work was as a carpenter.
Right now we are taking all the time from our children that they need to develop self-knowledge. That has to stop. We have to invent school experiences that give a lot of that time back, we need to trust children from a very early age with independent study, perhaps arranged in school but which takes place away from the institutional setting. We need to invent curriculum where each kid has a chance to develop private uniqueness and self-reliance.
A short time ago I took seventy dollars and sent a twelve-year-old girl from my class with her non-English speaking mother on a bus down the New Jersey coast to take the police chief of Sea Bright to lunch and apologize for polluting [his] beach with a discarded Gatorade bottle. In exchange for this public apology I had arranged with the police chief for the girl to have a one-day apprenticeship in a small town police procedures. A few days later, two more of my twelve-year-old kids traveled alone to West First Street from Harlem where they began an apprenticeship with a newspaper editor, next week three of my kids will find themselves in the middle of the Jersey swamps at 6 A.M., studying the mind of a trucking company president as he dispatches 18-wheelers to Dallas, Chicago, and Los Angeles.
Are these “special” children in a “special” program? Well, in one sense, yes, but nobody knows about this program but the kids and myself. They’re just nice kids from Central Harlem, bright and alert, but so badly schooled when they came to me that most of them can’t add or subtract with any fluency. And not a single one knew the population of New York City or how far it is from New York to California.
Does that worry me? Of course, but I am confident that as they gain self-knowledge they’ll also become self-teachers – and only self-teaching has any lasting value.
We’ve got to give kids independent time right away because that is the key to self-knowledge, and we must re-involve them with the real world as fast as possible so that the independent time can be spent on something other than more abstraction. This is an emergency, it requires drastic action to correct – our children are dying like flies in schooling, good schooling or bad schooling, it’s all the same. Irrelevant.
What else does a restructured school system need? It needs to stop being a parasite on the working community. Of all the pages in the human ledger, only our tortured entry has warehoused children and asked nothing of them in service to the general good. For a while I think we need to make community service a required part of schooling. Besides the experience in acting unselfishly that will teach, it is the quickest way to give young children real responsibility in the mainstream of life.
For five years I ran a guerilla program where I had every kid, rich and poor, smart and dipsy, give 320 hours a year of hard community service. Dozens of those kids came back to me years later, grown up, and told me that one experience of helping someone else changed their lives. It taught them to see in new ways, to rethink goals and values. It happened when they were thirteen, in my Lab School program – only made possible because my rich school district was in chaos. When “stability” returned the Lab was closed. It was too successful with a wildly mixed group of kids, at too small of a cost, to be allowed to continue. We made the expensive elite programs look bad.
There is no shortage of real problems in the city. Kids can be asked to help solve them in exchange for the respect and attention of the total adult world. Good for kids, good for all the rest of us. That’s curriculum that teaches Justice, one of the four cardinal virtues in every system of elite education. What’s sauce for the rich and powerful is surely sauce for the rest of us – what is more, the idea is absolutely free as are all other genuine reform ideas in education. Extra money and extra people put into this sick institution will only make it sicker.
Independent study, community service, adventures in experience, large doses of privacy and solitude, a thousand different apprenticeships, the one day variety or longer – these are all powerful, cheap and effective ways to start a real reform of schooling. But no large-scale reform is ever going to work to repair our damaged children and our damaged society until we force the idea of “school” open – to include family as the main engine of education. The Swedes realized that in 1976 when they effectively abandoned the system of adopting unwanted children and instead spent national time and treasure on reinforcing the original family so that children born to Swedes were wanted. They didn’t succeed completely but they did succeed in reducing the number of unwanted Swedish children from 6000 in l976 to 15 in 1986. So it can be done. The Swedes just got tired of paying for the social wreckage caused by children not raised by their natural parents so they did something about it. We can, too.
Family is the main engine of education. If we use schooling to break children away from parents – and make no mistake, that has been the central function of schools since John Cotton announced it as the purpose of the Bay Colony schools in 1650 and Horace Mann announced it as the purpose of Massachusetts schools in 1850 – we’re going to continue to have the horror show we have right now. The curriculum of family is at the heart of any good life, we’ve gotten away from that curriculum, time to return to it. The way to sanity in education is for our schools to take the lead in releasing the stranglehold of institutions on family life, to promote during school time confluences of parent and child that will strengthen family bonds. That was my real purpose in sending the girl and her mother down the Jersey coast to meet the police chief. I have many ideas to make a family curriculum and my guess is that a lot of you will have many ideas, too, once you begin to think about it. Our greatest problem in getting the kind of grass-roots thinking going that could reform schooling is that we have large vested interests pre-emptying all the air time and profiting from schooling just exactly as it is despite rhetoric to the contrary. We have to demand that new voices and new ideas get a hearing, my ideas and yours. We’ve all had a bellyful of authorized voices mediated by television and the press – a decade long free-for-all debate is what is called for now, not any more “expert” opinions. Experts in education have never been right, their “solutions” are expensive, self-serving, and always involve further centralization. Enough. Time for a return to Democracy, Individuality, and family. I’ve said my piece. Thank you.
The Public School Nightmare: Why fix a system designed to destroy individual thought? An Essay by John Taylor Gatto (for this particular essay you will need to scroll down about a quarter of the page)
Books by John Taylor Gatto:
“Trust the people, give them choices, and the school nightmare will vanish in a generation.” ~John Taylor Gatto
Our daughter just graduated Salutatorian from a major university!
We home schooled all the way through high school.
I remember fearing our children would never learn to read and write. It seemed as if everyone’s children where reading novels and writing novels while our children where busy with self directed imaginative play and artistic activities.
Our children were what some would call late bloomers. But were they really late bloomers or did they simply learn to read and write when they were ready physically, cognitively and emotionally in their own way? In my experience, the later is most certainly more accurate in the nature of how children learn.
Being a parent, you worry; compare your children to those of others. Seemingly, there is a cultural push to prepare children academically to excel in school at a very young age. David Elkind wrote extensively about the pitfalls of “The Hurried Child” and the importance of play.
As I look back through our home schooling years, I now marvel at the ease our children learned to read and write despite how much I worried. We read to them starting at a very young age and continued to read to them well into their teens. Books, magazines, newspapers and maps filled the house and were always accessible to our children. Because we surrounded our children with the printed and spoken word, they understood the value of words ~ that words mean things and convey thoughts and ideas.
If you are considering homeschooling or currently homeschooling and worry about how to teach your children to read write and do math, trust your children. They will learn to read, write and do math in their own way given the freedom to do so. Who knows, they may graduate as Salutatorian one day! 😉
Articles of interest on the subject of “The Hurried Child”:
- David Elkind: The Hurried Child Syndrome
- David Elkind: Learning Through Play
- Learning To Read The Waldorf Way By Barbara Dewey of Waldorf Without Walls We had the pleasure meeting Barbara Dewey on several occasions. She is a fantastic teacher and mentor ~ so patient, wise and kind. I shared with her my concern about our children not reading as compared to other children we knew. In her calming demeanor, she assured me that our children will read when they are ready and encouraged me to continue to read to our children and to relax. And that we did! Both now read and write mellifluously.
- Self-Directed Education and Late Bloomers by Patrick Farenga
- Joseph Chilton Pearce (Author of The Magical Child): Play Is Learning Excellent interview with Joseph Chilton Pearce!