Homework, as I have discussed before on this blog, is pooh plop pants.
At least for children in primary schools it is anyway.
My reasoning being (and this is backed up by several of you good readers), that it has very little to do with the children learning anything at all, and quite a lot to do with parents being forced to do things they haven’t looked at or thought about voluntarily for twenty years. It is also, and this is what galls me the most, quite a lot to do with a frankly shite educational system whereby the teachers cannot teach because they are mown out with ludicrous bits of paper they have to fill in and they are so worried about upsetting health and safety, parents with Asbo’s and head teachers intent on crawling so far up the league tables they appear on the face of Mars planting flags, that they can’t get round to hearing children read more than once a year.
‘Oh, dear Katyboo,’ I hear you cry. ‘Is it Sunday again? What are you stuck on this week? Can we be of any help with your long division and your four hundred synonyms for the word plop?’
Actually it isn’t too bad today. Oscar now has homework from nursery. This is bizarre, but they are fine with my failure to do it. Today, because he wanted to, we drew pictures of yellow things. He was very insistent that penguins were yellow. This is mainly because he likes drawing penguins. I didn’t stop him. I am happy to let him continue to be as creative as he likes. I’d quite like a yellow penguin. Not as much as a pygmy pig mind you.
No today was alright, mainly because Tallulah was off on the day they handed out homework this week, so all she had to do was read several pages of a dreary book about snow drifts. Nope, it’s more an accumulation of things. Things like the fact that Tilly’s homework on bridges (to tie in with the theme of rivers which they are doing this term), has stretched my general knowledge cells so far that they have almost snapped. I am really hoping that thing about armies etc marching over bridges in formation and breaking them is not an urban myth. Although I am far too lazy to go on Google and check it out. After all, it’s not my bloody homework.
The thing that has galled me most is the issue of Tilly’s reading. I have been meaning to blog about it for a while, but didn’t know whether I was calm enough. I still don’t, but I’m thinking about it, I’m here, and I’ve got twenty minutes before I need to go and do clever things with Yorkshire pudding batter.
Tilly is now what is classed as an ‘independent’ reader. This means that her reading and comprehension have gone off the measuring scales for primary school and are currently already at her secondary school, hanging about in the library looking coy. She has finished the reading scheme and is now able to read anything she likes. This is good. Great in fact. I am very happy. Everyone is very happy. You would think this would be an end to the matter, no?
No.
She also has a reading record. It is a notebook in which her progress on the reading book of her choice has to be charted. At the beginning of term I handed her the reading record so that she could take charge of it. I am not interested in hearing her read as a part of homework. I do not need to. As an independent reader I decided that she could also independently fill in her own reading record.
In the last few weeks we have had squeaking from the classroom. First it was: ‘Mum. Mrs X says that she needs to see adult’s comments in the reading record.’ I said: ‘Oh!’ and carried on in my own sweet way. This was repeated a couple more times. I explained my thoughts to Tilly. She agreed. We carried on.
Then, in half term Tilly announced: ‘Mum. Mrs X says that if we don’t start putting adult’s comments in the reading records, then there will be consequences.’ I said: ‘Oh!’ Apparently not just consequences for me, this was a class – wide threat of an unspecified nature. I was very good dear readers. I didn’t fly off the deep end immediately. Oh no. I waited and thought, and waited and thought.
Then, when she went back to school I wrote in her reading record. I precis, for your viewing pleasure:
‘Dear Mrs X
This is the last time I will be writing in the reading record, so please make the most of it.
Tilly is an independent reader. Her comprehension and reading skills are way above what is expected of a child of her age. This is good.
At home, she is currently reading Bridget Jones’ Diary. That, and the fact that a couple of weeks ago she attended a performance of12th Night with me, and then had an intelligent conversation about it on the way home, suggests that I really do not need to worry about her reading.
Add to that the fact that we live in a house surrounded by thousands of books, and you are welcome to visit and check this fact at any time, and that we have regular, weekly trips to the library for pleasure, suggest to me that things will be fine.
It might help you to know that I am a postgraduate student of English Literature and am currently studying Children’s Literature in particular. I do think therefore, that I might be in a reasonably good position to judge whether my child needs any help with her reading. If you disagree, I would be delighted to discuss it with you.
I do not feel that filling in a reading record for the sake of bureaucracy will be of any benefit to me or my child. I have two children who do need help with their reading and I will be concentrating my efforts on them in the future.’
Naturally Matilda was quite impressed by the fact that I had ‘bigged her up’ to the authorities. Not quite so impressed when I pointed out that in order to keep the trust I was placing in her, she had to keep up her end of the bargain by reading regularly and not seeing this as an invitation to get off scot free and wander about doing bugger all.
It has been two weeks since I wrote the note. Two weeks and no feedback. I asked Tilly why this was today. She said: ‘Oh! Well they only look in the reading records when they hear us read and nobody has heard us read for weeks.’
This is why I am rather annoyed today. I am not a teacher. I never wanted to be a teacher. I did not sign up to teach. I have no patience and no skill for it. Yet there is pressure like this, exerted on children and parents to do the work of a teacher, to make up for the shortfalls in the education system. I could almost forgive them if they had forgotten to make time in the curriculum for conjugating Latin verbs, but the fact that there is no time to hear and teach children to read is pathetic.
I am lucky. My child can read beautifully and Tallulah looks to be going the same way. Scratch that, it isn’t luck. They are brought up in a household where reading is considered important, empowering, freeing and special and where reading aloud or alone is celebrated. But what do the poor buggers whose parents are barely literate themselves, and who consider reading a waste of time do in these circumstances?
It makes me feel even angrier for people like Grit, whose blog on home educating you can read here. Grit spends half her life having to justify her decision to home school her three daughters. Three daughters who receive a fantastic, imaginative and dynamic education that most children would die for, given half a chance. Why punish people like her, who are doing a fantastic job, when people who are paid to do the same job, cannot even find the time to listen to a ten year old read a few pages of a book once a week, and who then offload the guilt and workload onto parents? That hardly seems fair does it?
9 responses so far ↓
pinklea // November 8, 2009 at 6:52 pm |
At my school, we have a kind of Readers’ Club, with silly little lists to fill in (number of minutes read per evening, parent signature), trashy little prizes to win, etc. I think it’s a crock – and I’m supposed to be one of the reading specialists in my school! Parents do NOT have time for this. Kids who are good readers (like your two) do NOT need to do this – they are already reading for pleasure. Kids who are not good readers do need the practice, but they do NOT need their parents barking at them that they said “a” instead of “an”. Their parents are likely not good role models for reading anyway: genetics and environment are always in play. Those children need direct instruction and guided reading practice, which teachers are paid to provide during the school day. Some parents can and will do this quite well. Many more can’t and don’t. I always say to parents, if it’s a huge struggle for parent or child, don’t do it. Don’t jeopardize your relationship with your child over something like reading (or any other schoolwork, for that matter). Get someone else to do it – hire a tutor, enlist Granny, corral Aunt or Uncle.
Also, I teach French Immersion, and most of my parents aren’t fluent enough in French to be able to help their children with their French reading. That’s why I have a job, I tell them.
*Slinks off soapbox. Again.*
PS – I also know several teachers who don’t ever give homework. They say, how many jobs are there where you are expected to take work home with you every single night? Exactly. Very few. So why, if the children are working hard all day long, should it be mandatory to work hard at home every evening too?
(Katy, you must stop writing about your children’s school adventures! I tend to get quite wound up, don’t I!)
katyboo1 // November 8, 2009 at 6:54 pm |
Pinklea
I’m glad you get worked up. It’s good for the blood! Plus, when I get sensible feedback from you and other teachers I know it makes me feel much less isolated frankly. Rage on, rage on against the dying of the light etc…
jolafave // November 8, 2009 at 7:48 pm |
You know my stance on homework- it sucks. i could have written your post, and especially echo your I am not a teacher’ statement. Over the holidays I had to do a project on dinosaurs with Elliot. It was sent home with a note explaining how we would love doing this together and being detectives etc. What?? So his teacher can put her feet up over the holiday whilst I waste my day off scouring the internet, and a fortune on printer ink, to complete his project. Which will no doubt be displayed proudly for Ofsted to give said teacher a pat on the back….
Cynical, moi?
grit // November 8, 2009 at 8:22 pm |
GOKATYGO! That letter to Mrs X is a fantastic voice. thank goodness for parent sense. i hope more parents simply say no when faced with this life of idiotic beaurocracy. if it teaches the kids anything, it teaches them that the state knows best and parents will do as they’re told.
i’ll shut up before i start windmilling my arms and rambling like a drunk in your comments box. that’s usually what happens next. either that or i fall into a ditch.
Sharon // November 9, 2009 at 2:02 am |
I should think so too Katyboo! I had the same issues with my sons’ teachers at primary level, especially with the younger who went off the reading chart at school when he was 8! My solution was face to face with the teaching staff involved and I asked -politely and quietly – if they were prepared to come round to my house in the late afternoon to fix tea for the pre-schoolers I looked after, then pack their gear up, write a quick progress report for the one whose Daddy did the pick-up and often forget to pass info to the Mummy, changed nappies where appropriate and generally made sure the children went home in one piece, clean, fed and happy! Then I would be willing and able to use the spare time listening to my boys read! Funnily enough the answer was ‘No’ and I got no more requests to keep records of their reading habits/ abilities again. In case you are worried that they were neglected, the boys and I did other things together after the little ones had gone home and we had had our dinner.
As a footnote, these days far too much time in schools is wasted by obliging trained teachers to complete pointless administrative tasks/reports. Time that should actually be spent teaching. No wonder standards are falling in so many areas. Now I’m climbing off the soapbox too.
PS hello grit
bronxbee // November 9, 2009 at 5:57 pm |
awesome, katy! you win the “Getting to Be Like *My* Mother” award for the mother who know where her boundries are! my mother was a shining example of, “I’m the mother, they’re the teachers…. let the twain only meet twice a year at discussions of grades!” we’d bring home notes requesting that mothers participate in some event, program or activity. (i use the word advisedly, in my catholic school requesting meant “requiring.”) when we proferred the notes, that were supposed to be signed with an enthusiastic check mark and returned to the resident nun, my mother would glance up from whatever book she was reading and say, “you know where that goes.” and we did. right into the trash. and no matter what ferocity, debasement and humiliation we faced on returning to school empty-handed, my mother was unmoved. and eventually, so were we. we’d shrug at the nun’s astonishment when we’d explain why there was no mother, never mind no checked off note. if we were orphans due to matricide, we couldn’t have gotten worse looks.
it persisted through high school when, after dragging us off to live in the country, 12 miles from a town, my parents refused to get a second car, with the result that my last two years of high school, i could only participate in activities if the school bus could get me home. my mother was at home, being a mother (and working her way through the Modern Mystery Library series) and she wasn’t going to chauffer us all over creation. (take a further lesson there, katy).
and we all turned out fine… only one serial killer and three madwomen in the whole lot out of 8.
katyboo1 // November 10, 2009 at 10:10 am |
Jo
I’m with you all the way love.
Grit
Please don’t fall into a ditch on my account. Save it for when I have to talk about parents evening!
Sharon
You’ve so hit the nail on the head. They act as if you only have to look after one child and you don’t have a job or a life outside of that. It’s so very frustrating.
Bronxbee
They’re not bad odds. I’ll take ‘em
whatshappeningatmyhouse // November 13, 2009 at 11:20 am |
Hi Katybo0 – just found your blog and have really enjoyed reading through some of your posts: I will be back again!
Re the homework thing, I drew the conclusion last Monday, after a weekend spent grubbing about in the pouring rain obtaining soil from the veg patch and shopping for runner bean seeds at the garden centre (science project), followed by a good few hours on the computer Googling the Great Exhibition and putting together a visual display board with accompanying audience notes (WTF? He’s NINE!) on the same, that homework is surely a device invented by teachers for the sole purpose of torturing parents.
I’m dreading this weekend’s selection of activities already.
katyboo1 // November 13, 2009 at 2:11 pm |
Hi whatshappening
Thanks, do come and see us again! your homework sounds much more taxing than ours. When I have to leave the house to do it, I generally refuse.