reflecting, part three

I endured a lot of schooling. Not that there were not happy moments or fun moments or meaningful moments. But when weighing that against the sheer boredom and social expectation of school - which started the moment I stepped through the door at age five - honestly, just reporting that I endured. So much wasted time.

My childhood memories are not about school. They are about summers swimming in the lake and riding my pony and exploring the woods. Visiting my grandmother. Playing in the back yard.

There are a few memories that surface for me regarding school that were painful. But not for me. What I remember with a flinch and what likely was the biggest impetus to teach my own kids was the pain and embarrassment that I felt for other kids being asked to do things that were horrendous for them.

I was a naturally chatty person (shocked?) and imaginative. I enjoyed reading and writing and sharing. To be asked to write a poem, in a particular form or free form and read it for the class along with my classmates was an easy and fun task. For a few classmates, however, this was a tortuous event. I remember in particular a couple of boys given the same assignment as the rest of us. Write a poem, share it with the class by reading it aloud.

What I observed felt like I was watching some twisted form of abuse. Normally happy, funny, swaggering, sporty, confident eleven year olds standing at the front of the class, sweating, faces burning red, shaking the rumpled paper in their hands. Boys who appeared ready to vomit.

All other students reacted; some mortified for them, some not able to look, some snickering. We all felt their pain. It all just seemed so wrong. I just couldn’t see the value, the lesson, the purpose, the gain from this method of exposing children to poetry. Or public speaking.

The same thing would happen right through the years of school. Oral presentations. No formation, no coaching, no tools, no supportive environment. Absolutely no conversation with the class about how this is an important but difficult thing to learn and that we must be respectful of the student who was presenting. Nothing.

It just seemed so unfair. I’m a huge advocate of all people, regardless of what they are planning to do with their future, of gaining some education in all forms of literature, including poetry AND an advocate of everyone at least having some exposure to speaking so that they are able to speak in front of people. It’s a shame if we don’t receive some education in these areas, as with all the other areas of a well rounded education.

Please don’t misread. I believe, in these circumstances, that no one was trying to embarrass anyone. I don’t think it was intentional.

But I do think these ideas or actions lacked intention.

Please, for the sake of Pete, let’s coach them, let’s teach them, let’s provide support and an understanding of WHY IT MATTERS. The thing that irked me most about that educational system I was raised in was simply that none of it was made relevant. Learning (whatever it was) was isolated. It did not relate to me. Things did not relate to each other. There seemed to be a huge flaw. We were, in a sense, just doing our time. Doing all the isolated, unrelated things that we needed to do to Graduate. Then our life would begin.

There were a small number (I can count them on one hand) of teachers and classes that inspired me and enriched me in my twelve years of public school. And I am grateful for them. This however, does not change the “enduring” that I experienced on the day to day.

So I endured. But I thought a lot and daydreamed a lot and wondered what it might be like if education were different. Relevant. Meaningful. Fun, even.

Eventually, all that wondering led me down a path to a radical approach to education. And here we are.