Remember life before the Internet? We had to go to the library to look up magazine articles in periodical guides, then wade through stacks of magazines in a back room if we needed information for a school report. Martin Luther King Jr's famous "I Had a Dream" speech was something we learned about in school, from a textbook.
Now, millions of articles about millions of topics are available all the time. My children, decades younger than I, can watch Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. and see his oratorical skills in action. I can sit in my basement and collaborate with editors on both coasts. My son can learn about real-time fishing conditions . We watch snowstorms roll in and anticipate snowdays before the first flake falls.
The Internet -- as any homeschooling parent will tell you -- is a fantastic learning tool. That's why I'm so pleased to announce Blogging 'Bout Boys' inclusion on a 100 Excellent Online Resources list!
Whether you homeschool or not, 100 Excellent Online Resources for Christian Homeschoolers is a fabulous resource. Everything is there, from math to art to writing resources. There are even links to educational podcasts about astronomy, history and more.
What are some of your favorite online resources?
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Monday, February 8, 2010
What Makes a Great Teacher?
Bill Gates is someone I admire. He has billions of dollars and absolutely no financial incentive to ever work again, yet he continues to devote his time, energy and resources to worthy causes, such as global health and, recently, education.
Gates recently committed $45 million dollars to the Measures of Effective Teaching Project, a study designed to identify the characteristics of good teaching. The idea, of course, is to then replicate those characteristics in classrooms across the country.
Not everyone thinks it's money well-spent. Retired teacher James D. Starkey wrote a thought-provoking op-ed for Education Week, an op-ed which is inspiring a fair amount of controversy.
Teaching, Starkey says, isn't about tricks and techniques. Teaching and learning, he says, "happen whenever significant adults interact with and direct children. You can’t stop it."
I argued a similar point in a column I wrote for the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel last year. And while teachers weren't happy with me (I argued that an interested adult who supports and encourages the children's curiousity is an effective teacher -- whether or not that adult holds a teacher's certificate), I stand by my point. Children are hard-wired to learn. It is virtually impossible for a child to get through a day without learning anything. It's even more impossible when that child is in the care of an attentive adult.
I don't know about your kids, but mine constantly ask questions. Some are rather mundane ("Can I have oatmeal for breakfast?" and some are thought-provoking ("What effect did tanks have on World War II?") All of them -- even the oatmeal question -- inspire discussion and learning.
The debate, though, doesn't stop with me or Mr. Starkey. The debate as to what makes a good teacher will go on and on. Add your voice to the debate. What do you think makes a good teacher?
Gates recently committed $45 million dollars to the Measures of Effective Teaching Project, a study designed to identify the characteristics of good teaching. The idea, of course, is to then replicate those characteristics in classrooms across the country.
Not everyone thinks it's money well-spent. Retired teacher James D. Starkey wrote a thought-provoking op-ed for Education Week, an op-ed which is inspiring a fair amount of controversy.
Teaching, Starkey says, isn't about tricks and techniques. Teaching and learning, he says, "happen whenever significant adults interact with and direct children. You can’t stop it."
I argued a similar point in a column I wrote for the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel last year. And while teachers weren't happy with me (I argued that an interested adult who supports and encourages the children's curiousity is an effective teacher -- whether or not that adult holds a teacher's certificate), I stand by my point. Children are hard-wired to learn. It is virtually impossible for a child to get through a day without learning anything. It's even more impossible when that child is in the care of an attentive adult.
I don't know about your kids, but mine constantly ask questions. Some are rather mundane ("Can I have oatmeal for breakfast?" and some are thought-provoking ("What effect did tanks have on World War II?") All of them -- even the oatmeal question -- inspire discussion and learning.
The debate, though, doesn't stop with me or Mr. Starkey. The debate as to what makes a good teacher will go on and on. Add your voice to the debate. What do you think makes a good teacher?
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
Doing Nothing
After lunch today, I sat back on the sofa and sipped my soda.
To the casual observer, it may have looked like I was doing nothing. (Especially since I periodically closed my eyes.) But if you looked closer, you would have seen education in action.
In reality, I was helping Boy #2 write a story. He LOVES to draw and last night created his very own super hero and nemesis. Today, he drew an entire cartoon story featuring his characters -- 5 pages with 4 panels each, plus a title page. Since he's not yet an independent writer, I'd promised him that I would help him add words to his book after lunch.
Writer that I am, I pictured narrative sentences. Comic book kid that he is, he imagined sound effects. He asked me how to spell "whoosh" and "beep" and "aaargh!" and a thousand other things I can't even type because I have no idea how to replicate those sounds with letters.
He became frustrated with me. He retreated to another room. I gave him time and space before settling in next to him on the couch. We tried again. I expected him to hand over the pencil at any time -- "You do it, Mom" -- because he hates writing. But he didn't. This was his book, his story, and he seemed determined to do it himself.
Frame-by-frame, he filled in the words. Sound effects. Dialogue. He asked for the spelling of words he didn't know and I replied -- sitting there, on the couch, eyes closed, sipping my soda.
At times, it took all of my patience to sit quietly and repeat the letters. His frames, after all, went from the upper left corner of the page, down to the lower left, then up to the right and down again. His spacing was occasionally non-existent. A couple of his letters were reversed. And he, intent on his project, was often less-than-patient.
My 12-year-old son, meanwhile, kicked off Black History Month by reading three books about the Underground Railroad in front of the woodstove.
I sat on the couch and did nothing....
...except allow my children to learn in ways that suit their natural learning styles. Boy #2 developed fine motor skills, spelling, handwriting, reading, writing and language skills. His story had a definite plot and two distinct characters. It featured a beginning, middle and end. Boy #1 reveled in historical knowledge -- from books I'd selected on a previous trip to the library and left casually laying around the house. Is it a co-incidence that tomorrow we go see The Freedom Train, a musical about the life of Harriet Tubman? I think not.
Real, vital learning is frequently invisible. Often, the best teachers are as well.
To the casual observer, it may have looked like I was doing nothing. (Especially since I periodically closed my eyes.) But if you looked closer, you would have seen education in action.
In reality, I was helping Boy #2 write a story. He LOVES to draw and last night created his very own super hero and nemesis. Today, he drew an entire cartoon story featuring his characters -- 5 pages with 4 panels each, plus a title page. Since he's not yet an independent writer, I'd promised him that I would help him add words to his book after lunch.
Writer that I am, I pictured narrative sentences. Comic book kid that he is, he imagined sound effects. He asked me how to spell "whoosh" and "beep" and "aaargh!" and a thousand other things I can't even type because I have no idea how to replicate those sounds with letters.
He became frustrated with me. He retreated to another room. I gave him time and space before settling in next to him on the couch. We tried again. I expected him to hand over the pencil at any time -- "You do it, Mom" -- because he hates writing. But he didn't. This was his book, his story, and he seemed determined to do it himself.
Frame-by-frame, he filled in the words. Sound effects. Dialogue. He asked for the spelling of words he didn't know and I replied -- sitting there, on the couch, eyes closed, sipping my soda.
At times, it took all of my patience to sit quietly and repeat the letters. His frames, after all, went from the upper left corner of the page, down to the lower left, then up to the right and down again. His spacing was occasionally non-existent. A couple of his letters were reversed. And he, intent on his project, was often less-than-patient.
My 12-year-old son, meanwhile, kicked off Black History Month by reading three books about the Underground Railroad in front of the woodstove.
I sat on the couch and did nothing....
...except allow my children to learn in ways that suit their natural learning styles. Boy #2 developed fine motor skills, spelling, handwriting, reading, writing and language skills. His story had a definite plot and two distinct characters. It featured a beginning, middle and end. Boy #1 reveled in historical knowledge -- from books I'd selected on a previous trip to the library and left casually laying around the house. Is it a co-incidence that tomorrow we go see The Freedom Train, a musical about the life of Harriet Tubman? I think not.
Real, vital learning is frequently invisible. Often, the best teachers are as well.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Boys and Hair, Part 3
I've blogged about Taylor Pugh before. Most recently, the long-haired little boy's parents reached a compromise with the school district, agreeing to secure his hair up before sending him to class. According to his mom, Elizabeth, Taylor "looks a little like Princess Leia" with his new 'do.
Keep that in mind.
In another school district, in another place (far, far away, of course), another boy's long hair landed him in trouble. This time, apparently, the school district was OK with his hair. His teacher clearly was not.
The eleven-year-old's mother has filed a lawsuit alleging that his sixth-grade teacher pulled his hair into ponytails, re-introduced him to the class using a female name and paraded him to other sixth grade classrooms.
The teacher's behavior was clearly over the line. But what intrigues me the most here is:
Keep that in mind.
In another school district, in another place (far, far away, of course), another boy's long hair landed him in trouble. This time, apparently, the school district was OK with his hair. His teacher clearly was not.
The eleven-year-old's mother has filed a lawsuit alleging that his sixth-grade teacher pulled his hair into ponytails, re-introduced him to the class using a female name and paraded him to other sixth grade classrooms.
The teacher's behavior was clearly over the line. But what intrigues me the most here is:
- The amount of time, energy and passion invested in boys' hair
- The differing responses
In one case, we have an extremely conservative school district that is apparently OK with a four-year-old boy coming to school with Princess Leia hair. In the other case, a rogue teacher in a more tolerant school district ties a boy's hair up and his parents sue, alleging that the ponytails "caused ... extreme humiliation, embarrassment and emotional distress" and that the school "failed to protect him against gender-based harassment."
I don't mean to downplay the pain experienced by either boy. I just find it incredibly ironic that a "girly" hairstyle is the answer in one school district and the problem in another. And as a woman who is also the mother of boys, I am disturbed by the undercurrent: in both cases, adults are imposing notions of masculinity on little boys. In both cases, the clear message is this: Don't be a girl.
Is it possible that our sons, the younger generation, don't feel nearly as confined by typical sex roles as we did? Is it possible that their comfort makes us uncomfortable? I'm eager to hear your thoughts.
Monday, January 25, 2010
In The Flow
I said the words "historical disaster" -- and my kitchen erupted into a frenzy of baking soda and vinegar, clay and cardboard.
Our homeschool group is hosting a Historical Disaster Fair on some yet-to-be-determined date. (Cool idea, eh? I got it here.) Today, I figured, was as good a day as any to tell the boys.
Somewhat surprisingly, they were ALL excited. (I think the word "disaster" had something to do with it.) Within minutes, they had selected their topics: a volcanic eruption for Boy #2 (think Pompeii), an asteroid impact for Boy #3 and either Hiroshima or Gettysburg for Boy #1.
Pleased with our little conversation, I headed to the basement to start a load of laundry. I returned a few minutes later to find a cookie sheet covered in vinegar and cardboard boxes in various states of deconstruction.
The boys were in the zone. Boy #3 sketched his plans for an asteroid impact model while Boy #2 experimented with different "volcanoes." (He ultimately settled on a water bottle, lid off.) Boy #4 watched with glee while Boy #2 tested various concentrations of baking soda and vinegar. #3 sliced shapes out of extra cardboard boxes and colored them, just right -- 2 shades of blue for the ocean and a blank, deforested area on planet Earth. Boys #1 and 2 cleaned out an old fish tank/new home for a volcano. #2 microwaved modeling clay to soften it, then crafted a volcano-shaped shell around his water bottle. He also made a building out of a small cardboard box.
My kitchen was a mess, but the energy in that room was inspiring! This was not learning for learning's sake; this was creation. These were boys who were applying knowledge, boys who were free to pursue a project in whatever way felt best for them. There were no rules -- "each project must contain a timeline" or "all reports must be double-spaced" -- to interfere with their visions. No bells sounded, artificially ending the energy. The boys worked and worked and worked -- because they wanted to, not because someone told them they must.
Our homeschool group is hosting a Historical Disaster Fair on some yet-to-be-determined date. (Cool idea, eh? I got it here.) Today, I figured, was as good a day as any to tell the boys.
Somewhat surprisingly, they were ALL excited. (I think the word "disaster" had something to do with it.) Within minutes, they had selected their topics: a volcanic eruption for Boy #2 (think Pompeii), an asteroid impact for Boy #3 and either Hiroshima or Gettysburg for Boy #1.
Pleased with our little conversation, I headed to the basement to start a load of laundry. I returned a few minutes later to find a cookie sheet covered in vinegar and cardboard boxes in various states of deconstruction.
The boys were in the zone. Boy #3 sketched his plans for an asteroid impact model while Boy #2 experimented with different "volcanoes." (He ultimately settled on a water bottle, lid off.) Boy #4 watched with glee while Boy #2 tested various concentrations of baking soda and vinegar. #3 sliced shapes out of extra cardboard boxes and colored them, just right -- 2 shades of blue for the ocean and a blank, deforested area on planet Earth. Boys #1 and 2 cleaned out an old fish tank/new home for a volcano. #2 microwaved modeling clay to soften it, then crafted a volcano-shaped shell around his water bottle. He also made a building out of a small cardboard box.
My kitchen was a mess, but the energy in that room was inspiring! This was not learning for learning's sake; this was creation. These were boys who were applying knowledge, boys who were free to pursue a project in whatever way felt best for them. There were no rules -- "each project must contain a timeline" or "all reports must be double-spaced" -- to interfere with their visions. No bells sounded, artificially ending the energy. The boys worked and worked and worked -- because they wanted to, not because someone told them they must.
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