Category Archives: Home Ed

History of a city in 45 minutes

“Tell me a story, Mummy,” said Daisy. “Tell me the story of a city.”
Well, we live in a city, rather conveniently, and over the years I have gathered a fair bit of knowledge about its history, so that’s what I did. It took 45 minutes, but I’m sure I missed some bits.

Picton Reading Rooms
Picton Reading Rooms

The thing with history as a story, is you’re making it up as you go along. I mean, obviously not – the actual events have some historical basis, to the best of my understanding, but what goes in, in what depth, and with which sympathies, pretty much emerges as the tale unfolds. I was not, for example, expecting to go into so much detail about the 1981 riots and Michael Heseltine. But I seem to have done a reasonably balanced job of it – Daisy interrupted me to say, “I don’t know whose side to be on, now! I was on the side of the black people who were being bullied by the police, but now they’ve started rioting, and there’s no excuse for that!” If she can’t choose a side, I must have presented the story balanced on a knife edge!

So, in case you were wondering, the History of Liverpool started with King John, shooting at deer in Toxteth Park, and issuing a Royal Charter in 1207; there was trade, and commerce, and growth, and a castle; there was the English civil war, and a city that changed hands three times over the period; there was more trade, more growth; there was colonisation and slavery; there was the Industrial Revolution, and growth on an unprecedented scale; there was overcrowding and squalor, and infant mortality, and pollution; there was a Georgian city that stretched barely a mile from the centre, and an Edwardian one that came the four miles all the way out to our house; there were inter-war semis and slum clearances; there was the Blitz and the Atlantic Convoy, and Western Approaches; there was a city of a million people that stretched all the way out to Speke;

Albert Dock
Albert Dock

but there was damage and loss, and big, empty spaces where buildings used to be; and then there was decline – there was joblessness and poverty, there was a shrinking city which lost half of its population in forty years; there was racism; there was dereliction, there was police brutality and abuse of power; then there was rioting, and even more empty spaces where buildings used to be; then there was the Cabinet meeting in Downing Street, where some parties were arguing for a “managed decline” of the city – to essentially let Liverpool die (we pointed out that the minutes of that meeting only emerged last year, and people were very angry when they found out); then there was Heseltine, a man who got the worst job in government, essentially because he was being punished for something, but a man who was determined to do any job he was given to the best of his ability; and there was an International Garden Festival, and a fund to restore the Albert Dock from 40 years of bomb-damaged dereliction, and a plan to get Liverpool onto the tourist map; and there was Granada Television Studios, and This Morning, and a man in a jumper leaping from Stranraer to Belfast on a scale model of the country, floating in the newly dredged waters of the dock; there was what we see today, when we look around – fancy new shops, and Japanese tourists, and a city that still has plenty of problems, but which isn’t in decline any more. A city brought back from the grave.

So there you have it. Education by story-telling, a whistle-stop tour of how we became what we are. From King John to Fred’s weather map in 45 minutes.

Lightbulb moments (various)

Daisy has been providing lightbulb moments galore, in the last couple of weeks. We haven’t really talked about education much recently, so maybe I should summarise where we are.

I’ve known for some time that Daisy learns through conversation. It’s a fairly common phenomenon with home educated children (school educated children, too, probably, but their parents don’t seem to talk about it as much) – however structured or unstructured the style of education that a family chooses, it’s nothing compared to the learning that you stumble into while driving to swimming lessons or walking to the park. In recent times, we have engaged in in-depth explanations of the credit crunch, supply and demand, and the relative merits of renting versus buying property, in the car; we have established to the satisfaction of both of us, that she understands the mathematical principles underlying times tables, and that learning the answers is just an exercise she can indulge in if she likes, whilst walking along the river bank to the swing park; we have talked about group dynamics, empathy, what drives some people to need to be in charge, and what we can do help feel less defensive (that was in the car again); we have discussed heaven, hell, various theological positions on the subject, and I briefly summarised a chapter of Rob Bell’s “Love Wins” for her consideration.

I have to say, it’s my favourite form of education, though it’s almost impossible to quantify in any way that means anything to anyone else. It’s no way to PROVE she’s getting an education, but it’s the best bit of the education she’s getting.

Daisy is, as I believe we’ve discussed before, largely autonomously educated. In practical terms, this means I’m not prepared to have the necessary fights that would be involved to force her to learn particular things at particular times. In some ways, it would be nice to feel like I could, because, again, Provability makes me feel better, and makes the Difficult Conversations with people who don’t quite understand, that little bit easier. But since it takes me all my energy to get her into clothes in the morning, and to enforce some sort of regime of tidying up after herself (even just a bit, now and then, would be a start…), we have found ourselves taking a different route. What this means in practical terms, is that I fill the house with broadly educational Stuff, and vaguely hope that she’ll accidentally trip over something, and learn something.

On the good days, I recount the complex conversations that we’ve had, and list the museums and galleries and whatnot that we’ve visited, and note that she has, somewhere along the line, learned to read without my really being able to say when or why. And I feel good. It’s all working, I am not, after all, destroying her life with my hare-brained experiment.

On the less good days, I torture myself with how much time she spends watching CBBC iPlayer on the computer, and achieving, it seems, almost nothing.

Except that last week, I suddenly realised what she was doing. She is learning from the TV! Honestly! I know you and I were brought up believing that such things were only possible if you stayed up till 3am and watched the OU professor with the beard draw incomprehensibly on a blackboard, but she’s actually watching a fairly wide variety of programmes. She watches Blast Lab, and picks up science. She watches Horrible Histories, and learns about the past. She watches Newsround Extra, and Blue Peter, and learns all kinds of random and peculiar things. Recently, she’s been fixated on the Blue Peter woman who went to the South Pole, and the Sport Relief piece about the boy who walks two miles each way for water. The other day I found her watching a YouTube video I couldn’t understand, and it turned out to be Barbie: Thumbelina, in Czech. Czech! Apparently, it wasn’t easy to follow, but the dog kept running into a window, and that was funny. :-/

This probably doesn’t sound remarkable to you, but this was the nature of the lightbulb moment. We have been subscribed to Education City for years, and Reading Eggs for about eight months, and she loves the idea of them, but she never wants to do them. I’m not allowed to cancel the subscription, mind, but she never uses them, and I couldn’t work out why. And now I know.

Daisy doesn’t really want to be asked to engage with these things. She doesn’t want to answer the questions, and work to get the gold star, and constantly be expected to interact. On the other hand, she seems to learn very effectively audio-visually. She watches, she listens, she absorbs, if she doesn’t understand she plays it again, and she LEARNS. She learns so very much. In a sense, that’s what she’s doing when we’re having those in-depth conversations. I talk, and she listens, and if it doesn’t make sense, she asks a question, but if it does, she just soaks it in.

The other realisation of this week, is that she’s actually terrified of failure. That’s one of the reasons that she doesn’t enjoy the risk that she might NOT get the gold star for playing the game. She’s something of a perfectionist, and to cope with that, she wants to be in control of the goal-setting. It’s odd, because what I actually experience of her, is that she’s very slap-dash about things, which doesn’t sound perfectionist at all. Her handwriting is all over the place, and the effort I’ve made, over the years, to get her to take her time, use lower-case letters appropriately, form letters correctly, spell things right, have been rebuffed in short order on almost every occasion. Sometimes, I’ve interfered, and put her off doing whatever she was doing, which I regret immediately, but can’t fix by then. Increasingly, she’s learning to be sufficiently bad-tempered as to make me go away so she can carry on doing it her way.

But, for all that long, slow, frustrating process, she CAN read, CAN (sort of) write (as long as no-one else wants to be able to read it), she can count, add up, take away, these are skills she is developing. So what have I learned?

Daisy learns best from within her comfort zone. Attempts by well-meaning people to bully her OUT of her comfort zone, to the place where THEY think she should be, do not work. They make her dig her heels in. It won’t take very long at all, before they will make her quit the lesson altogether. For four months, last year, we had the kindest, gentlest, most patient piano teacher you could ever wish to have, but Daisy decided that the beginning of the process of playing with two hands at once, instead of one at a time, was too far out of her comfort zone. She melted down, more than once, refused to engage, and eventually quit.

We are currently facing the same problem with swimming. Last week, I was taken aside by the swimming teacher, and asked if I would do some work with her, during the week, on persuading her that the teachers know best, and saying “No” when they ask her to take the next step towards learning isn’t a valid response. She is not, they tell me, making progress, and if she’s not prepared to trust them and do as she’s told, she isn’t likely to.

The more I’ve thought about that conversation, since, the more I’ve felt, with a sinking heart, that they don’t understand how she ticks. Autonomously educated children do not, generally, do as they are told to, without question. She understands very clearly that water is a place people can drown, and they haven’t managed to secure her trust sufficiently to override that fear. She will do what she will do, and she will go no further.

Now, I am not concerned by her “progress”. I believe I am paying £4 a week for someone else to take her swimming, because I don’t want to. I also, autonomously educating nutter that I am, believe that if she hangs about at the pool with people who CAN swim (and I can’t, really – not well enough), she’s bound to pick it up eventually. That’s how she learned to read. When I pushed her, she resisted, HARD, but left to herself, she worked it out.

So the question becomes, does it matter if she doesn’t make progress, or at least, make it as quickly as they think she ought? Well, to me, not at all. I want her in the water, and not hating it. So does it matter to them? I don’t know. It crossed my mind, chatting to a friend last night, that they may well have targets. The swimming lessons are outsourced by the council, and it’s possible that the rate of improvement is a target they’re being measured on. If that’s the case, then we’re quitting. I can’t talk sense into people whose livelihood depends on Daisy exhibiting certain behaviours, if those behaviours turn out to be unnatural and unnerving to her. If, however, all they’re concerned about is my having a tantrum over her failure to make progress, then I can reassure them. I don’t care in the slightest. She’ll learn when she’s ready, and all I really care about is that she doesn’t start refusing to get in the pool.

Look what I made!

It wasn’t exactly an educational activity, since one child refused to have anything to do with it (and cried when I threw her off the computer for ten minutes while I printed things), whilst the other one was desperate to sever his own fingers with the paper strimmer, but wasn’t really making much of a contribution. Never mind, I’ve had a fun afternoon, and I still think it’s a useful resource in helping small people understand how the historical stories that we learn about fit together. Chronological history, and all that.

Our history time-line
Our history time-line

It’s a time line. It’s very busy at one end, since it turns out we know almost nothing about the world before 1500, except that some Romans came, and then there was a battle, but that’s OK. It makes me want to learn some stuff to fill in the gaps, and hopefully, it will make Daisy feel the same. If nothing else, it makes it starkly clear just how recent most of our history is, even the things we think of as a long time ago, like Queen Victoria being on the throne.

Doing it all in the wrong order

Daisy was thoroughly overtired by 8pm tonight, mostly because of a late night last night, and big day of playing and trampolining. As a result, her inability to spell Mario adequately to search Google for the faux-Mario games that Daddy had been messing about with, reduced her to great heaving sobs of devastation. It all came out: It’s not fair, I can’t write, all my friends can write better than me, all I seem to do is reading, why can’t I do writing instead, etc, etc, etc.

So we had a calming and reassuring cuddle, and I pointed out several key facts to her:

  1. Most of her friends are older than her, and one of them is nine, which is a clear three years her senior. It stands to reason that they should be more expert in such things, after so much more practice.
  2. She identified her one friend who is actually six months younger, and still writes better than she does, so then we talked about how Home Education Is Different.
    Daisy has not been concentrating on writing. One of the important advantages of HE, is that she gets time to focus on learning other things, and to ask the Big Questions which are bothering her. Lots of those questions are about history. She knows an inordinate amount about the Battle of Hastings, even though it’s about 18 months since she looked into it properly, and her recent interests have resulted in in-depth discussions of 20th Century Political History. A couple of weeks ago, we covered, in an hour and a half, and through the medium of conversation,

    • the causes of World War I,
    • the reality of mechanised warfare and unprecedented casualty numbers,
    • the Treaty of Versaille,
    • the effect on Germany,
    • the creation of the League of Nations,
    • the rise of Hitler,
    • the failure of appeasement (with side note that appeasement doesn’t work on Daisy, any more than it worked on Hitler!),
    • the invasion of Czechoslovakia and Poland,
    • World War II,
    • the fall of France,
    • Pearl Harbour,
    • (great great) Uncle Henry dying in Burma,
    • Hiroshima and Nagasaki (side note into nuclear power stations, and Japanese current affairs regarding earthquake, tsunami and crisis-ridden reactors),
    • the partition of Germany,
    • the partition of Berlin (with diagram of West Berlin isolated from Western Europe),
    • the intransigence of post-war USSR and the fear that engendered in the West,
    • the Berlin Wall,
    • the Cold War and associated climate of fear,
    • and the fall of the Berlin wall within my lifetime, after a 40 year stalemate.

    Most six year olds simply don’t have time to learn that stuff, in that depth, and if they do, they probably lack the intellectual energy to do it. There’s other stuff, too, of course. She knows a lot of stuff about National Trust stately homes, and associated history, she’s learning lots of sciency things about the Mersey, and the weather, and states of matter, and other stuff – some of which will coincide with what they learn in schools. But the fact is, her learning is varied and complex and entirely focussed on what she’s interested in, and that’s how it should be.

  3. Because whilst I said I wasn’t brave enough to pursue autonomous education for Daisy, it transpires that I’m not bloody-minded enough to make her learn specific things in a specific order, just because I say so. And the thing I said explicitly to her, tonight, that I’ve probably only implied before, is that she is in charge. If she wants to learn to write, she can. We can do it together. We own work books (which never, ever get opened, mind you), and she is capable of getting them out and practising, but if she wants me to help, I will. Of course I will – what parent says “No, I’m not helping you learn to write”? So, we decided against the work books, but starting tomorrow, we’re going to choose a sentence out of one of her books, and copy it out, every day. I was amazed that she agreed to it, but she seemed very keen.
  4. Of course, we also talked about the most likely outcome, tomorrow morning: that I will waltz up to her, and say, “Do you want to practice that writing, now?” and she will say, “Not just now. Maybe later.” Because she is JUST LIKE HER DAD. Kevin is shockingly bad for agreeing that something needs to be done, but living in a perpetual state of not wanting to do it just NOW. Later. Tomorrow, maybe. It drives me insane. But I’ve told her – it is her choice. I won’t make her do writing if she doesn’t want to. But if she wants to learn to write, there’s really only one way, and that’s by practising. It’s up to her.

So, there we have it. Daisy’s education is broad, balanced, and in entirely the wrong order, if you’re used to thinking about these things in the way that schools do. And tomorrow, we will either start a concerted attempt to meet her self-identified need to practice writing, or we will decide that we don’t care that much after all, and play the Sims. One of those two things.