Un-schooling and Learning Styles

Back in the 1970s John Holt, an American educator and proponent of home schooling, said: “It's not that I feel that school is a good idea gone wrong, but a wrong idea from the word go. It's a nutty notion that we can have a place where nothing but learning happens, cut off from the rest of life.”

The un-schooling approach provides a stimulating environment, creativity materials, books, learning tools and, most importantly, adults ready to interact and answer questions. Children learn in an unstructured way, by following their natural curiosity. 

Critics say this can lead to education gaps caused by glossing over some knowledge areas, plus it’s trickier to assess the child’s progress. The goal of un-schooling, however, is not testable achievement - instead, it’s fostering a love of learning by pursuing topics meaningful and appealing to the child.   

Is your child's Learning Style Suitable to un-schooling? Here a a few indicators:

• Does your child have a non-preference for structured learning?
• Do they like parental authority?
• Are they a self-starter?

Do their Learning Style Analysis today to find out.

Homework and Your Child’s Learning Style

If your child is auditory - they like to listen and talk - try one of the following homework hints:

• Make a learning tape together with your child. Let her explain the new topic into the tape recorder.
• Discuss the lesson together.
• Encourage your child to compose and record a song, a poem or a radio play about the topic (e.g., World War II, global warming, flower pollination, Mexico).

If your child is visual - they like to read and look at images - try one of the following homework hints:

• Create a mind-map, illustration, cartoon, poster, slide show, costume, historical time line, illustrated report.  
• Watch a DVD about the topic (“The King and I” about Thailand, “Little Einsteins”).

 If your child is tactile - they like to handle objects in order to learn - try one of the following homework hints:

• Make use of question-answer jig-saw puzzles), electro- boards (a bulb lights up for every correct answer), flip chutes, etc.  
• Encourage your child to make their own memory aids: sculptures of molecules or board games depicting new topics.

If your child is kinesthetic - they learn best through physical experiences - try one of the following homework hints:

• Bake a cake together to teach conversion from grams to kilograms.
• Pantomime or act out a history lesson.
• Play a board game to discover new facts.
• Take a field trip to the zoo, a court house, a factory.
• Put on a puppet show together.

Things To Consider When Home Schooling

Imagine learning geography, history and maths by travelling from country to country. One family did just that, letting the world be their textbook. They taught 3D shapes using the cylindrical pillars in the ancient ruins of Antigua and biology on the black beaches of Monterrico.

Do you have what it takes to home school? Here are some factors to consider:

• Long-haul or short-term? If you only see yourself home schooling for a couple of years, it's important align your teaching with the school syllabus, so that your child will have less trouble adjusting when back at school. 
• Is your partner fully supportive? Home schooling may mean changes to your household and income.
• Do you have the time? While shorter than a conventional school day, home schooling still takes time away from other activities (job, volunteer work, exercise, caring for a new baby).
• Do you have the patience? While being your children 24/7 may sound great in theory, prepare strategies for grocery shopping, hairdresser appointments and your off-colour days.
• What is your child's learning style? If they enjoy the structured approach and learning in groups, home schooling may not be for them. On the other hand, if they thrive on kinesthetic input and individual attention, they may not thrive in a conventional school. Find out today.

Some children would like nothing better than staying home all day with Mum. Others thrive on the teamwork and constant socialisation at school. Schools may have expert teachers, better sports equipment, music and art facilities. Best of all, school teaches healthy competition, taking care of your things, getting along with kids you may not like very much, and dealing with issues such as bullying.

Make ice cream at Zany Zeus, Wellington, New Zealand

Learn maths at a fruit marker, Wellington, New Zealand

Discover the laws of physics, Coromandel, New Zealand

Learning Styles and the Times Tables

Even though the world we live in has a calculator built into every phone and iPod, our children are still expected to memorise the times tables. Depending on your child's learning style, they may accept the idea, or they may rebel against the task's inherent boredom.

Paradoxically, the problem deepens for those students who are good at maths. Because they know that 8x7 is the same as 8+8+8+8+8+8+8, they don't want to memorise the answer. Instead, they want to work it out every time, because it's more interesting. 16+16+16+8, this is the same as 32+24, so the answer is 56. Much more fun for an analytic brain to do the calculation than to learn by rote. The problem comes when the teacher needs an instant answer.

So, if memorise they must, what's the best way? Depending whether your child is visual, tactile, auditory or kinesthetic, here are some ideas on how to drill the times tables:

• Put up a poster with the times tables on the inside of the toilet door.
• When you're driving or cooking with your child, ask them five to seven times-table lines, like 3x3 and 7x6.
• Let the child use cuisenaire rods to illustrate the answer. 
• Write the question on the child's back and let them write the answer on yours.
• Create a colourful worksheet to fill in.
• Put the question in context: Anna's chocolate box has 4 rows of chocolates and each row holds 5 chocolates. How many chocolates are in the box?
• Make up a song: Six times four is twenty-four. Or look for a ready song, for example,

To multiply by ten



you take the number then


Add a zero to it


And that’s the end. (http://www.songsforteaching.com/)

If you use the wrong approach for your child's learning style, you might put him off maths for a long time. Check their learning style today.

DO WE REALLY TEACH LITERATURE?

(a guest blog by Nicholas Reid, writer and critic)

A question has been jangling in my head recently and keeping me awake at night. Is the appreciation of literature really being taught?

I know at first glance the question seems self-evidently absurd. Of course the appreciation of literature can be taught. Otherwise why do we have all those English and other language departments and programmes in universities and colleges? And why do high-school teachers force Lord of the Flies, The God Boy, The Color Purple, To Kill a Mockingbird, The Whale Rider, The Old Man and the Sea, Man Alone, The Scarlet Letter into young and unwilling heads?

But think carefully about the question and you’ll see there is a real problem. If the appreciation of literature means responding perceptively to what authors have actually written, then is it really being taught?

Let me illuminate the problem by telling you what I know about a specific writer.

I’m quite knowledgeable about Elizabeth Gaskell and her novels. I know that she was not quite up there with classics like Dickens, George Eliot and Thackeray, but that she was an esteemed Victorian writer who has retained a considerable readership. I know that she is now much lauded by feminist academics because she gave a distinctly female account of early industrialised England. I know she wrote Mary Barton, Cranford, North and South, Wives and Daughters and other novels and short stories of small town, industrial town and domestic life; and I know that some of her work first appeared as serials in periodicals like Household Words and All the Year Round.

If you sat me down in front of a school exam question on Elizabeth Gaskell, or confronted me with an undergraduate essay topic on her, I’d be able to concoct a creditable answer. I could sagely discuss her themes – the circumscribed lives of women; the power of gossip; the clash of older village ways with industrialisation in England’s “railway age”; the beginnings of wage slavery; class divisions between the squirearchy and the middle classes; the ties that bind small communities together and so forth. I could name her main characters, write accounts of them, and neatly précis her plots. I could even make some apt comments on her style and her tendency to focus on the minutiae of life. All this would be off the top of my head from what I already know. Give me spend and hour or two to look some reference material, and I’d do even better.

But here’s the rub. Although it pains me to admit it, and although I should be performing ritualised penance, I have never read a single word of Elizabeth Gaskell’s works, even though three of her books sit on my shelves as I write this.

Having never got around to her, I have simply accumulated knowledge of her from other sources. These include passing references in general histories of literature; what I have heard other people say about her; enthusiastic recommendations from an Elizabeth Gaskell fan whom I knew some years back; and my having seen two BBC TV serial adaptations of her work – North and South and Cranford.

Everything I know about Elizabeth Gaskell is second-hand. My eyes have never travelled across the words she actually wrote and I’ve never experienced or assessed how she wrote.


Which brings me back to my original question – is the appreciation of literature really being taught?

After all, if the study of literature is supposed to be training our responses to the process of reading itself, to a particular writer’s style, and to the impact of the words on the page, then plot summaries, character studies, background sociological or biographical detail, what eminent critics have thought and the neat corralling of themes all have very little to do with it. Those things can be acquired without ever bothering to read whatever is supposedly being studied. They are a form of knowledge, but they are not an appreciation of literature.

I’m not exposing any obscure trade secret in noting this. The world is filled with high school students and perhaps a majority of BA students who have negotiated literature courses not by reading the set texts, but only by reading “study guides” on the model of the old Cole’s Notes or Monarch Notes, or by accessing whatever Wikipedia and the ‘net have to say. Conning lecturer’s notes always helps, too. (Our Humanities departments are so constituted that it is always wise to flatter your lecturer’s opinions when you formulate your answers.)

Regrettably, these methods will often be the very ones that earn an A+. Real literature for adults is allusive, can be read on many levels, and does not often lend itself to simple interpretations of the sort that one dashes off against the clock in exam or term-paper conditions. The student who has dutifully ploughed through, puzzled over and personally responded to something compendious like Bleak House may well be at a disadvantage in comparison with the student who has memorised by heart ready-made phrases about style, plot, character, themes, historical significance and so forth. I have often enough been on the other side of the fence as a (secondary- and tertiary-level) marker, and I know that a forthright, organised, clearly-expressed, information-packed answer will usually trump a sincere but more tortuous answer. Clarity and a genuine personal response to a text are not mutually-exclusive. Yet the organised, clearly-expressed answer is more likely to be the parroted answer.


I am reminded of a true story Solzhenitsyn once reported. An official Soviet-era manual advised students not to bother reading Tolstoy or Dostoievsky, but just to read the summaries of their novels given in the manual. The books themselves would be too “confusing”. Soviet officials may well have had ideological objections to undiluted Tolstoy and Dostoievsky, with all their religious and non-materialist concerns. But the manual’s advice was a frank admission of the same process that is encouraged by our own pedagogy. I’m further reminded of how often, over the years, I have heard blowhards boasting that they won high grades in school and university courses just by memorising bits of a “study guide”. Usually this has been said to me as if it were a sign of the speaker’s extreme cleverness. In fact it merely references a game whose rules all teachers and academics fully understand.

There are some fairly obvious responses to what I am saying.

One would be to ask whether any of it matters. After all, if high school or tertiary students of literature are gaining credits in NCEA courses, or passing their examinations, then what does it matter how they acquired the relevant knowledge? This approach appeals to principals whose chief concern is making their schools look good in a competitive market (between schools, NCEA is just as competitive as older national examination systems were). It appeals equally to supervisors of tertiary academic programmes, whose funding relies on a successful through-put of as many students as possible. But it implicitly negates the whole reason for studying literature in the first place. It says that a real encounter with an author’s written words is less important than knowledge about those written words. Literature is reduced to useless data, encouraging many students to regard the whole concept with contempt and to avoid ever reading anything challenging again, once they have their degree or certificate.

Another response would be to point out that I am really talking about means of assessment rather the study of literature itself. What about those teachers who ask students to compile reading journals, or to compose personal and subjective responses to what they are set to read? What about those who devise tests and exercises that require recall of a text’s actual wording? What about seminars which challenge students’ understanding and discuss specific given passages of a text?


I concede that assessment of students is one of the main things that concerns me. I acknowledge, too, that the more advanced the level of study, the less easy it becomes to hide behind ready-made packages of other peoples’ summaries. Generally, high-school students and undergraduates can get away with it, but at the postgraduate level it is much harder. (Not that it is impossible, mind. And a little creative re-wording can usually circumvent the electronic guards that most universities now use to prevent outright plagiarism in students’ work.).


But I am still on firm ground when I note the prevalence of pretending to teach literature itself, while actually encouraging students to value facts and opinions about literature. Some years ago, as a conscientious high-school teacher, I used to read the “model” essays that were sent out to us as examples of the best students’ work in the old Bursary and Scholarship English exams. I became rapidly disillusioned as I noted how many of them could have been written without even opening the works that were supposedly being analysed. One such “model” essay, earning top marks, was a collection of well-ordered, clearly-expressed current clichés about the role of women in literature. It had only a peripheral relationship with the Virginia Woolf novel that it was ostensibly discussing. Doubtless the student who wrote it was a very intelligent 17-year-old (or Year 13) student. Doubtless, too, she had carefully memorised everything her teacher had told her. But she was not responding to literature. She was repeating something that had been squeezed out of literature before she got to it.

I could pile up the depressing anecdotes along these lines. I once met a high-school teacher at a training day who proudly circulated materials he gave his senior classes, telling them that “there are two ways to study a novel”. One was to read the novel. The other, which he recommended to his students as less laborious, was to watch a good film or television adaptation of the novel and then read a study guide. So much for encountering the words on the page. Then there was the lecturer who claimed that it was unimportant for him to read the works on which he lectured. All that mattered was that he knew the work’s cultural significance, its place in literary history and the chief critical arguments and controversies it had aroused. In effect, the lecturer gave second-hand opinions to his students who (unless they took the unusual expedient of doing their own reading) would eventually give him back third-hand answers.


And so on and so on.

In our senior national high-school Bursary and Scholarship English exams, there used to be a compulsory “unseen” question, in which students had to interpret a poem or piece of prose they were seeing for the first time. It was the one part of the paper that challenged them to demonstrate their own reading skills and perception, as opposed to regurgitating what they had been told. Of course it was eventually judged to be too hard for too many students, and ceased to be compulsory. So it was back to a paper which encouraged students to write what they had been told about literature, rather than what they had personally experienced of it. I am, however, encouraged that a similar “unseen” interpretation question is now part of NCEA exams.

As a teacher, one of my preferred forms of torture was to photocopy extracts from the novel my class was studying, and then make the students, under test conditions, identify where it came from, what it meant and what the passage displayed that was typical of the author’s style. Perhaps one day I will get around to reading Elizabeth Gaskell. I might then be able to answer such contextual quizzing about her. In the meantime, having not read single word of hers, I am fully equipped to pass whatever standard test a standard literature course on her could throw at me.

I know at least as much as an A+ student would.

(to read more of Nicholas Reid, have a look here)

Learning Styles - Sound, Temperature, Work Area

 

In last week's blog, we explored the effect light  has on the quality of homeschooling. Today, we will look at the remaining 3 elements of the LSA Pyramid that deal with the learning environment: sound, temperature, work area.

As parents, we are so used to making decisions for our children and so used to knowing what's best for them, we sometimes tend to forget to consult them about the choices we make. If the light in the learning room in too dim for us, we turn it up. If it's too hot, we open the window.

As teachers, however, we must remember the children's learning preferences come first. They are the ones who need to concentrate on new and difficult concepts. And the good news is that, just like with the lights, it's super easy to ensure all the children have the learning environment they need, even if they have to share the room.

Some ideas for children who need silence include:

• ear plugs
• ear phones (if they are also auditory learners)
• indoor tents or caves made from old towels (if they also need dim lighting).

Ideas for learners who need an informal work area:

• bean bags
• cushions
• sofas and armchairs
• floor nests made from cardboard boxes and blankets.

Only one question left now. What is your child's Learning Style?

(Please note: Although these posts deal chiefly with homeschooling, the same principles apply in the conventional classroom.)