As they say, you learn as much from your students (and at times more) than you are able to teach them. Gone are such thoughts of O'Henry or Edgar Allen Poe, enter Harry Potter and Soprano's new song about the Japanese time traveler Hiro. But enter as well Martin Luther King's speech I Have a Dream (which they all found on the net in translation and handed in with nary a spelling nor translation error to be found... impressive eh?). This bit of translating cheating did however enable them to follow the spoken text (on my Iphone and played on my portable speakers) remarkably well, and they adored his Southern accented, "Dooooowwwwwn in Mississippi...", not to mention my rendition a capella of My Country T'is of Thee. Thankfully I've a decent singing voice.
I've learned my lessons: don't give a popular English song to them to translate as homework, only on a test. As in the first situation, they are all smart enough (and only 3 of the 18 honest enough to resist) to copy it off a professional translation web site. However, a popular and brand new French song (as mentioned above) is a definite hit, and a remarkable way to work on the Past Conditional -- If I had had I would have... etc.,
So, taking this new information into account, I thought I'd throw another American accent at them, and another well-spoken speech, the last 6 minutes of the 1961 John F Kennedy Inaugural Address. And I told them that it would be easy to find on the net, so go and read it in translation, absorb it a bit, and I will play it for them with the English in front of them tomorrow as a bit of Listening Comprehension practice.
In place of Edgar Allen Poe's Raven/Nevermore, I've given them the far shorter text of Invictus -- a favorite poem of Nelson Mandela, and the source of his biopic movie's title. Great fun getting them to work their tongues around 'Unconquerable' and 'bludgeoning'.
I'm not the kind of teacher who puts a thousand 'mots dans leur carnet'-- a discipline technique for our school. Generally it is a 'mot dans le carnet' (note to the parents basically) each time they don't do their homework, get out of hand in class, are rude, etc., It's one way to control them. But, I just can't quite glom to this way of disciplining, etc., Rather, I try to speak to their better natures (they are in there somewhere) and question them as to their lack of mutual respect, their inability to hold themselves quiet when another speaks, etc., Where they want to go in their lives, what this education is for, etc., And, I've decided to come down hard on cheating on tests, etc., No excuses, Zeros for both the cheater and the assister. And no, I don't need to argue about proof, etc., I just give them back with their notes, or, I refuse to take a homework that is clearly copied from the Net. Honor Code anyone? Is this such a far-fetched notion?
I've discussed my fierce attitude towards cheating with my colleagues, and they are of mixed minds. I describe the Princeton University Honor Code (you won't cheat and you will turn in anyone you see cheating, signed, agreed to, or out you go, no diploma, no entry onto that hallowed Ivy campus), and I get back looks of shock and horror. That just wouldn't go over here in this world where your class notes are all that count for getting ahead, so do whatever is necessary, and if that is cheating, so be it. Gulp. I come from another planet.
I've started giving work in-class on the so-called easier elements of English that they did poorly on as a whole on the mid-terms. And in this way I've a bit of calm during my two hours Friday afternoon, and I can go to each student to help them with their answers, answer questions, personally advise and be alongside. And when clearly the vocabulary hasn't been learned (quickly seen on the vocab tests) it is now my rule that they take class time (or go into another class for that time) and write the vocab words 4x each -- as clearly they didn't do so at home.
My connections to the individual students are improving. The girls I had difficulties with in the beginning are now warming up to me, and me to them. But I'm losing a couple of the boys -- bright ones too. From frustration, from annoyance that I do not as yet have the perfect quiet class, from boredom. It's not easy. I'm relatively able to handle the class when I do a 'teacher talks and kids listen' session. But, I lose them when I ask them to speak individually, or when I ask for questions about the homework etc., planning on working with their questions for at least 10-15 minutes of the class. Once there is dispersion of any sort, they nearly all (but for perhaps 2 of them?) start talking to their neighbor(s).
And so, I pile on the homework. My thinking is that there is a good half of the class that actually wants to learn (maybe even a bit more) and at least by doing lots of homework, as long as it is useful and interesting, they will absorb some English this year. I'm working to get back the bright kids who are losing interest, going to them individually, checking in, letting them know what I'm seeing and interpreting, encouraging.
Tomorrow will be interesting. I've already given them vocabulary (over the past 2-3 weeks) to learn from the first 4 pages of the first Harry Potter. I've asked them to read 4 more pages, and to underline, list and translate all new words, to show me this list, and to answer some very easy questions whose answers are directly in the text. Thus forcing them to actually read, think, use a dictionary.
Meantime, with Soprano's song, we'll be discussing more English speaking world heroes (Malcome X, Gandhi, Mandela...) and exchanging on cultural issues.
Perhaps, just maybe, I'll succeed in bringing them somewhat up to speed in English this year. I hope so. In the meantime, I received a dear and very earnest compliment from one of my harder-working students, "Madame, merci pour ton courage et ta patience."
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
When to be severe? When to take it mellow?
Mmm it's now been over two weeks that I've been doing my darndest to put some English into the heads of these 17 fifteen year olds. I must say, it's not been easy. A good half the class actually does its homework, tries to be present in class and are pleasant. But there's a good handful that make it excessively hard to keep order and have sufficient calm and silence to teach.
Okay, what are the many methods to get their attention available to me? So far, going silent and waiting for them to get themselves together isn't working as those who don't care, clearly care nothing for their 'friends', i.e. fellow students and even less for eventually speaking English. Okay. That works for the math teacher, but not me. So, there is separating the difficult ones, calling them on their pranks, ejecting them from class, and now, threatening detention for those who've not handed in their homework.
Oh this is not how I wanted to teach. I see that I've a job of bringing the class together as a class. For example, in trying to get them to learn and read aloud the poem Twas the Night Before Christmas -- and to work on the irregular verbs in their past tenses -- they don't hear each other, and they don't listen to me, and thus we are never in sync. This is unusual in a Steiner school where kids have music, poetry, rhythms and group activities from the early years. However, in this class there are only 4 kids who've been in the school from 1st grade. Most are recent arrivals over the past two years. And I feel the difference. I get that for the Steiner kids, learning the poem, saying it aloud, memorizing it and getting to the point of being able to recite it is completely doable. But for the new kids it is an insurmountable mountain. And, they just don't care.
It seems most sad that I need to force them to learn. But I suppose this is the state of many a teacher? I should be grateful, and I am, for the kids in the class who are bright and do all their homework in neat and easy to read handwriting, and try, truly try to learn what I'm conveying to them.
So yes, I am not too proud to ask for help. But I am sad that this help is in the form of teachers who have stronger personalities, and yes, who threaten detention after school hours, notes to the parents, etc., But what to do with apathy and serious attitude? What to do with kids who clearly don't want to be there and who don't care that they're destroying the chances of others to learn? The age of fifteen -- nearly adult? an age to be held responsible, and yet also an age where adult authority and anger can at times sway behavior, or simply provoke it further.
Meantime, I've mostly conveyed the various possibilities of the future tenses -- and suggested they listen to the Black Eyed Peas song Showdown which features the classic phrase "when there is' in the present followed by 'there will' in the future." As the equivalent phrase would be future - future in French, it is just another example of something the kids need to integrate. A rule to memorize.
Getting ready to begin the conditional -- now for this there are oodles of songs, both old standards and new ones, including the French singer Soprano's song about Hiro, that can be used to get the lesson across.
However, I opted, nonetheless, to begin O'Henry's The Gift of the Magi yesterday. We shall see how much I can get through with them, how much they understand, and whether they are willing to do the work.
Onward I go. Stretching, pulling, tugging, nudging, optimism and zen my main states of being.
Okay, what are the many methods to get their attention available to me? So far, going silent and waiting for them to get themselves together isn't working as those who don't care, clearly care nothing for their 'friends', i.e. fellow students and even less for eventually speaking English. Okay. That works for the math teacher, but not me. So, there is separating the difficult ones, calling them on their pranks, ejecting them from class, and now, threatening detention for those who've not handed in their homework.
Oh this is not how I wanted to teach. I see that I've a job of bringing the class together as a class. For example, in trying to get them to learn and read aloud the poem Twas the Night Before Christmas -- and to work on the irregular verbs in their past tenses -- they don't hear each other, and they don't listen to me, and thus we are never in sync. This is unusual in a Steiner school where kids have music, poetry, rhythms and group activities from the early years. However, in this class there are only 4 kids who've been in the school from 1st grade. Most are recent arrivals over the past two years. And I feel the difference. I get that for the Steiner kids, learning the poem, saying it aloud, memorizing it and getting to the point of being able to recite it is completely doable. But for the new kids it is an insurmountable mountain. And, they just don't care.
It seems most sad that I need to force them to learn. But I suppose this is the state of many a teacher? I should be grateful, and I am, for the kids in the class who are bright and do all their homework in neat and easy to read handwriting, and try, truly try to learn what I'm conveying to them.
So yes, I am not too proud to ask for help. But I am sad that this help is in the form of teachers who have stronger personalities, and yes, who threaten detention after school hours, notes to the parents, etc., But what to do with apathy and serious attitude? What to do with kids who clearly don't want to be there and who don't care that they're destroying the chances of others to learn? The age of fifteen -- nearly adult? an age to be held responsible, and yet also an age where adult authority and anger can at times sway behavior, or simply provoke it further.
Meantime, I've mostly conveyed the various possibilities of the future tenses -- and suggested they listen to the Black Eyed Peas song Showdown which features the classic phrase "when there is' in the present followed by 'there will' in the future." As the equivalent phrase would be future - future in French, it is just another example of something the kids need to integrate. A rule to memorize.
Getting ready to begin the conditional -- now for this there are oodles of songs, both old standards and new ones, including the French singer Soprano's song about Hiro, that can be used to get the lesson across.
However, I opted, nonetheless, to begin O'Henry's The Gift of the Magi yesterday. We shall see how much I can get through with them, how much they understand, and whether they are willing to do the work.
Onward I go. Stretching, pulling, tugging, nudging, optimism and zen my main states of being.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
A young man is coming into his own
Hard to believe how tall he has grown. Hard to believe he is already 13. And, at least sporadically if not 24/7 he is proving to be growing inside as well. I wonder how much I can attribute to the arrival and now departure of Gaetan? Living with our teenage boarder for two years seemed to have both a dampening effect but also a stimulating effect on Leo. On the one hand with Gaetan being the elder, helpful, male presence in the house, Leo didn't need to be. On the other hand, Gaetan was there to observe and to learn from.
Hence Leo felt quite at ease digging through my tool box and dismantling the bicycle wheel the other day to replace a punctured inner tube. I watched him as the parts strew upon the floor, the chain hanging, and simply encouraged and/or got out of the way. Twenty four hours later, all is put back as it should and the wheel works. Wow, he actually knew what he was up to.
Another moment of pleasure for this mom came in the shape of a homework assignment for a boy who'd been talking in class. His (brilliant!) teacher asked him to write a poem. And what a poem! I had no idea my son had such a way with words, rhythm and wit. Am I over-doing it a bit much? Hey, I'm proud and pleased.
Un bon élève
Un bon élève en se balançant
rêve en pensant à trouver ce qu'il sait
chez lui avec son repas toujours cuit
ses devoirs non-faits il va se coucher
le matin il pense à rien
à son école couché sur ses épaules
il est sensé travailler, bah non; il reste couché
le prof n'est pas content
il se dit, eh bin, cet enfant
il se croit chez lui
il est cuit
Do I do a mini-translation? so much would be lost. It is in the rhythm as well as the sense that it has strength. Basically it's the story of a lazy/spacy child who forgets his homework, sleeps on his desk and gets caught by the teacher. Self-referential humor. Not bad, eh?
Now, if only I can convince him that it would be far better to work towards purchasing a new computer than to take the advice of one of his friends and return to the public schools for 3 months in order to benefit from a local program offering computers to their grade. He is baffled that I don't see the sense in scamming the State. Why should he go through all his old toys and books and sell them at the flea market to make money, and/or save all he receives and/or find some small jobs to do when in his mind it would be simpler to go to a different school (paper work much?) and thus take advantage of a special offer...
I'm working on my skills at convincing him. But that inner need to earn what you receive... apparently it isn't there yet. We'll see what other opportunities present themselves to expand on these lessons.
Hence Leo felt quite at ease digging through my tool box and dismantling the bicycle wheel the other day to replace a punctured inner tube. I watched him as the parts strew upon the floor, the chain hanging, and simply encouraged and/or got out of the way. Twenty four hours later, all is put back as it should and the wheel works. Wow, he actually knew what he was up to.
Another moment of pleasure for this mom came in the shape of a homework assignment for a boy who'd been talking in class. His (brilliant!) teacher asked him to write a poem. And what a poem! I had no idea my son had such a way with words, rhythm and wit. Am I over-doing it a bit much? Hey, I'm proud and pleased.
Un bon élève
Un bon élève en se balançant
rêve en pensant à trouver ce qu'il sait
chez lui avec son repas toujours cuit
ses devoirs non-faits il va se coucher
le matin il pense à rien
à son école couché sur ses épaules
il est sensé travailler, bah non; il reste couché
le prof n'est pas content
il se dit, eh bin, cet enfant
il se croit chez lui
il est cuit
Do I do a mini-translation? so much would be lost. It is in the rhythm as well as the sense that it has strength. Basically it's the story of a lazy/spacy child who forgets his homework, sleeps on his desk and gets caught by the teacher. Self-referential humor. Not bad, eh?
Now, if only I can convince him that it would be far better to work towards purchasing a new computer than to take the advice of one of his friends and return to the public schools for 3 months in order to benefit from a local program offering computers to their grade. He is baffled that I don't see the sense in scamming the State. Why should he go through all his old toys and books and sell them at the flea market to make money, and/or save all he receives and/or find some small jobs to do when in his mind it would be simpler to go to a different school (paper work much?) and thus take advantage of a special offer...
I'm working on my skills at convincing him. But that inner need to earn what you receive... apparently it isn't there yet. We'll see what other opportunities present themselves to expand on these lessons.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
A little sugar helps the medicine go down...
I love coming across one of those Aha! moments. One of those, but of course! moments. And such was the result of much back and forthing this week concerning friends at the school.
Meetings, language, cues, nuance, diplomacy. How fascinating to have opposing views on such important subjects.
The situation in question concerns an English family and the school, but it could be a replay of numerous meetings held between teachers and British/Anglo-Saxon parents over the past few years. Our school, the only Rudolf Steiner/Waldorf school that goes through to high school situated in a particularly attractive location in Europe, attracts many internationals. And, of these, there are a number who contemplate/dream/plan to settle permanently in la belle Provence. You can put whatever spin on this you choose. Is it the English reconquering a land they've coveted for centuries, more than a millenium? Is it simply the new sunbelt of Europe? In any case, with computers and flexible working conditions, housing prices being a bit more reasonable on this side of the channel, this option has tempted a number of families over the years.
There've also been a number of visiting families from other English/Anglo countries: Americans, Canadians, Australians. But in general, they are visitors for a set time period, and then they return home. It's a family adventure, no more.
Our school welcomes with open arms these families. The teachers accept the children who manage minimally the local language, and we all pitch in to make it work. But what happens when the parents don't know and have difficulty learning French? What happens when that Provence dream turns a bit sour when they realize that the job market here is supremely difficult? It's not always as easy and smooth as one might wish. How much can the school help?
I digress. I have set the tone, but truly what I want to consider is how bad news is presented during a meeting. It is dawning on me that the French and Anglo-Saxon viewpoint are opposed in this delicate situation. From my personal experience -- and that of a few friends -- it is clear to me that we Anglo-Saxons need a bit of sugar with our medicine. Face it, we were many of us raised with Mary Poppins as an important cultural icon. We need to be reassured that all is not evil, that there are redeeming character traits (in our child for example) or that there is hope for improvement, or that this meeting is simply a chance to inform and plan future collaboration towards a solution.
I know that I (and I believe many others of my culture) simply shut down and panic when bad news is dished out first. It's rather terrifying, I'm not ready, what? hunh? but when? for how long? whoah.... isn't there anything positive you could say to soften the blow? For us diplomacy is defined by the art of couching/framing/preparing the negative information with a bit of the positive. We are thus reassured (in this case as a parent, but this could be a business meeting, job discussion, the list is long) that our child is seen as a whole and complex being.
By contrast, a few of my French (particularly Parisian) friends have a tendency to avoid what they see as sugar-coating as being dishonest and simply putting off the inevitable. They distrust and are wary of such tactics -- that's how they see them. Get to the point, why have you called this meeting? Diplomacy is deemed being brutally honest.
Or, as a (French) friend astutely put it, what do you want the person in front of you to walk away with? Do you begin with the bad and end with the good? and thus hope that the lasting impression will be better? or do you begin with the good and end with the bad, and your partner thus walks away depressed?
Curiouser and curiouser. And so, I am seriously contemplating more discussions on this topic and making a proposal to the school to I hope, more adroitly welcome and manage what is clearly a growing population for us.
Meetings, language, cues, nuance, diplomacy. How fascinating to have opposing views on such important subjects.
The situation in question concerns an English family and the school, but it could be a replay of numerous meetings held between teachers and British/Anglo-Saxon parents over the past few years. Our school, the only Rudolf Steiner/Waldorf school that goes through to high school situated in a particularly attractive location in Europe, attracts many internationals. And, of these, there are a number who contemplate/dream/plan to settle permanently in la belle Provence. You can put whatever spin on this you choose. Is it the English reconquering a land they've coveted for centuries, more than a millenium? Is it simply the new sunbelt of Europe? In any case, with computers and flexible working conditions, housing prices being a bit more reasonable on this side of the channel, this option has tempted a number of families over the years.
There've also been a number of visiting families from other English/Anglo countries: Americans, Canadians, Australians. But in general, they are visitors for a set time period, and then they return home. It's a family adventure, no more.
Our school welcomes with open arms these families. The teachers accept the children who manage minimally the local language, and we all pitch in to make it work. But what happens when the parents don't know and have difficulty learning French? What happens when that Provence dream turns a bit sour when they realize that the job market here is supremely difficult? It's not always as easy and smooth as one might wish. How much can the school help?
I digress. I have set the tone, but truly what I want to consider is how bad news is presented during a meeting. It is dawning on me that the French and Anglo-Saxon viewpoint are opposed in this delicate situation. From my personal experience -- and that of a few friends -- it is clear to me that we Anglo-Saxons need a bit of sugar with our medicine. Face it, we were many of us raised with Mary Poppins as an important cultural icon. We need to be reassured that all is not evil, that there are redeeming character traits (in our child for example) or that there is hope for improvement, or that this meeting is simply a chance to inform and plan future collaboration towards a solution.
I know that I (and I believe many others of my culture) simply shut down and panic when bad news is dished out first. It's rather terrifying, I'm not ready, what? hunh? but when? for how long? whoah.... isn't there anything positive you could say to soften the blow? For us diplomacy is defined by the art of couching/framing/preparing the negative information with a bit of the positive. We are thus reassured (in this case as a parent, but this could be a business meeting, job discussion, the list is long) that our child is seen as a whole and complex being.
By contrast, a few of my French (particularly Parisian) friends have a tendency to avoid what they see as sugar-coating as being dishonest and simply putting off the inevitable. They distrust and are wary of such tactics -- that's how they see them. Get to the point, why have you called this meeting? Diplomacy is deemed being brutally honest.
Or, as a (French) friend astutely put it, what do you want the person in front of you to walk away with? Do you begin with the bad and end with the good? and thus hope that the lasting impression will be better? or do you begin with the good and end with the bad, and your partner thus walks away depressed?
Curiouser and curiouser. And so, I am seriously contemplating more discussions on this topic and making a proposal to the school to I hope, more adroitly welcome and manage what is clearly a growing population for us.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
September - A New Year?
Well, the year is off to its start. If the beginning of the week was a bit 'rude'; my system took a hit with the car trouble, the returning imperatives of caring for kids, being in the daily rhythms of cooking, waking early, getting out the door and simply coping. But that seems to have passed, and I'm getting back into the flow of something I know oh so well, but from which I had unprecedented vacation time this summer.
The kids are back in school, both very much enjoying their teachers and friends. We've taken in just one extra child this year -- a 15 year old girl -- and thus life is infinitely calmer than last year. What a difference! Rather than rowdy, easily-upset pre-teens learning to deal with emotional surges and freaking out, I've a very calm, mostly autonomous and gentle teen female. Ahhhh. And just in time.
Leo and I are turning over a new leaf. This year I will survey his homework, follow-up on what he is doing/learning/preparing at school. I will do as I can to teach him better study habits (no more silly errors on those dictés please!). Somewhere, somehow, if only by being more present, able to truly concentrate on him every afternoon, I will help him be more grounded, more attentive, conscious of the importance of working at school. And he is grateful! The first afternoon after our long discussion on this subject he was there ready to show me all he'd done, assuring me that he'd finished his homework before listening to music, before playing outside, that he had taken me seriously and was ready to go forth into this new way of being. I am constantly amazed by my own children!
Jonas is 'vif', present, delighted to be again with his favorite friends, eagerly eating up the intellectual nourishment of school. I've taken to reading him Laura Ingalls Wilder's Farmer Boy. He is hearing and absorbing the story. As a Steiner teacher from Manhattan once told me, it is perfect for 3rd grade. He is at that age, open, curious, and amazed as I describe the days of this little boy, and the quantity of food he consumes! If Jonas has one or two pieces of toast and a bit of hot chocolate for breakfast, little Almanzo has sausages, a stack of 10 pancakes, two slices of apple pie and??? He's anything but fat!
And with the new fall, a new start. One of my summer tango partners has demonstrated that he'd like to be more. Hmmm. A calm, lovely, and very tall architect with two boys just a tad older than mine. A new world for me. And so I begin something anew. With my wits about me, gently, slowly, open and willing, but not yet head over heels (a good thing I think), we shall see if we are compatible (kids included!). And if nothing else, I'll be dancing more and more tango...
In the meantime, the next few weeks are filled with clients and tours. So, keeping my head on my shoulders, planning carefully, working out all the kinks (such as car repairs, rental vehicles, kids' swimming lessons and tennis...and all those lovely things!), I'm busy, occupied, focused, here.
The kids are back in school, both very much enjoying their teachers and friends. We've taken in just one extra child this year -- a 15 year old girl -- and thus life is infinitely calmer than last year. What a difference! Rather than rowdy, easily-upset pre-teens learning to deal with emotional surges and freaking out, I've a very calm, mostly autonomous and gentle teen female. Ahhhh. And just in time.
Leo and I are turning over a new leaf. This year I will survey his homework, follow-up on what he is doing/learning/preparing at school. I will do as I can to teach him better study habits (no more silly errors on those dictés please!). Somewhere, somehow, if only by being more present, able to truly concentrate on him every afternoon, I will help him be more grounded, more attentive, conscious of the importance of working at school. And he is grateful! The first afternoon after our long discussion on this subject he was there ready to show me all he'd done, assuring me that he'd finished his homework before listening to music, before playing outside, that he had taken me seriously and was ready to go forth into this new way of being. I am constantly amazed by my own children!
Jonas is 'vif', present, delighted to be again with his favorite friends, eagerly eating up the intellectual nourishment of school. I've taken to reading him Laura Ingalls Wilder's Farmer Boy. He is hearing and absorbing the story. As a Steiner teacher from Manhattan once told me, it is perfect for 3rd grade. He is at that age, open, curious, and amazed as I describe the days of this little boy, and the quantity of food he consumes! If Jonas has one or two pieces of toast and a bit of hot chocolate for breakfast, little Almanzo has sausages, a stack of 10 pancakes, two slices of apple pie and??? He's anything but fat!
And with the new fall, a new start. One of my summer tango partners has demonstrated that he'd like to be more. Hmmm. A calm, lovely, and very tall architect with two boys just a tad older than mine. A new world for me. And so I begin something anew. With my wits about me, gently, slowly, open and willing, but not yet head over heels (a good thing I think), we shall see if we are compatible (kids included!). And if nothing else, I'll be dancing more and more tango...
In the meantime, the next few weeks are filled with clients and tours. So, keeping my head on my shoulders, planning carefully, working out all the kinks (such as car repairs, rental vehicles, kids' swimming lessons and tennis...and all those lovely things!), I'm busy, occupied, focused, here.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Summer Gains
This was a glorious summer for both of my children. Major achievements, lots of joy, time with cousins and friends, the rhythm of the summer cottage and so much more.
Jonas can now swim! and dive into deep water! Why so thrilled? Why the exclamation points? Well, this is a child who wouldn't put his head under water in the bath tub the 1st of July and who lived through a near-drowning at the tender age of four. This déclic seems to have given him such a boost of self esteem that he is expressing himself more and more clearly, he is attacking books -- determined to read and to write, he is tolerating littler cousins and friends who aren't always perfect, but hey, he can still play with. He is consciously putting up with his bossy brother, knowing full well that he can stop him if he wants to... and some day will. But for the moment, being teased/not ignored is far more amusing than not. He is in control. It is quite marvelous to see.
And Leo, my elder. Now nearly my height (he'll catch me by Christmas I bet!) leg and arm bones longer than mine, knee caps wider than mine. He is thirteen this summer.
We've had the discussions on hygiene (wash your face daily to prevent pimples, your teeth twice/daily, showers at least every other day, hair at least twice/weekly), and we've had the wake up and start working at school discussion. This following the reception of his report card, which basically said one thing, he's very bright, but he only does the minimum. He can do better.
Thus, how to motivate my beautiful young man? How to convey to him the next path? How to shake him up, wake him up to his own role in his future?
I took this tact: You are thirteen. What do you want in this life? I see you eyeing that comfortable house of our neighbors, the toys, the Wii, the boats, and all that fun stuff. How are you going to get it? I hate to break it to you, but your mother is not wealthy, and though I should be able to get you through high school and we can hope into college, I won't be able to support you. And, it is quite possible that you'll need to care for your father. Even if you inherit his house, the funds from its sale wouldn't last more than two/three years at best. So. You need to work. All these friends we see who've 'made' it worked hard in school and went to university. They didn't settle for the minimum. Yes, you are doing better in school than before, and I applaud this. However, it's still not enough. Sorry my friend, but you need to give more of yourself, more than even you can imagine is necessary to truly get ahead. You are responsible for your future. At this point, I can only be here to help you along. You will make it or no, no one else will hand it to you on a platter.
Gulp.
The reaction? Shock, sadness, and a time of reflection alone in the bathroom. I let him be there. He's an intense one, and I'd said all I needed to (and likely too much), but it had felt fiercely urgent, to convey to my adored elder son that he needs to work harder. And so he sulked (boudé) and stayed out of sight for most of the evening.
It is a month later now. His sulking just that one night. He was far better the next day, and yes, more willing to do his short one page essays for Ma and me, to read aloud with me, and to be helpful.
Today is the first day of school. He is excited. He has the teacher of his dreams -- a lovely man with lots of experience handling multiple Waldorf classes. He will be his guitar teacher as well. Leo is back in his known environment and willing to focus. I will also find him another speech/writing therapist to work on his writing/grammar/etc., He has expressed that he is more than willing to get extra help.
Last year we had the cathartic moment of absorbing the fact that he is not dumb, that he may have a learning disability that makes it, for example, difficult to remember spellings. He clearly doesn't have a photographic memory for letters and words, nor for sentence structure from books, etc., He devoured the series of Percy and the Olympiads this year, and has an idea now that he might have a bit of ADHD in him, if not the dyslexia. In any case, he knows that no one thinks him stupid, but he needs to work harder. School doesn't come easy to him, or rather not the subjects that require writing and written expression. He's fine with math in his head.
May this year be the one where he takes himself in charge and begins pushing himself, discovering what it might be to break through mental barriers, to no longer be afraid when he doesn't 'get' it immediately, but to keep working at it.
We'll see, and I'll be there to cheer him along, and to have more of our pre-adult discussions!
Jonas can now swim! and dive into deep water! Why so thrilled? Why the exclamation points? Well, this is a child who wouldn't put his head under water in the bath tub the 1st of July and who lived through a near-drowning at the tender age of four. This déclic seems to have given him such a boost of self esteem that he is expressing himself more and more clearly, he is attacking books -- determined to read and to write, he is tolerating littler cousins and friends who aren't always perfect, but hey, he can still play with. He is consciously putting up with his bossy brother, knowing full well that he can stop him if he wants to... and some day will. But for the moment, being teased/not ignored is far more amusing than not. He is in control. It is quite marvelous to see.
And Leo, my elder. Now nearly my height (he'll catch me by Christmas I bet!) leg and arm bones longer than mine, knee caps wider than mine. He is thirteen this summer.
We've had the discussions on hygiene (wash your face daily to prevent pimples, your teeth twice/daily, showers at least every other day, hair at least twice/weekly), and we've had the wake up and start working at school discussion. This following the reception of his report card, which basically said one thing, he's very bright, but he only does the minimum. He can do better.
Thus, how to motivate my beautiful young man? How to convey to him the next path? How to shake him up, wake him up to his own role in his future?
I took this tact: You are thirteen. What do you want in this life? I see you eyeing that comfortable house of our neighbors, the toys, the Wii, the boats, and all that fun stuff. How are you going to get it? I hate to break it to you, but your mother is not wealthy, and though I should be able to get you through high school and we can hope into college, I won't be able to support you. And, it is quite possible that you'll need to care for your father. Even if you inherit his house, the funds from its sale wouldn't last more than two/three years at best. So. You need to work. All these friends we see who've 'made' it worked hard in school and went to university. They didn't settle for the minimum. Yes, you are doing better in school than before, and I applaud this. However, it's still not enough. Sorry my friend, but you need to give more of yourself, more than even you can imagine is necessary to truly get ahead. You are responsible for your future. At this point, I can only be here to help you along. You will make it or no, no one else will hand it to you on a platter.
Gulp.
The reaction? Shock, sadness, and a time of reflection alone in the bathroom. I let him be there. He's an intense one, and I'd said all I needed to (and likely too much), but it had felt fiercely urgent, to convey to my adored elder son that he needs to work harder. And so he sulked (boudé) and stayed out of sight for most of the evening.
It is a month later now. His sulking just that one night. He was far better the next day, and yes, more willing to do his short one page essays for Ma and me, to read aloud with me, and to be helpful.
Today is the first day of school. He is excited. He has the teacher of his dreams -- a lovely man with lots of experience handling multiple Waldorf classes. He will be his guitar teacher as well. Leo is back in his known environment and willing to focus. I will also find him another speech/writing therapist to work on his writing/grammar/etc., He has expressed that he is more than willing to get extra help.
Last year we had the cathartic moment of absorbing the fact that he is not dumb, that he may have a learning disability that makes it, for example, difficult to remember spellings. He clearly doesn't have a photographic memory for letters and words, nor for sentence structure from books, etc., He devoured the series of Percy and the Olympiads this year, and has an idea now that he might have a bit of ADHD in him, if not the dyslexia. In any case, he knows that no one thinks him stupid, but he needs to work harder. School doesn't come easy to him, or rather not the subjects that require writing and written expression. He's fine with math in his head.
May this year be the one where he takes himself in charge and begins pushing himself, discovering what it might be to break through mental barriers, to no longer be afraid when he doesn't 'get' it immediately, but to keep working at it.
We'll see, and I'll be there to cheer him along, and to have more of our pre-adult discussions!
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
My experience with the French school system (a bit of history)
School. A subject all of its own. At the bright age of three, Leo was potty-trained, propre as they say here, and ready for the first year of kindergarten, or the petite classe of the Maternelle. And off he went. I was all set to have my children in one of the world’s best public education systems and happily entrusted him to the school.
But little by little, things just went off. I read the teacher's notes on his drawings “n’a pas suivi les consignes” – didn’t follow the directions. Hm? Complicated directions for a three year old? Or, scribbles on a page that was supposed to be chestnuts colored in. Or many many tasks of taking stickers of round colors and placing them on a line.
Then there was the day the teacher was mad because Leo, dressed in blue, chose to sit at the blue table, even though he was apparently a yellow. Leo and his closest friends were perpetually kept separate from each other (especially after the incident when they flooded the bathroom…) As the year went on, Leo began stuttering.
The teachers decided it was my fault for speaking English with him, and for hiring American au pairs. “Madame vous faites une erreur”. When I brought Leo to the US during school time to see my family, forcing him to skip a week’s school, the teacher complained, stating, “il faut qu’il puisse se plier au système”. He needs to fold himself to the system, i.e. fit into the box, adapt. I wasn’t sure I was in full agreement with these ideas. And, to my mind, Leo's stuttering wasn’t so much a problem of language as of the stressful environment he was not adapting to.
So, after receiving the school work of the year, reviewing the many negative statements of the teacher in some amazement, I started wondering what could I do? For someone who did well in school and who comes from a scholarly family it was truly frightening to contemplate a child who already hated school and resisted going at the tender age of four. Imagine what that would lead to for adolescence? When school is actually hard!
Where might I enroll my child? Were there other choices? Perhaps a Montessori? None in the area, or an alternative school? The town boasted a Catholic school, and many parents who wished their children pushed a bit more sent their kids there. But I'm not Catholic and was a bit leary of a clearly religious institution.
It was then I heard that outside of Avignon there was a Rudolf Steiner school. My mother’s first boy friend had been in the Manhattan Steiner school during the War. My cousins had put their kids through a Steiner school in Chicago. A dear friend was a devoted anthroposophist. Hm. It sounded interesting.
So Erick and I took Leo to an interview at the school. We were received by two of the kindergarten teachers who actually wanted to know who Leo was, where he came from, what might have influenced his growth to this point, was he a desired child? When and how did he learn to walk and talk? Had there been any major events in his life to this point that might have shaped him?
After the cold and neutral reception of the public education system, I was in heaven. The rooms were warm, filled with toys of natural materials, and so many objects to be used to build, design, construct: wood blocks of every shape, silk scarves of many colors, a kitchen area, a play house area… There was warmth and thought behind every gesture. Pregnant with my second child, I felt at ease confiding my son to this school. And to top it off, the teachers waived away any worries I had about raising my children bi-lingual. It will improve his singing ear, they said. And not to worry about the stuttering. It will pass as he finds his way. We will speak in clear and good French, and he will gradually imprint the language of his birth-land. Reading and writing will come when he is older. We don’t force it early upon a child before he is ready to develop these intellectual gifts.
And so began a major shift in my life. Suddenly, a daily commute of an hour each way was part of our existence. It was something to ask of the au pairs, and something imposed upon our child. Late night meetings to learn about the educational methods used by the school, weekend parties to help clean and garden or paint walls.
The community of the school was tight-knit and varied. There were the French-German boys whose mother was an airline hostess for Lufthansa. and the Belgian-French girl who spoke Flemish with her mother. The French woman who’d lived in Australia for 15 years and whose children were fully bi-lingual. And as the years passed, the English families who came to settle in Provence, the American families who came to spend a year abroad, the Japanese-French family who put their children in the school. For Leo it became a ritual to sit beside the new English speaker in his class to help her or him adapt to the French swirling around them.
The Rudolf Steiner school is an international phenomenon. The major elements of the program are the same throughout the world, and the school welcomes exchanges and the movement of its pupils. In Southern Europe, the Avignon school represents the only school that goes all the way to high school, in a Southern climate. Thus though the school is state subsidized in Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Belgium and Germany, and is costly in France, many Northerners come and settle near the school to benefit from the better climate. The Avignon school has become a hub of over a dozen different cultures and languages. My bi-lingual children are simply normal. In Leo’s class alone there are children from Germany, Slovakia, Italy, Spain, Scotland, England and Brazil. And, here, I am almost normal. A bit enthusiastic, energetic, frantic at times and a swirl of emotions, but, my Anglo-Saxon heritage is accepted here as it often wasn’t elsewhere.
Leo, followed by Jonas, are enrolled in the Rudolf Steiner school. There, they are raised on the universal stories of the Brothers Grimm, the fables of the crow and the fox, Greek myths and more. With this school, perhaps more than by any other means, I am able to raise my children in an international context. Born in a small town in the South of France, they nevertheless have the horizons of the world open to them.
But little by little, things just went off. I read the teacher's notes on his drawings “n’a pas suivi les consignes” – didn’t follow the directions. Hm? Complicated directions for a three year old? Or, scribbles on a page that was supposed to be chestnuts colored in. Or many many tasks of taking stickers of round colors and placing them on a line.
Then there was the day the teacher was mad because Leo, dressed in blue, chose to sit at the blue table, even though he was apparently a yellow. Leo and his closest friends were perpetually kept separate from each other (especially after the incident when they flooded the bathroom…) As the year went on, Leo began stuttering.
The teachers decided it was my fault for speaking English with him, and for hiring American au pairs. “Madame vous faites une erreur”. When I brought Leo to the US during school time to see my family, forcing him to skip a week’s school, the teacher complained, stating, “il faut qu’il puisse se plier au système”. He needs to fold himself to the system, i.e. fit into the box, adapt. I wasn’t sure I was in full agreement with these ideas. And, to my mind, Leo's stuttering wasn’t so much a problem of language as of the stressful environment he was not adapting to.
So, after receiving the school work of the year, reviewing the many negative statements of the teacher in some amazement, I started wondering what could I do? For someone who did well in school and who comes from a scholarly family it was truly frightening to contemplate a child who already hated school and resisted going at the tender age of four. Imagine what that would lead to for adolescence? When school is actually hard!
Where might I enroll my child? Were there other choices? Perhaps a Montessori? None in the area, or an alternative school? The town boasted a Catholic school, and many parents who wished their children pushed a bit more sent their kids there. But I'm not Catholic and was a bit leary of a clearly religious institution.
It was then I heard that outside of Avignon there was a Rudolf Steiner school. My mother’s first boy friend had been in the Manhattan Steiner school during the War. My cousins had put their kids through a Steiner school in Chicago. A dear friend was a devoted anthroposophist. Hm. It sounded interesting.
So Erick and I took Leo to an interview at the school. We were received by two of the kindergarten teachers who actually wanted to know who Leo was, where he came from, what might have influenced his growth to this point, was he a desired child? When and how did he learn to walk and talk? Had there been any major events in his life to this point that might have shaped him?
After the cold and neutral reception of the public education system, I was in heaven. The rooms were warm, filled with toys of natural materials, and so many objects to be used to build, design, construct: wood blocks of every shape, silk scarves of many colors, a kitchen area, a play house area… There was warmth and thought behind every gesture. Pregnant with my second child, I felt at ease confiding my son to this school. And to top it off, the teachers waived away any worries I had about raising my children bi-lingual. It will improve his singing ear, they said. And not to worry about the stuttering. It will pass as he finds his way. We will speak in clear and good French, and he will gradually imprint the language of his birth-land. Reading and writing will come when he is older. We don’t force it early upon a child before he is ready to develop these intellectual gifts.
And so began a major shift in my life. Suddenly, a daily commute of an hour each way was part of our existence. It was something to ask of the au pairs, and something imposed upon our child. Late night meetings to learn about the educational methods used by the school, weekend parties to help clean and garden or paint walls.
The community of the school was tight-knit and varied. There were the French-German boys whose mother was an airline hostess for Lufthansa. and the Belgian-French girl who spoke Flemish with her mother. The French woman who’d lived in Australia for 15 years and whose children were fully bi-lingual. And as the years passed, the English families who came to settle in Provence, the American families who came to spend a year abroad, the Japanese-French family who put their children in the school. For Leo it became a ritual to sit beside the new English speaker in his class to help her or him adapt to the French swirling around them.
The Rudolf Steiner school is an international phenomenon. The major elements of the program are the same throughout the world, and the school welcomes exchanges and the movement of its pupils. In Southern Europe, the Avignon school represents the only school that goes all the way to high school, in a Southern climate. Thus though the school is state subsidized in Denmark, Sweden, Norway, Belgium and Germany, and is costly in France, many Northerners come and settle near the school to benefit from the better climate. The Avignon school has become a hub of over a dozen different cultures and languages. My bi-lingual children are simply normal. In Leo’s class alone there are children from Germany, Slovakia, Italy, Spain, Scotland, England and Brazil. And, here, I am almost normal. A bit enthusiastic, energetic, frantic at times and a swirl of emotions, but, my Anglo-Saxon heritage is accepted here as it often wasn’t elsewhere.
Leo, followed by Jonas, are enrolled in the Rudolf Steiner school. There, they are raised on the universal stories of the Brothers Grimm, the fables of the crow and the fox, Greek myths and more. With this school, perhaps more than by any other means, I am able to raise my children in an international context. Born in a small town in the South of France, they nevertheless have the horizons of the world open to them.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Summer is over
The weather has shifted. Today the breeze has turned cool and refreshing. The house still radiates heat from the months of sunlight baking deeply into the stones. Open windows welcome the cool morning air rushing in, soothing, lightening. Airing out summer.
My house is mine again. I've swatted and brushed away the abundant growth of cob webs under the stairs, in the cracks of the doors, in front of the windows, against the heavy wooden beams. The only rain storm of the summer has rendered me back my green lawn -- traded in for dry yellow straw for much of these past couple of weeks.
For days now I've been slowly unpacking all that I put away for the summer renters. The foodstuff was first to come out from under the stairwell, then the clothes back on the hangers and in their drawers. I've removed my sourdough starter from the freezer and over the past week have been nourishing and refreshing it back to its former liveliness. Yet to be uncovered are all my photos of the kids, the personal and fragile things that were the first to be tucked away for safety and discretion's sake.
Our summer was spent far away, in a land of books and card games, woods and lakes, my family, the English language (or American if more precision is requested) bathing our ears in another world's ways. My childhood blended with that of my boys. My wish to touch, find yet again the sensation of endless time: days blending one into another, minimal to loose scheduling, books taking over my psyche to the point of reading all night, or carrying my book from my bed to the breakfast table, unable to put it down. Conversations that flow easily and stop or pause with no tension. Kids running freely, shoes left on the porch, toughened soles scrambling over rocks, down the paths, leaping into the cool water.
Summers include star-gazing. And what is this but a moment in silence, in awe at the size and glory of the universe above. Yet again a reminder of our smallness and the vastness above. In years past, I looked up from my canoe, leaning back on the bow, my paddle gently resting on my knees, in the middle of the lake, the only sound tiny waves gently lapping against the sides, while above me falling stars flash by. This year, it was atop a well in the middle of acres of vineyards, a dry, warm and mosquito free breeze gently enwrapping my stretched out body. I saw Queen Cassiopeia's W, and the big dipper, the North star and perhaps Pegasus as he rode across the clear summer sky.
With Monday will come school, three of my four teen boarders for this year, an interview to teach English, and a swirl of activities and errands to be placed into the busy weeks ahead. The rhythms and routines of the fall will impose themselves upon us, insisting upon care and attention. I'm holding back - just a bit -- till the last moment. I came back early to France, to give us time to adapt, re-acquaint ourselves with this world and its peoples, culture, ways, time. I have learned not to leave our return till the last minute. It is too jarring and painful to arrive and two days later struggle up from the depths of jet-lagged induced slumber to school and its insistent presence. How did my parents manage this? As a child we drove home after Labor Day. School commenced a mere day or two after our arrival in New York. Two days of travel, unpacking two cars, and the spare room filled to the rafters with the things we'd removed for the summer renters... and then off to work and school, our carefree days of summer a rich and yet intangible web of memories jangled by brick walls, tile floors and scratching of chalk on the chalkboard.
My house is mine again. I've swatted and brushed away the abundant growth of cob webs under the stairs, in the cracks of the doors, in front of the windows, against the heavy wooden beams. The only rain storm of the summer has rendered me back my green lawn -- traded in for dry yellow straw for much of these past couple of weeks.
For days now I've been slowly unpacking all that I put away for the summer renters. The foodstuff was first to come out from under the stairwell, then the clothes back on the hangers and in their drawers. I've removed my sourdough starter from the freezer and over the past week have been nourishing and refreshing it back to its former liveliness. Yet to be uncovered are all my photos of the kids, the personal and fragile things that were the first to be tucked away for safety and discretion's sake.
Our summer was spent far away, in a land of books and card games, woods and lakes, my family, the English language (or American if more precision is requested) bathing our ears in another world's ways. My childhood blended with that of my boys. My wish to touch, find yet again the sensation of endless time: days blending one into another, minimal to loose scheduling, books taking over my psyche to the point of reading all night, or carrying my book from my bed to the breakfast table, unable to put it down. Conversations that flow easily and stop or pause with no tension. Kids running freely, shoes left on the porch, toughened soles scrambling over rocks, down the paths, leaping into the cool water.
Summers include star-gazing. And what is this but a moment in silence, in awe at the size and glory of the universe above. Yet again a reminder of our smallness and the vastness above. In years past, I looked up from my canoe, leaning back on the bow, my paddle gently resting on my knees, in the middle of the lake, the only sound tiny waves gently lapping against the sides, while above me falling stars flash by. This year, it was atop a well in the middle of acres of vineyards, a dry, warm and mosquito free breeze gently enwrapping my stretched out body. I saw Queen Cassiopeia's W, and the big dipper, the North star and perhaps Pegasus as he rode across the clear summer sky.
With Monday will come school, three of my four teen boarders for this year, an interview to teach English, and a swirl of activities and errands to be placed into the busy weeks ahead. The rhythms and routines of the fall will impose themselves upon us, insisting upon care and attention. I'm holding back - just a bit -- till the last moment. I came back early to France, to give us time to adapt, re-acquaint ourselves with this world and its peoples, culture, ways, time. I have learned not to leave our return till the last minute. It is too jarring and painful to arrive and two days later struggle up from the depths of jet-lagged induced slumber to school and its insistent presence. How did my parents manage this? As a child we drove home after Labor Day. School commenced a mere day or two after our arrival in New York. Two days of travel, unpacking two cars, and the spare room filled to the rafters with the things we'd removed for the summer renters... and then off to work and school, our carefree days of summer a rich and yet intangible web of memories jangled by brick walls, tile floors and scratching of chalk on the chalkboard.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Summer Reading
Leo and I have our projects. Reading and Writing are at the top of the list. Not surprising, after all my stress and the various tests for learning disabilities and such that he's been through recently.
His teacher has given us two books to read this summer. A young person's Alexander the Great and the Odyssey. Both, normally, adapted for young readers. We've begun with Alexander and as we most painfully and slowly work our way through it I am relearning grammar, seeing words and sentences with another eye, and living through Leo's level of comprehension and frustration.
Three sentences devoted to a hydraulic column, references to Alexander's chief scientist, indirect pronouns in a third sentence making reference to the said column further back in the paragraph. Is it any wonder he's having a hard time? The glories of the battles, the achievements, the mystical nature of the visits to the oracle, the witch that is his mother... few of these details can penetrate through the dense and yes, at times beautiful language. I struggle alongside. I translate for him (should I be doing this for a French-born child?). I put the information into simpler phrases, and stress the imagery of what is being communicated. I want him to be able to then write sentences in his own words that summarize what we've learned. To bring back to school in September his own version of the book, ready to check and use as his teacher does whatever she's planning on doing.
When I read with Leo I return to the imagery whenever possible. In my classes for the Waldorf/Rudolf Steiner teachers' training, we stressed holding the images in our minds to facilitate story-telling, and the importance of putting images into the children's minds through words and actions.
Leo and I have had our breakdowns this week -- thirty minutes of severe unhappiness, weeping at his self-described stupidity which I strenuously, lovingly, achingly denied. Oh how hard it is for him! Writing just doesn't come easily. And reading: Well, he's reading in both languages, but in French it is hard, it is not flowing into his brain as it should. It requires re-reading, going back over and working through each sentence, each paragraph. He feels terribly at a loss, and declares that he's ready to give up and simply become a street sweeper.
And then, glory of glories, we had a beautiful breakthrough last night with English. Thank you to the Anglo-saxon world for so much marvelous children's literature. We plunged back into a book we'd begun this spring; he reading a paragraph, and then I. In this manner we read a chapter or two. And then, I was ready for my bath. I was tired; it was dark; and the weather is chilly. Well, he followed me in (once I'd chastely covered my privates) and began reading to me aloud from our dragon book while I soaked in my soothing hot water.
Proudly, delightedly, he acclaimed his newfound ease at reading aloud with as much pleasure and speed as when he reads silently to himself. And I added, you are also reading the punctuation, the periods, the commas, the question marks, the quotation marks. He's reading with feeling, comprehension, and the pleasure of story-telling.
Yes, I was tired, yes, I might have read my own book quietly in what is normally a rather private moment. But, I would never dare dampen burgeoning enthusiasm, and self-confidence.
Day by day, hope blossoms again.
His teacher has given us two books to read this summer. A young person's Alexander the Great and the Odyssey. Both, normally, adapted for young readers. We've begun with Alexander and as we most painfully and slowly work our way through it I am relearning grammar, seeing words and sentences with another eye, and living through Leo's level of comprehension and frustration.
Three sentences devoted to a hydraulic column, references to Alexander's chief scientist, indirect pronouns in a third sentence making reference to the said column further back in the paragraph. Is it any wonder he's having a hard time? The glories of the battles, the achievements, the mystical nature of the visits to the oracle, the witch that is his mother... few of these details can penetrate through the dense and yes, at times beautiful language. I struggle alongside. I translate for him (should I be doing this for a French-born child?). I put the information into simpler phrases, and stress the imagery of what is being communicated. I want him to be able to then write sentences in his own words that summarize what we've learned. To bring back to school in September his own version of the book, ready to check and use as his teacher does whatever she's planning on doing.
When I read with Leo I return to the imagery whenever possible. In my classes for the Waldorf/Rudolf Steiner teachers' training, we stressed holding the images in our minds to facilitate story-telling, and the importance of putting images into the children's minds through words and actions.
Leo and I have had our breakdowns this week -- thirty minutes of severe unhappiness, weeping at his self-described stupidity which I strenuously, lovingly, achingly denied. Oh how hard it is for him! Writing just doesn't come easily. And reading: Well, he's reading in both languages, but in French it is hard, it is not flowing into his brain as it should. It requires re-reading, going back over and working through each sentence, each paragraph. He feels terribly at a loss, and declares that he's ready to give up and simply become a street sweeper.
And then, glory of glories, we had a beautiful breakthrough last night with English. Thank you to the Anglo-saxon world for so much marvelous children's literature. We plunged back into a book we'd begun this spring; he reading a paragraph, and then I. In this manner we read a chapter or two. And then, I was ready for my bath. I was tired; it was dark; and the weather is chilly. Well, he followed me in (once I'd chastely covered my privates) and began reading to me aloud from our dragon book while I soaked in my soothing hot water.
Proudly, delightedly, he acclaimed his newfound ease at reading aloud with as much pleasure and speed as when he reads silently to himself. And I added, you are also reading the punctuation, the periods, the commas, the question marks, the quotation marks. He's reading with feeling, comprehension, and the pleasure of story-telling.
Yes, I was tired, yes, I might have read my own book quietly in what is normally a rather private moment. But, I would never dare dampen burgeoning enthusiasm, and self-confidence.
Day by day, hope blossoms again.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Homework in a Bi-lingual Household
Unless otherwise noted, all materials on this blog are (c) 2009 by Madeleine Vedel
I spent my weekend reading with Leo, re-reading the book he was to have read and written twenty lines on for today. It was an intense span of at least ten hours, side by side (the book is 217 pages long, an early reader, but still ...). He's having a very difficult time actually absorbing what he reads. Vocabulary words he doesn't know, and a disconnect between nicely pronouncing a phrase and actually giving it sense; sense that sticks and comes to life as images in your brain. Normally, I read in English with Leo. We read nightly a chapter or so of Harry Potter, or a dragon book, or The Black Stallion, or the Squire books by one of the Monty Pythons. He prefers that I read in English with him, and truth be told, I've a better stash of youth literature in English than in French. In France, either you read English literature translated into French, or any number of an infinite array of cartoon novels (Tintin, Les Daltons, etc.,). I'm still looking for an equivalent collection of addictive kids' literature actually written in French.
When you raise a child bi-lingually, you are effectively doubling the vocabulary he needs to master at any given age. There are times it feels easy. Kids pick up so much with such facility. But, there are times when the difficulties (often unforseen) make you doubt your choice. Leo was always a very cerebral child. At an age when other children have words spilling out of their mouths in an unstoppable flow, he stuttered. I could hear him figuring out what language the person in front of him comprehended, and search for the appropriate word or phrase. He was already translating in his head, and thus language wasn't a simple element that you absorb and spit back out, but an intense struggle from day one. He still occasionally puts an adjective after a noun in English, simply translating verbatim from French.
I switched him to the Waldorf school precisely because the French public kindergarten director thought the fact that I was raising him bi-lingually was wrong. And there, yes, I found a multi-lingual, multi-cultural haven. It has certainly helped, at least for all of us to feel somewhat normal in what is undeniably becoming a very international and culturally mixed world.
I'm not the first in my family to live in a foreign country, and my children are just the next in a line of numerous bi-lingual kids (German-English, Greek-English, Spanish-English) in our extended family. So, I was just doing what I thought right for an American mom living abroad. I'm less emphatic with Jonas, my second, not unsurprisingly. And, as is often the case in a situation like ours, the language of the boys between themselves is French. But with me, the rule for both of them has always been that we communicate in English, no matter that my French is perfectly fluent and that I and Erick always spoke French together. My many au pairs were also amateur English assistants, helping me give the boys an English environment to grow up in. My thought was, with all their friends, their schooling, their father, their French cousins, etc., speaking to them in French, I had to do whatever was possible to make English a real and useful language for them.
With Leo, it's now at a point where his teacher reassures him when he writes poorly in French that it's ok, his maternal tongue being English, he too is like a foreigner in her class. I differ with her on this point, and wish she'd be a bit more demanding of him. But, point taken, he works far more on his English reading and writing skills with me than on his French. And yes, I wonder when and if it will all get sorted out for him. Spelling rules in both languages are horrid. And pure memorization as a way of learning them is not something he's willing to accept, yet. So, rather than 'mauvaise' it is 'movese'. A clear understanding of letters and their sounds, but a complete disconnect between what he reads and what he writes.
How much of this is having the two languages at once?
I picked up French in junior high and high school. I was a good student, and even now, I find myself correcting the usage of accents and such on many a French friend's papers. So, I learned the basic rules of this foreign language, got it, and then learned to speak it and communicate with it. I had no bad habits from a childhood of random spellings, etc., to undo, but nor did I have the automatic knowledge of whether a word was feminine or masculine (still one of my issues with French, no matter my apparent mastery). And still, I do not write well in French. My grammar is good, but not my phrasing, my 'syntax' as they say here. How will I improve it? I do read more in French as time goes on, but then, that messes up my English for the translating work I do. The head is easily tricked. Whereas I'm able to hold relatively easily to the spoken variations of the languages I speak, writing is a completely other art for me.
The summer I got up to speed with my Japanese -- my intensive nine-week third-year program at Middlebury -- I returned to university and proceeded to write the worst English of my life. Japanese is structured completely differently than English, and often has very long and heavy sentences. I wrote technically correct sentences. There was a subject and a verb in there somewhere, but then there were oodles of dependent clauses just cluttering up the text. I was temporarily under the influence of Japanese syntax and it took me all semester to get my English style back again.
So, I have given my children the joys and privileges of being bi-lingual from birth, and perhaps saddled them with the frustrations of never mastering either the one or the other? In any case, they have the untold pleasures of friendships and family on both sides of the Atlantic, and that outweighs a lot of the small stuff.
I spent my weekend reading with Leo, re-reading the book he was to have read and written twenty lines on for today. It was an intense span of at least ten hours, side by side (the book is 217 pages long, an early reader, but still ...). He's having a very difficult time actually absorbing what he reads. Vocabulary words he doesn't know, and a disconnect between nicely pronouncing a phrase and actually giving it sense; sense that sticks and comes to life as images in your brain. Normally, I read in English with Leo. We read nightly a chapter or so of Harry Potter, or a dragon book, or The Black Stallion, or the Squire books by one of the Monty Pythons. He prefers that I read in English with him, and truth be told, I've a better stash of youth literature in English than in French. In France, either you read English literature translated into French, or any number of an infinite array of cartoon novels (Tintin, Les Daltons, etc.,). I'm still looking for an equivalent collection of addictive kids' literature actually written in French.
When you raise a child bi-lingually, you are effectively doubling the vocabulary he needs to master at any given age. There are times it feels easy. Kids pick up so much with such facility. But, there are times when the difficulties (often unforseen) make you doubt your choice. Leo was always a very cerebral child. At an age when other children have words spilling out of their mouths in an unstoppable flow, he stuttered. I could hear him figuring out what language the person in front of him comprehended, and search for the appropriate word or phrase. He was already translating in his head, and thus language wasn't a simple element that you absorb and spit back out, but an intense struggle from day one. He still occasionally puts an adjective after a noun in English, simply translating verbatim from French.
I switched him to the Waldorf school precisely because the French public kindergarten director thought the fact that I was raising him bi-lingually was wrong. And there, yes, I found a multi-lingual, multi-cultural haven. It has certainly helped, at least for all of us to feel somewhat normal in what is undeniably becoming a very international and culturally mixed world.
I'm not the first in my family to live in a foreign country, and my children are just the next in a line of numerous bi-lingual kids (German-English, Greek-English, Spanish-English) in our extended family. So, I was just doing what I thought right for an American mom living abroad. I'm less emphatic with Jonas, my second, not unsurprisingly. And, as is often the case in a situation like ours, the language of the boys between themselves is French. But with me, the rule for both of them has always been that we communicate in English, no matter that my French is perfectly fluent and that I and Erick always spoke French together. My many au pairs were also amateur English assistants, helping me give the boys an English environment to grow up in. My thought was, with all their friends, their schooling, their father, their French cousins, etc., speaking to them in French, I had to do whatever was possible to make English a real and useful language for them.
With Leo, it's now at a point where his teacher reassures him when he writes poorly in French that it's ok, his maternal tongue being English, he too is like a foreigner in her class. I differ with her on this point, and wish she'd be a bit more demanding of him. But, point taken, he works far more on his English reading and writing skills with me than on his French. And yes, I wonder when and if it will all get sorted out for him. Spelling rules in both languages are horrid. And pure memorization as a way of learning them is not something he's willing to accept, yet. So, rather than 'mauvaise' it is 'movese'. A clear understanding of letters and their sounds, but a complete disconnect between what he reads and what he writes.
How much of this is having the two languages at once?
I picked up French in junior high and high school. I was a good student, and even now, I find myself correcting the usage of accents and such on many a French friend's papers. So, I learned the basic rules of this foreign language, got it, and then learned to speak it and communicate with it. I had no bad habits from a childhood of random spellings, etc., to undo, but nor did I have the automatic knowledge of whether a word was feminine or masculine (still one of my issues with French, no matter my apparent mastery). And still, I do not write well in French. My grammar is good, but not my phrasing, my 'syntax' as they say here. How will I improve it? I do read more in French as time goes on, but then, that messes up my English for the translating work I do. The head is easily tricked. Whereas I'm able to hold relatively easily to the spoken variations of the languages I speak, writing is a completely other art for me.
The summer I got up to speed with my Japanese -- my intensive nine-week third-year program at Middlebury -- I returned to university and proceeded to write the worst English of my life. Japanese is structured completely differently than English, and often has very long and heavy sentences. I wrote technically correct sentences. There was a subject and a verb in there somewhere, but then there were oodles of dependent clauses just cluttering up the text. I was temporarily under the influence of Japanese syntax and it took me all semester to get my English style back again.
So, I have given my children the joys and privileges of being bi-lingual from birth, and perhaps saddled them with the frustrations of never mastering either the one or the other? In any case, they have the untold pleasures of friendships and family on both sides of the Atlantic, and that outweighs a lot of the small stuff.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Starting over-- Coping
Unless otherwise noted, all materials on this blog are (c) 2009 by Madeleine Vedel
Divorce hitting at the same moment as an economic downturn. It's not the best combination for maintaining the lifestyle to which I had been accustomed. But, it does stimulate the mind to seek creative solutions. Figuring out how to continue paying a mortgage (a problem I am not alone in having), feeding the kids, putting gas in the car, and, if you work for yourself, keeping some kind of marketing budget for a business -- these are major occupations for me now. It's been a very interesting year so far.
Divorce hitting at the same moment as an economic downturn. It's not the best combination for maintaining the lifestyle to which I had been accustomed. But, it does stimulate the mind to seek creative solutions. Figuring out how to continue paying a mortgage (a problem I am not alone in having), feeding the kids, putting gas in the car, and, if you work for yourself, keeping some kind of marketing budget for a business -- these are major occupations for me now. It's been a very interesting year so far.
I stopped working closely with the father of my boys in the fall. I still help out occasionally, but ideally for me, our partnership is over. Easier said than done. Without me to help bring clients to the door, he's a bit lost and his finances are in worse shape than mine. Thus, minimal to no help from that end. We're both waiting for the bed and breakfast to sell... Once it finally does, it will feel like a windfall.
From the summer on, I've been adding up the possibilities of how to cope with my newly discovered financial scarcity. When I was younger, it was easy to just walk into a temp agency and get a part-time job. It paid the bills -- which were minimal for a single girl -- and life was good. I had money while I took my time looking for more interesting employment. But, with two kids in private school (yes this might be a budget to eliminate, as it involves fees, cafeteria bills and lots of driving, but... I'm committed to the kids' Rudolf Steiner education while I'm able to be, such is life) and no nearby family to help out, I needed to become creative and disciplined.
So, I've taken in boarders. Three teens from my kids' school now live with us five days a week. I've become a "famille nombreuse". Who would have thought after I'd stopped at the reasonable number of two for myself? So, rather than driving two children to school daily, and picking them up at 4 o'clock three days a week and at noon the other two, I'm driving five kids. I'm also feeding and cleaning up and doing laundry for a family of six. It doesn't feel too different from the bed and breakfast.
The added dimension of teenage girls is quite interesting. I must say, I'm grateful that of the three, only one is into make-up. Bathroom time juggling thus has not been much a problem. (The house has only the one bathroom, with toilet, shower, tub etc., all in the same space). Yes, all-natural girls from the Waldorf school are a pretty easy bunch to live with.
I use the various recipes I'd mastered in my prior profession, and continue to pick up all my organic staples at a wholesale warehouse. This keeps my bills relatively low, and the quality of the food high. The week is ordered by bread-day, yogurt day, house-keeping/laundry day, vegetable soup day, and as time permits, baking muffins, shopping for the rare extra object, or a pass by the market or local farm for some fresh vegetables and fruit. Meat is a rare offering, but I get 30 organic eggs a week for 7.50Euros, and we've lots of nuts, cheese, whole grains and beans to cover most protein needs. But the sheer time necessary to prepare food so regularly and in such quantities... Well, it is at times quite overwhelming.
But, on the positive side, my boys are no longer the spoiled kids of a manically working mom who depends on au pairs to cope with her kids when she's not around (which was a lot). They now follow the careful calendar of chores that all share: setting and clearing the table, doing dishes, laundry, sweeping the stairs, bringing in fire wood. All these get shared amongst the brood and each does his part. Of course, there is also the need to be patient, pleasant, to respect common and private space.
The household has now been together since September, and it is an amazingly smooth operation. Oh I've had my moments of freaking out. But I only crashed completely once, (the eldest who's 17 took over that night), and have kept yelling to an absolute minimum. I am no doubt harder on my boys than on the girls. They're mine, and I want them to be perfect, helpful, considerate young men. So far, they're holding up very well under the invasion, and their mother's expectations of them.
Oh, and no, taking in boarders doesn't by far cover all my monthly costs. I also have translations, a few tours coming up this spring, and I've been helping my organic vintner export his wines to the States. A multi-tasker from birth, I do what I need to to keep things functioning. It's very month to month right now (a cookbook before Christmas, now a wine book, soon some wine web sites..). All rather surreal and at times disorienting. But I think that though it is very stressful to be so hyper-aware of money and the lack of it, this is a good year when I'm finally truly caring for my boys and maybe, when all's said and done, they'll look back to this year and reminisce about "the year Mom was there, like, all the time!" It could be a lot worse.
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