Dumbing Us Down by John Taylor Gatto

This is the 6th post in my series about books related to teaching, learning and homeschooling. 

(See my earlier post for a description of the series.)

I first came across Dumbing Us Down: The Hidden Curriculum of Compulsory Schooling (1st edition, 1991) at a homeschooling conference. At the time, I was trying to understand why my mostly positive memories of elementary school in the 1960s were not enough to overcome my adverse reaction to sending my daughter to school in 1996. How had something that had felt so right for me, when I was a child, become something that felt so wrong for my own free-spirited little girl?

At first, all I had to go on was a gut feeling, because I hadn't yet found the words to describe exactly what it was about the school environment that bothered me, but the feeling wouldn't go away. I just knew there was something about the way my daughter was being instructed and confined all day that didn't sit well with me. What had been OK for me was not something I was willing to accept for her.  It was as simple—and irrational—as that. What I needed was a rational explanation for what my instincts were telling me.

I think that's why Dumbing Us Down caught my attention. "Strong Words from the New York State Teacher of the Year" the cover proclaimed. Glancing at the back of the book, I learned the author was a teacher who had broken ranks and turned against the system that had employed him.  He had resigned "after 26 years of award-winning teaching in Manhattan's public schools." What had happened to provoke this teacher, who in his book describes school as "a twelve-year jail sentence where bad habits are the only curriculum truly learned"? 

Strong words, indeed, but was there any truth to them? I bought a copy of the book to decide for myself. In the first chapter, I read about the seven lessons that make up the "hidden curriculum of compulsory schooling." They are, according to Gatto:

1. Confusion—"Everything I teach is out of context."
2. Class Position—"The variety of ways children are numbered by schools has increased dramatically, until it is hard to see the human beings plainly under the weight of the numbers they carry."
3. Indifference—"The lesson of bells is that no work is worth finishing, so why care too deeply about anything?"
4. Emotional Dependency—"By stars and red checks, smiles and frowns, prizes, honors, and disgraces, I teach kids to surrender their will to the predestinated chain of command."
5. Intellectual Dependency—"Good students wait for a teacher to tell them what to do."
6. Provisional Self-Esteem—"I teach that a kid's self-respect should depend on expert opinion. My kids are constantly evaluated and judged." "Self-evaluation, the staple of every major philosophical system that ever appeared on the planet, is never considered a factor."
7. One Can't Hide—"I teach students they are always watched, that each is under constant surveillance by myself and my colleagues."

Although I didn't agree with all the libertarian rhetoric in Gatto's book—too many sweeping generalizations and not enough evidence to convince me—his list of lessons validated what I had been feeling. My daughter had already complained (in first grade!) about doing work that seemed meaningless (i.e., out of context). She grumbled about not having enough time to finish her work and the lack of "alone time." And, as her mother, I was concerned about her lack of freedom: her teacher made all the decisions about what, when and how to learn, leaving little opportunity for self-directed learning or "free play." 

So, why hadn't these things bothered me when I was in school? I think it was because I was the kind of child who needed a place that was predictable, where expectations were clear and consistent. I thrived on the gold stars and approval I got from teachers. For reasons I won't go into here, I didn't expect to have control over my own life, so I was ripe for schooling.

But a child who has always been encouraged to believe in herself and pursue her own dreams knows what freedom feels like. She takes for granted her ability to branch out and explore, gradually widening her reach as she grows older. I think that's why putting my daughter into school felt so much like putting her into a cage. Compared to her life at home and within a larger community, it was too limiting, too confining, too prescriptive. I wanted her to have access to a bigger experience than school could provide. 

That's what Gatto's book helped me to see:

"Whatever an education is, it should make you a unique individual, not a conformist; it should furnish you with an original spirit with which to tackle the big challenges; it should allow you to find values which will be your road map through life; it should make you spiritually rich, a person who loves whatever you are doing, wherever you are, whomever you are with; it should teach you what is important, how to live and how to die." 

The Art of Education by Linda Dobson

This is the 5th post in my series about books related to teaching, learning and homeschooling. (See my earlier post for a description of the series.)

Imagine that all the books I'm writing about are having a conversation. Here's what the books I've written about so far have had to say: 

• Homeschooling for Excellence says it's possible for kids who do not attend school to excel academically. It provides an example of one family's approach to homeschooling.
• Family Matters makes a compelling case from various points of view (emotional, familial, academic, social, political, philosophical) for choosing to homeschool.
• Learning All the Time argues that children are typically born knowing how to learn and will continue to do so if we don't get in their way (similar to the way an object in motion will continue in motion unless an outside force acts upon it). 
• In Their Own Way explains why it's important to consider how someone learns, their preferred learning style(s), before you try to help them with what they want to learn.

The Art of Education by Linda Dobson adds another voice in favor of homeschooling. Unfortunately, the first six chapters come across (in my opinion) as unnecessarily inflammatory, reactionary and specious. For example, she writes:

" . . . public school programming has managed to create a society void of internal moral motivation and filled with hate, violence, and distrust." 

Well, maybe. But I've seen school "programming" that's inspiring, and I've known students for whom school was a sanctuary. It's not a black-and-white situation (school = evil, family-centered learning = good).

I'm glad I didn't give up on The Art of Education after the first few chapters, though, because the book also offers compassionate advice for those who believe homeschooling can be more than simply an alternative way to learn math and science. For instance, I agree with Dobson when she writes:

"Balanced learning with loved ones provides that sense of wholeness it is our nature to seek. Instead of feeling denied, we feel fulfilled, instead of feeling disrespected, we respect Self. Instead of separation, we experience connection."

How I chose to educate my children—striving to respect their choices instead of dictating their lives, for example—has had a lasting impact on the quality of our family relationships, our community of friends, and even how I feel about myself. The point Dobson makes is that homeschooling is not simply a matter of replacing school teachers with home tutors—if we are open-minded and willing to adapt, the experience can be both personally and socially transformative.

"We're free to do things you can't do in school. We can make noise; we can talk to each other; we can help each other [without being accused of cheating]; we can take as long as we want when a topic of book captures our interest; we can follow our hearts and interests wherever they lead; we can make mistakes without ridicule and attempt something new without fear of being graded, judged, and labeled should we reach a bit too high. We can do many of those things research shows increase the odds of children enjoying the learning experience. We can practice the art of education." 

I'd argue that students may also be allowed do these things in schools, where teachers and administrators have worked together to find creative alternatives to the old-school model of lecture, test, grade, repeat. What I like most about The Art of Education is that it pushes all of us to re-examine our priorities, deal with our personal baggage, and become better human beings in the process. 

The Art of Education includes an introduction by John Taylor Gatto, professional educator and author of Dumbing Us Down—the book I plan to review in my next post.

What the Young and the Old Have in Common

Atul Gawande is the kind of person who makes the rest of us feel inadequate. It isn't enough for him to be a Rhodes Scholar, Harvard Medical school graduate, and surgeon at Brigham and Women's Hospital (arguably one of the finest teaching hospitals in the world). He's also a researcher, a journalist (having written articles for Slate and The New Yorker), the author of four popular books (Complications, Better, Checklist Manifesto, and the recently released Being Mortal), and—oh yes—a loving husband and father to three children. According to his Wikipedia entry, "He enjoys reading." How he finds the time is anyone's guess. In short: he's amazing.

I've always been fascinated by medicine, and there's nothing I enjoy more than curling up with a well-written nonfiction book. So, not surprisingly, I've loved everything Dr. Gawande has written. Being Mortal is his best so far. It is terrifying (because he makes us think about our own mortality), poignant, informative, tragic and brilliant. And, quite unexpectedly, it includes insights into why schools aren't necessarily the best places for our kids to be spending so many hours of their days, so many months of the year, for so many years of their young lives.

Did Dr. Gawande intend for his newest book to be a commentary on our educational system? I'm sure he didn't. In fact, he might not even agree with me. But as I was reading along, I kept coming across passages that I believe apply as much to education as they do to elder care. 

Transferable Skills: What I'm Learning from My Kids

After nearly two decades of being a home educator, and with the youngest of my three homeschooled children now living and studying at an out-of-state college, I've finally got the time to pursue my own career. This is both exciting and terrifying.

It's exciting, because I can put myself first, instead of second, third—or last. Make no mistake, I'm no martyr. No one compelled me to be self-sacrificing; I simply chose to make my kids and their learning community my highest priority. I always knew it was only a temporary arrangement (that is, if you can call 24 years "temporary"), and so with that in mind I gladly volunteered to confine all my plans, my hours and days, to fit the schedules of others. But now, at long last, my time is my own. I can try doing things I've never done before. I'm ready for a change.

And yet, this transition is also somewhat terrifying, because I've been an at-home mother and educator for so long that doing anything else feels really strange. Applying for jobs is intimidating, my resume looks unconventional and skimpy, my last paid employment was back in the '80s, and I expect the learning curve for any new job will be steep.

Luckily, I know three young adults who are wonderful sources of advice and encouragement.

When I turn to my kids and wonder how I'm going to make my way in the wider world of rapid change, independent contractors, and new technologies, I hear my own words coming back to me.

"You can do it, Mom!" they say. "You've got loads of experience: researching, teaching, organizing events, planning curriculum, keeping records, writing newsletters and reports." They remind me of all I've accomplished over the years, just as I used to remind them of their achievements when they were feeling unsure of themselves.

"Look at all you've done this year!" I'd say. "Remember how you couldn't do This or That back in September? But now you can!" Whether or not our school district required an annual written evaluation, I always prepared one for each of my children, so that they (and I) could see their progress. Now my kids are returning the favor, lifting me up in my time of self-doubt and helping to restore my confidence.

When I tell my oldest daughter I'm not sure what to do next, she tells me, "do what you love." (Now where have I heard that before?) I think about writing, tutoring, mentoring. She helps me consider the pros and cons of different jobs and opens my eyes to the possibilities. Never one to shy away from adventure or a new challenge, my eldest knows how to inspire me to try new things.

When I ask my youngest daughter—a college senior—for help with my resume, she says, "think about not only the things you've done, but also what you've learned in the process, the extent of the impact you've had." I think about the dozens of kids who have learned in my home, all the ways in which I've had to change and adapt, and the hundreds of homeschoolers who have contacted me over the years. I smile as I reminisce, all the while feeling so proud of the remarkable young woman who is giving me this advice.

I even confide in my son, who is home for mid-year break after his first semester. I tell him I'm feeling nervous about starting my first job, and he says, "You'll be fine! You've done much harder things than this. You've got this, Mom." I feel momentarily overwhelmed by his words of encouragement. Afraid I might embarrass him if I start to cry, I give him a hug instead, so he can't see my face. He towers over me by at least six inches, and when I step back to smile at him, I notice there's a dark shadow of stubble on his upper lip and jawline. Only a few months away from home and already he seems older, more self-assured.

Maybe it seems weird for me to turn to my kids for career advice and support, but oddly enough, they understand what I'm going through. Considering career options, updating resumes, applying for jobs: these are things they've either done recently or will be doing in the near future. Even if we didn't have that in common, though, the collaborative give and take of solving problems together has become so normal and habitual for us that we fall into the pattern naturally. I value their opinions as much as they value mine, and we trust each other to be honest, fair, encouraging and forthright.

It's now 2015, and my husband and kids have helped me transition from homeschooling to a new job. I suffered through a few months of dead ends and a couple rejections, but I've found part-time work that I love. I'm an editor for Author Accelerator, a startup company formed by Jennie Nash (editor, author and book coach) and Matt Richter-Sand, entrepreneur. My new "students" are writers who are serious about getting their books written and published, and I enjoy working with them. It's challenging to find the right balance between critique and encouragement, but Jennie is a wonderful mentor and I'm learning all the time. It seems like a perfect fit for me, and I'm happy to have found a use for many of the skills I cultivated as a home educator.

Self-Assessments: "How Am I Doing?"

Every year at the New Hampshire Homeschooling Coalition Spring Workshop, a handful of experienced homeschooling parents, serving as panelists, answer questions about homeschooling. The workshop typically begins with an overview of the NH Home Education law (RSA 193-A). Panelists are then asked about their personal experiences. Why did they choose to homeschool? How did they get started? Where do they find educational resources? How do they connect with other homeschoolers?

At some point in the middle of the workshop, there's one question that's always asked:

"What are your goals and how do you know you’re accomplishing enough?"

While (as a panelist), I realized this question was about educational goals, I couldn't answer without stating the obvious: my highest priority as a parent was my children's well-being. I wanted them to have fond memories of our time together, so I focused on how they learned—I adamantly refused to use a system of rewards and punishments to manipulate, coerce, or shame them into reaching academic milestones. If my kids didn't feel loved and respected and valued for who they were, no amount of accomplishment would ever make up for it.

If I'm honest, though, I have to admit: knowing whether we were accomplishing enough wasn't easy. Most of the time, I went through an informal process of trial and error. When my kids seemed bored, I tried to help them find more challenging work to do. If they were frustrated or stuck, I encouraged them to slow down and take things one step at a time. "Assessment" was generally something that happened dynamically and continuously as I had regular conversations with my children about how they were doing, what interested them, and where they were struggling.

More formally, I could see my kids were making progress when I helped them assemble their annual portfolios at the end of the year. Their portfolios included a written summary of the major milestones in their lives, photos, samples of work, programs from performances, and other evidence of what they'd done during the year. It was always obvious that they had accomplished much, but was it "enough"? How much was enough? That was difficult for me to evaluate without comparing what my kids had done to what other kids the same age were doing.

All of which leads me to these questions: What can an educator reasonably expect from a student? What should students—or lifelong learners—expect from themselves?

Personalized Learning and Student Choice

"It is frankly difficult to understand how anyone can talk about school reform without immediately addressing the question of how students can be given more say about what goes on in their classes." —Alfie Kohn, "Choices for Children: Why and How to Let Students Decide"

I'm going to play Devil's Advocate for a moment and ask, "Why talk about school reform at all?" The old school model of "I teach, you learn" works—sort of. During the twelve years or more when students are in school, a large percentage of them manage to learn. If not everything, at least something. Most graduate and eventually get jobs.

It isn't a perfect system, but what is? Why not continue to teach our children in the same way that our parents and grandparents learned?

If this doesn't strike you as absurd, then you may be the type of learner for whom the system was designed. You might like following instructions, knowing what to expect, and having everything planned in advance for you. Perhaps you learn well from books and lectures and are very good at recalling what you have read or heard. Maybe you get high marks on standardized tests. There isn't necessarily anything wrong with learning in this way; in fact, I happen to be one of the people for whom this old-school model works pretty well. It simply isn't optimum for all people, all of the time.

There's another problem with doing things the same way we've always done them: it doesn't result in progress. To improve upon an idea, we have to be willing to try something new. Even if we acknowledge that the old model "worked" well enough to provide an adequate education for large numbers of students, no one would describe our current educational system as flawless. There's always room for improvement. No educator deserving of the title would be satisfied with "good enough," so we have to keep asking ourselves: How can we do a better job?

Here's where I agree with Alfie Kohn: one way we can do a better job is by giving students "more say about what goes on in their classes."

I'm familiar with Kohn's books (Punished By Rewards, The Case Against Standardized Testing, The Schools Our Children Deserve) and was pleased to see his article listed among the course materials for Week 4 of DLMOOC. Kohn summarizes the benefits of including students in the decision-making process, such as an improved sense of well-being, better self-discipline, greater academic achievement, avoidance of burnout (student and teacher), and democracy in action. He writes:

"There is nothing new about the idea that students should be able to participate, individually and collectively, in making decisions. This conviction has long played a role in schools designated as progressive, democratic, open, free, experimental, or alternative; in educational philosophies called developmental, constructivist, holistic, or learner-centered; in specific innovations such as whole-language learning, discovery-based science, or authentic assessment; and in the daily practice of teachers whose natural instinct is to treat children with respect."

The theme for Week 4 of the Deeper Learning MOOC has been personalized learning, student voice, and student choice—topics I have written about in several earlier posts (see, for example, Choices: Too Many, Not Enough, or Just Right? and Treating Students as Equal Partners). I'm delighted to have been introduced, through the DLMOOC, to many people who are working hard to create opportunities for students in schools to have a say in what and how they learn. The panelists for this week's discussion were inspiring.



Keven Kroehler, Executive Director for Edvisions Schools, talks about creating a "level playing field" in schools, where the contributions of students and teachers are equally valued and respected. He comments that "students think of things that teachers hadn't thought of," which reminded me of a few situations I faced last year (When Your Students Know More Than You Do, and Lessons Learned). Kevin also emphasized the importance of offering students authentic choices—the ability to make decisions about things that matter to them—rather than false choices, as in, "Which of these two preselected, mandatory activities do you want to do?" Kids know when they are being manipulated.  

Likewise, I appreciated panelist Kathleen Cushman's perspective on student voice. She talked about students being "citizens, not subjects," and described student voice as an "equity issue."She asks teachers to consider: "Whose voice gets listened to? Who gets to speak?" She recommends what I call "The Smorgasbord Approach," exposing students to a variety of things and allowing them to choose what interests them (as I describe in my post on Nurturing Interest-Based Learning). 

Panelist Brandon Wiley, Director of Asia Society's International Studies Schools Network (ISSN), talked about the importance of "recognizing students as key constituents, clients, customers," and giving them "a seat at the table," and I nodded my head in agreement. If students are the "key constituents," then it's inconceivable for them to be left out of the planning, implementation and evaluation of their work. This requires us to change how we think about everything: what students learn, how they learn it, and how they demonstrate their learning.  

I enjoyed hearing the DLMOOC panelists describe their iterative design process (similar to what I blogged about in Kindergarten-Style Planning), and it was interesting to me to see how this approach works in a school setting. Teachers collaborated not only with their students but with other teachers, parents, and members of the community. They developed a student's plan of study incrementally, continually learning and building upon what they discovered as they went along. During each stage of the project (planning, implementing, assessing), all the people with a vested interest were consulted and given opportunities to provide feedback. While this must have complicated the decision-making process, it also helped everyone make new connections, personally and cognitively.

The students who were on the "Lens into the Classroom" Student Panel for Week 4 were engaging, too.


Allowing students to have a say in how they learn is a school reform that has clearly made a big difference in the lives of these students. While this doesn't prove that all students' learning would necessarily be deepened in a High Tech High type of school, it seems likely that it would. Even the students who prefer a more traditional approach would benefit, because they could choose that method for themselves.

When my youngest daughter was fourteen, she said she wanted to attend the public high school in our town. Up until that point, she had always been homeschooled and free to choose what, when and how she learned. Why would she want to give that up? There were a variety of reasons—she wanted to see what school was like; she was interested in meeting more kids her age than she could find in the homeschooling community; she wanted to learn in a classroom setting. Ultimately, what mattered most was that she had a choice. She could return to homeschooling at any time, and she knew that was an option. That made all the difference in how she approached her education. She evaluated her own needs, assessed what the school had to offer, and figured out how to make the best use of her time there.

Giving kids choice doesn't mean deciding what that choice should be. It means we allow kids to figure out who they are and what they need to grow and thrive. A structured classroom with a teacher lecturing in the front isn't necessarily going to prevent deeper learning, but it shouldn't be the only option.

Deeper Learning Goals Require a Supportive Infrastructure

“A life worth living, and work worth doing—that is what I want for children (and all people), not just, or not even, something called 'a better education'.”—John Holt

It isn't easy to walk the fine line between mentoring and meddling, between offering support and insisting on "helping." Over the years, as I have been experimenting with a curriculum-free approach to education, three things have helped me more than anything else:

1. Permission to make mistakes. I had to give up the notion that I would get it right the first time. I had to be able to admit—to myself and my kids—when I had erred on the side of providing too much guidance (or too little). I had to experience a sinking ship a few times before I could turn things around. 
2. Trust. Patience, faith, trust—whatever it takes to step back and observe instead of interfering when things aren't progressing exactly as one might like them to be. When it comes to helping another person become who they are meant to be, there's so much we can't possibly know. There's a temptation to deal with the uncertainty by trying to control everything, but that seldom succeeds. 
3. Support. I could not have stayed the course if I had not had a community of people who were willing to listen, empathize, and share their own stories with me. 

When my kids were learning according to the expected or traditional timetable, and they chose academic subjects that educators have typically valued (reading, writing, math, science), it was easy for me to trust that everything would work out fine, regardless of the teaching method I used. The hard part was having faith when their interests were unconventional, bordering on obsessive, or proceeding at an unusual pace. I had to ask myself, "How resolved am I, really, to allowing my children to learn according to their own, unique internal plans?" If one of my children was" falling behind," what did that mean? Did I need to be concerned, or could I trust that he or she would eventually "catch up"?

Knowing when to intervene and when to trust the process is difficult but extremely important.

Most of the time, I simply had to learn to trust my kids and myself. It was not particularly helpful when concerned strangers would ask what I was doing, or how I was doing it, or "exactly what my kids were learning from playing all afternoon."If I had been required to report regularly to an oversight committee or school official, the days when it seemed like nothing was being learned (or everything was falling apart!) would have been much harder for me to recover from. I imagine the same might be true for teachers who are trying to encourage deeper learning in their classrooms. 

It takes courage to do something unconventional, and educating children without knowing for sure whether or not you are going to be successful is terrifying, especially when the stakes are so high. No adult wants to be responsible for messing up a child's future, so the pressure to do the job well is immense. Having others you respect say, "It's going to be OK, you are doing fine," or "Here, this is what I did, and it seemed to work," can make all the difference.

Excuse My Absence: November Is National Novel Writing Month

For the past couple of years, I have set aside time during the month of November for National Novel Writing Month. Although I've yet to take my "novels" to the next stage to have them published, I have enjoyed the process immensely. One of the highlights of my years of home educating has been to participate in NaNoWriMo with my kids.

I have to thank my kids for this. They were the ones who discovered NaNoWriMo. When my oldest daughter was around 15 and an avid writer, she successfully completed the challenge: writing 50,000 words in 30 days. Her younger siblings, who were only nine and twelve at the time, entered the competition, too. Although they didn't reach the 50,000 word goal that first year, they got a taste for writing that stayed with them.

Choices: Too Many, Not Enough, or Just Right?

What could possibly be wrong with having lots of choices? Choices acknowledge our individual differences: when we advocate for choice, we promote diversity, creativity, and critical thinking. As a parent and home educator, I favor creative alternatives to traditional forms of education—choices!—because I have met many students (my own children included) who do much better when they are not forced to conform to a single, prescriptive approach to learning. I have frequently argued that being able to choose for oneself is empowering, especially when it comes to education. Thanks to advances in technology, open educational resources, and online courses, hundreds of thousands of adults now feel empowered to pursue higher education on their own terms and schedules.

So, choice is good; but, what about too many choices? Recently, when I wanted to learn more about blogging, I used Google to search the Web, and I was presented with over 127 million results. Which ones were worth my attention? Later, when I needed to buy sunscreen, I made the mistake of going into a Walmart "superstore" and was stymied by the number of brands and varieties they sold. How is a person supposed to choose from so many seemingly identical choices?

It was after these two experiences that I came across Sheena Iyangar's TED Talks on "The Art of Choosing" (2010) and "How to Make Choosing Easier" (2011). She describes what happens when we are faced with "choice overload," and how some of our assumptions about having an abundance of choices can actually make us miserable. While we Americans like to believe that "the more choices you have, the more likely you are to make the best choice," in practice, people tend to second-guess their choices and thus suffer from guilt, frustration, and even depression as they dwell on the choices they didn't make.

 

Looking back on my experiences as a home educator, I can see how having an abundance of choices has hampered me at times. When I first began homeschooling, I had to decide what sort of method and materials I wanted to use. The New Hampshire Home Education law (RSA 193-A) allowed me to choose any approach or curriculum as long as it consisted of "instruction in science, mathematics, language, government, history, health, reading, writing, spelling, the history of the constitutions of New Hampshire and the United States, and an exposure to and appreciation of art and music." I could also choose which of those subjects to teach each year as long as the annual evaluations demonstrated that my children were "making educational progress at a level commensurate with their ages and abilities."This freedom was both liberating and daunting. How was I ever going to choose the best educational materials from the wide selection available? (Consider: a single homechool curriculum vendor, the Rainbow Resource Center, offers over 40,000 educational products, and there are many other curriculum vendors.) Once I had chosen, would I be plagued with doubt, wondering whether I should have chosen differently?

Are Video Games Helping or Hurting Our Kids?

For as long as we've had computers in our house, my husband and I have struggled with decisions about how often (and for what purposes) our kids should be allowed to use them. Like most parents, we tried to shield our kids from inappropriate online content and potentially harmful contacts, and we regularly encouraged them to go outside and "play in the real world." 

At some point, though, it became obvious that the benefits of allowing kids to use computers outweighed any disadvantages. As someone who has used computers productively for many years, I couldn't see the point in telling my kids they couldn't use computers at all. So, my questions about computer usage soon changed from "whether" to "what" and "how much." While my kids were still young, I supervised their usage and tried to steer them to safe websites or games that seemed educational (such as Reader Rabbit, Treasure Mathstorm!, and The Oregon Trail). However, as they got older, and the video games got less "educational," I started to worry about how much time they were spending in front of a screen. Had I made a big mistake in allowing those games into our home?

I admit there were days when I was tempted to pull the plug and ban video games entirely, but then I was reminded (probably by my kids) of my interest-led approach to homeschooling. Did I really believe what I had been saying about allowing children to follow their passions? If my son was fascinated by video games, shouldn't I try to learn something about them? Did I really know enough to pronounce them "a waste of time"?

My reason for writing this blog post is to share what I learned about gaming. First, I recommend the following two articles, which debunk the most common myths about video games:

• "Reality Bytes: Eight Myths About Video Games Debunked" by Henry Jenkins. An essay on the impact of gaming. Accessed from the PBS companion site for The Video Game Revolution, KCTS Television, 2004.
• "Video Games Don't Cause Children to be Violent" by Michael D. Gallagher, U.S. News and World Report, May 10, 2010. 

Homeschooling, Big Picture Learning, and the MET

Scholastic recently posted an interview with Daniel Pink (Motivation 3.0 by Dana Truby). In the interview, Pink mentions "The Big Picture Learning high school in Providence, Rhode Island" where "kids' interests dictate the curriculum." Kids who are dictating their own curriculum? Sounds like interest-based learning to me. My curiosity piqued, I used Google to learn more. 

I discovered that Pink wasn't talking about a single high school; he was referring to a whole network of schools that started with six small high schools in a state-funded public school district in Rhode Island. Additional funding for the schools came from a variety of sources, including a non-profit company called Big Picture Learning. The schools are referred to collectively as "The MET," and they serve as a model for 80 other schools across the United States (see The MET: Our History for details). 





Once I made the connection between Daniel Pink, Big Picture Learning, and The MET, I realized these schools were being talked about everywhere: The MET has been reported in the news repeatedly and was even praised by President Obama ("President Obama Praises the Met and  BPL"). 

Although I'm a home educator, I'm very interested in projects like The MET for two reasons: 

When Play and Experimentation Aren't Enough

I love to watch toddlers at play—totally engrossed in what they are doing, blissfully unselfconscious. While nearby adults provide safe boundaries and may be consulted occasionally for help or encouragement, toddlers are at their best when they are self-directed. For long stretches of time, they tinker with the objects in their environment and use a process of trial and error to discover how things work.

What if people of all ages could learn everything they ever needed to know on their own, simply by tinkering? There's no doubt that we can learn a lot without any formal instruction or assistance, but not all of us have the genius of Michael Faraday (one of "Six Uneducated Amateurs Whose Genius Changed the World") or Kelvin Doe, the African teen who taught himself how to build batteries, generators and transmitters:


The rest of us ordinary mortals usually find that tinkering only takes us so far. Eventually, we get stuck and our learning levels off. Maybe we don't care because we're content with the level of learning we've achieved. For example, I learned all I wanted to know about paper quilling from a Klutz book and a few afternoons of tinkering. Then again, maybe we will care a great deal, because our passion is to become the best writer, mathematician, or musician we have it in us to be. When my music-loving daughter wanted to take her self-taught guitar playing skills to the next level, she sought help from a professional musician.

Nurturing Interest-Based Learning

"On some level we know that if we become really involved with an area of knowledge, we learn it—with or without School, and in any case without the paraphernalia of curriculum and tests and segregation by age groups that School takes as axiomatic. We also know that if we do not become involved with the area of knowledge, we'll have trouble learning it with or without School's methods. . . . you can learn without being taught and often learn best when taught least." —Seymour Papert, The Children's Machine: Rethinking School in the Age of the Computer (1993), p. 141.

Seymour Papert coins a new term, "instructionism", to make a distinction between giving someone directions when they ask for them (instructing) and insisting that someone is dependent upon a constant stream of directions at all times (instructionism). There's nothing wrong with teaching per se—tutorials, demonstrations, and explanations all serve a purpose—the mistake is in the cultural mindset that assumes we can learn only when a teacher decides what, when and how we should learn. 

In a school setting, teachers generally do not have the freedom to allow students to pursue their own interests at their own pace. Classes are organized by age, and curriculums are designed with a specific scope and sequence: in fifth grade, everyone must study U.S. history, earth science, and the metric system. Weekly lesson plans dictate what will be taught (and, hopefully, learned). There's a practical reason for this: when you have large numbers of students to educate, it's more efficient.

Although it's possible to follow a similar approach to homeschooling, and some do, it isn't necessary. In fact, it may even be counterproductive. If your goal as a home educator is to empower your children to learn on their own, why not begin by allowing them to follow their interests and see where they lead?

"Well, sure," you may say, "That's fine if my kids happen to be interested in reading, writing, and arithmetic. But what happens when they aren't?"

"Math-Speaking" Adults as Role Models

To say that parents and teachers are role models for children is to state the obvious. We do our best to avoid swearing, show kindness to strangers, and generally be on our best behavior in front of our kids. But how many things are our kids learning from us that we never intended to teach them? Those of us who spend an unusually large number of hours in the company of our children are perhaps most apt to torture ourselves with this question.

Some might argue that if I had chosen a different approach to homeschooling I wouldn't have worried so much about what my children were (or were not) learning from me. A formal curriculum, one which covered every subject my children "needed" to know, would have provided uniform and consistent lessons that would make irrelevant my personal aptitudes (or ineptitudes). After all, if the textbook publishers and vendors at homeschooling conferences are to be believed, the "right" curriculum is all an instructor needs to be successful.

As it was, I decided to skip the curriculum-based approach and experiment with various ways of supporting my kids as they learned. I worked to redefine my role as a teacher. Instead of asking how I should teach a subject such as math or writing, I asked myself:

How does a parent who isn't directly teaching a subject, such as math, cultivate an environment that nurtures the type of thinking and skills that the subject requires?

Deciding Who Is Qualified to Teach Our Children

From time to time in New Hampshire, questions arise about the efficacy of allowing parents with no formal teaching qualifications to instruct their own children. Some demand an increase in the regulation of homeschoolers, and it's no idle threat: As recently as 2008, court battles were being fought in California over the constitutionality of teacher certification requirements for homeschooling parents (see Conard's 2009 article in the Drexel Law Review).

Although there is no evidence that parents with teaching credentials would be better at homeschooling (see "The Myth of Teacher Qualifications"), the assumption that children cannot learn unless they are taught by an expert is still pervasive. In "Chapter 7: Instructionism vs. Constructionism" of The Children's Machine: Rethinking School in the Age of the Computer (1994), Seymour Papert points out that this assumption about the causal relationship between teacher quality and student learning leads to a faulty conclusion:

". . . the route to better learning must be the improvement of instruction—if School is less than perfect, why then, you know what to do: Teach better" (p. 139).

What Do Our Children Need to Know?

Every teacher dreams of working with students who are passionate about learning. Every home educator strives to nurture his or her child's innate potential. We observe an abundance of natural curiosity in our two-year-old and wonder how we can preserve or inspire the same kind of enthusiasm in our older children.

It's rarely a challenge to generate excitement for something a child already wants to do, so why not allow a child to follow his or her own interests? Advocates of interest-based learning, child-led learning, and unschooling all recommend this approach.

Sometimes it's easy to go along with a child's choices: when a ten-year-old happily spends every day reading stacks of books, no one is likely to complain. Other times, it's more difficult: if that same ten-year-old devotes hours every day to playing with Barbie dolls or video games, we are likely to think she should stop "playing" and make "better" use of her time.

How much playing is too much? What role should parents and teachers have in setting limits? As a  home educator, I have struggled to answer these questions for myself while also considering the larger implications of how we as a society choose to educate our children.