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.

Family Matters: Why Homeschooling Makes Sense by David Guterson

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

A few years after Homeschooling for Excellence was published (see last week's post), David Guterson (and yes, I mean that David Guterson, the English teacher made famous by Snow Falling on Cedars) wrote an excellent book called Family Matters: Why Homeschooling Makes Sense. Within my local and statewide homeschooling communities—and I presume elsewhere across the country—his book quickly replaced, or at the very least supplemented, Homeschooling for Excellence. It became the resource we most often recommended to those with a budding interest in homeschooling.

"If homeschooling means foremost teaching one's own, it also means answering questions about it put by friends, relatives, even strangers." 

Family Matters is the best book written for those who genuinely want to know why anyone would choose to homeschool. Homeschoolers struggling to counter opposition from friends and family who don't yet understand or support their decision can use the book to fuel their arguments or, better yet, hand out copies to their critics. Although I've noticed opposition tends to fade as others see how well homeschooled children do over time, the first years are usually the hardest for families and therefore the time when a homeschooling parent needs the most support. That's where Family Matters comes in handy.

When I first started homeschooling back in the 1990s, I met many women who felt crushed when their husbands, parents, neighbors, or any number of other important people in their lives, argued against homeschooling, claiming it would "ruin" their kids. These women, troubled by the doubters and critics in their lives, were usually determined to homeschool regardless, not because they were stubborn but because their hearts were telling them that homeschooling was the best option for their children. I admired their courage and felt their pain when they would say, "I'm going to do this no matter what, but I'd much rather do it with his (or her) support."

"Give them a copy of this book," was what we veteran homeschoolers would say. "It's very persuasive."

Someone who is dear to me was among the skeptics when I started homeschooling. I think his bias against the idea came from all the years he had spent in academia. He was a sociology professor at an Ivy League institution, so how could I expect him to imagine a life without school? I would need to prove to him that a homeschooled student could obtain rigorous academic instruction and adequate socialization, but I knew that would take time.

So I gave him a copy of Family Matters—and waited for his reaction.

He called me about a week later to tell me that he was feeling much better about my decision to homeschool. He said he still had some reservations but it was beginning to make sense to him. He was willing to keep an open mind, and that was enough for me.

"Teaching is an act of love before it is anything else." 

By now you may be wondering what's in the book that makes it so compelling. The power comes from Guterson's willingness to look at homeschooling from the perspectives of those who are opposed to it. Skeptics who read his book are open to what he writes because he gives them a chance to voice their concerns before he addresses them. Like a skilled debater, he anticipates all the common objections, acknowledges the valid points, and then offers his rebuttals.

Guterson writes with authority because he has a personal connection to the people who hold the views he's presenting—and countering—in his book. For ten years, he was a teacher in a high school, facing opposition from those who couldn't understand how a teacher could decide not to send his own kids to school. Likewise, he heard arguments from his father, a criminal defense attorney, who was philosophically opposed to home education. So these aren't straw man arguments he's knocking down; they represent serious concerns about the academic, social and political efficacy of homeschooling, and he takes them seriously. When he writes about "why homeschooling makes sense," it's clear he's thought long and hard about his reasons before putting them down on paper.

As for what the objections are and how he counters them, you'll have to read the book to find out.

"My central notion has been a simple one: that parents are critical to education and therefore public educators—and everyone else—can learn much from those who teach their own."

What Now? The Conclusion of My Home Education

"He is so completely dependent upon me," marvels the beautiful young woman standing in front of me. She looks happy, perhaps a bit tired, and sweetly amazed and overwhelmed by the sense of responsibility she clearly feels for the newborn baby swaddled snugly against her chest. Her infant son fidgets slightly and attempts to suckle on the fabric near his tiny mouth, and I am flooded with memories.

I remember well how it felt to be a new mother—that paradoxical mixture of infatuation and terror. I empathize with what she must be going through and wish I could express all the sympathy, excitement, and compassion I feel for her and her husband in that moment. But suddenly my throat tightens and I'm unable to speak, so I simply smile back at her instead. My husband, standing next to me, is equally quiet, and I suspect he is as moved as I am by the unexpected sight of this baby.

It would be impossible for us not to think of our own son, who happens to be away this week and will soon be leaving home to attend a residential college out of state. I think to myself, "He is so completely not dependent upon me (anymore)." I have to breathe carefully to avoid bursting into tears.

My "baby" boy's years of physical dependency are in the distant past; these days, when I try to do something for him, he is as likely as not to reject my attempts at mothering. Most of the time, I admire his independence, and rationally I understand that this is all good; it is how things are supposed to be. My job from the beginning has been to help him grow progressively less dependent upon me and more confident in himself, and now I know I have been successful because he has grown into a capable and conscientious young man, ready to go out into the world and seek his fortune.

My son follows in the footsteps of his two older sisters, who have likewise asserted their independence, gone off to college, and settled in places of their own. I am proud, happy and excited to see them as young adults. I enjoy spending time with my children as much now as I always have.

But, in spite of my understanding, I can't help mourning the loss of that intense closeness we once shared. The everyday routine of living, learning and questioning that is normal for a homeschooling family was what made my life wonder–full. I can't believe it's ending! My heart aches—not metaphorically but in a very real and physical way—when I think of my youngest child leaving for college this fall. I am going to miss him as immensely as I already miss his sisters. More than that, I am going to miss being a home educator and spending my days with the homeschooling friends I have made over the years.

And yet, how many people can say they have no regrets? What an extraordinary adventure the past 17 years have been! I have seen, done, and learned so much as a home educator. As a mother, coach and mentor, I feel as though I have gone through all the grades several times over, learning and relearning every subject along with my kids. (That's more interesting than it sounds: I have studied some topics as if for the first time—prompting me to wonder: did I ever really learn about European history back when I was in school?—and I have rediscovered other subjects from a newer, fresher perspective.)

With each question or problem that arose, I moved deeper into various areas of expertise as I explored what worked, what didn't, and why. Fascinated by the subjects I was teaching and the pedagogies I embraced, I continued to be enriched by the ongoing process of mutual education. Many times over, I enjoyed the thrill of the "Aha!' moment, when everything at last became clear.

Could anything ever be as satisfying to me as homeschooling has been? I have trouble imagining it, but then I never imagined myself as someone who would spend nearly two decades as a home educator. Life can be surprising, so I'm keeping an open mind as I look for work and consider how the skills I've developed as an educator might be useful in a different context.

Teachers Learning From Each Other

Last May, I wrote about "Homeschooling, Big Picture Learning and the Met," because I was excited to see some overlap between Big Picture Learning ideas and homeschooling. I wrote, "As public schools begin to offer more interesting educational opportunities for students, homeschoolers may want to take a closer look at their local schools. Perhaps there's some common ground that hasn't been explored, some mutually beneficial ideas we can share with each other.  Hopefully, those of us who feel we've learned a thing or two about education will feel inspired to ask, 'How can we work together to improve the educational alternatives for all the children in our communities?'"

If we were to aggregate all the experiences of home educators, teachers, mentors, coaches, and other types of youth leaders, imagine how much we would learn from each other. We have a wealth of experience from which to draw, but too often doors are closed and people are unwilling to subject themselves to public scrutiny. As a home educator, I certainly understand and respect the desire for privacy. I also recognize the risks of exposing ourselves to criticism—or worse—especially when our methods are unconventional. Yet, as scary as it may be to show others exactly how we do our jobs, I'm beginning to think it's perhaps the best way to illustrate a new way to learn. 

Minnesota New Country School

As a participant in the Deeper Learning MOOC (DLMOOC), I had a wonderful opportunity to take a virtual glimpse inside the Minnesota New Country School (a public charter school serving grades K–12).  It was enlightening for me to see how teachers were offering personalized learning experiences and taking student choices seriously within their school setting.

If you would like to see for yourself, watch "Deeper Learning Through Personalized Learning Plans," one of many Vimeo videos available from TeachingChannel.org.

This on-the-spot glimpse into the Minnesota New Country School shows how teachers and students use personalized learning plans for their projects. What I find especially interesting is how much overlap there is between the Project-Based Learning (PBL) approach and what I would describe as child-led learning, or "unschooling." Specifically:

1. Students are encouraged to choose their own projects, which increases their level of interest and sense of control.
2. Students select an adult advisor with whom they can establish a longterm (more than a single semester or year) connection, which leads to a greater sense of continuity, familiarity, mutual understanding and trust.
3. Students work at their own pace, uninterrupted by bells.
4. Adult mentors assist with planning and record-keeping. 

As you may have noticed if you've been reading this blog, I've always believed in involving kids in decisions about their learning. Even though I wouldn't allow my kids to avoid entire disciplines (math or writing, for example), I could still talk to them about why a particular subject was important enough to merit their consideration. I could also help them find ways to connect topics to their own interests. At a minimum, they could choose the specific topics within a general subject to be explored. They've always had a voice—a say in what they were doing—and a range of choices.

Along with seeing the similarities between child-led homeschooling and project-based learning, I noted some obvious differences:

1. Standards. Teachers in an accredited school must consistently evaluate the work being done by students in terms of mandated standards (state curriculum frameworks, Common Core—or whatever comes next). In contrast, even in "The 8 Strictest States for Homeschooling" (as of 2012), home educated students generally have more freedom to deviate from the norm than their schooled peers. 
2. Documentation. Students in a school prepare extensive formal documentation to demonstrate what they have learned; students in a home setting keep records but tend to rely more on dialog and informal assessments (with formal evaluations typically conducted once a year to satisfy state requirements).
3. Resources. I should probably state the obvious here: I envied the equipment and materials those students had at their school. Although homeschoolers have virtually unlimited access to an astounding variety of craft and science supplies sold by hundreds of vendors, there are still budgetary and practical limits to what makes sense in a home. A school, by comparison, can obtain large or expensive equipment and (potentially dangerous) lab materials. Overall, I think my kids did a great job of cobbling together what they needed for various projects, but how wonderful it would have been to have everything at our fingertips day after day! 

Our experiences don't have to be identical to be worth sharing. By observing the interactions between teachers and students at New Country School with an open mind, I have been able to evaluate what I do as a home educator from a different point of view. I have also gained a more optimistic outlook on how schools are striving to meet the needs of their students. Although a teacher in a classroom may be working with different constraints and resources than I am, I can still learn from watching how he or she teaches. Reciprocally, as I present the experiences I have had as a home educator, I hope I will help someone who is interested in exploring a different approach to teaching.

If you're a teacher, have you been willing to share your work openly with others? Tell me, what has that been like for you? In what ways have you been able to learn from your students and other teachers?

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?

Building a Community

When I began homeschooling, back in 1997, I had no idea what it would be like. I knew only one other person whose children did not attend school, and she lived several towns away. During the week, my neighborhood seemed quiet and empty, as all my neighbors sent their kids to local public or private institutions. I tried to ignore the nervous feeling that threatened to erode my confidence. Was I going to go crazy at home? Would my children become isolated and strange?

How were we going to meet people and make friends if there was no one around?


If my kids had attended school, their community would have been defined primarily by where they lived. In contrast, as I commuted to distant towns to meet with homeschoolers for group activities and field trips, I observed that town boundaries mattered far less to us than shared interests.

It seems we were part of a trend. A 2006 report from the Pew Internet and American Life Project, "The Strength of Internet Ties," describes similar changes in the way Americans in general have begun to view their communities:

"Instead of disappearing, people’s communities are transforming: The traditional human orientation to neighborhood- and village-based groups is moving towards communities that are oriented around geographically dispersed social networks. People communicate and maneuver in these networks rather than being bound up in one solitary community."

As a home educator, I knew I was not without a community. There were thousands of homeschoolers in New Hampshire, and over a million in the United States (according to this data from the U.S. Dept. of Education). It was just that, instead of being confined to one town, my community was scattered across the state and around the world. So, how was I to get involved?