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."

Can a Class Be Too Small?

In his book, David and Goliath: Underdogs, Misfits, and the Art of Battling Giants, Malcolm Gladwell opens a can of worms when he asks the question, "Can a class be too small?" When it comes to the number of students in a classroom, most of us assume smaller is better. I know I do. The low student-to-teacher ratio makes sense to me intuitively: the fewer students a teacher has in his or her class, the more individualized attention each student would receive.

And yet, Gladwell argues that "The small class is potentially as difficult for a teacher to manage as the very large class size." To test his theory, Gladwell polled a large number of teachers in the United States and Canada. In David and Goliath, he quotes some of those teachers as they offer plausible explanations for why small class sizes are problematic:

• Interactions are too intense. While there are, presumably, fewer interactions in a small class for a teacher to manage, the interactions that do occur are more difficult to handle. "There is simply no way for the cantankerous kids to get away from one another." There's no place for students to hide. According to one teacher, "the students start acting 'like siblings in the backseat of a car.'" 
• Insufficient "critical mass" for discussions and group activities. As a middle school teacher explains, "students are awkward and self-conscious and anxious about seeming too smart. Getting them to engage . . . can be 'like pulling teeth.'" Also, as one teacher states, "It's difficult to play games . . . the  momentum just isn't there." 
• Lack of peers at a similar academic level within a class.  In a really small class, it is harder to find others who are just like you. There are no subgroups. Complains one teacher, "The chances that children are surrounded by a critical mass of other people like them start to get really low." As one teacher explains: "What you need [as a student] is to have people around you asking the same questions, wrestling with the same issues, and worrying about the same things as you are, so that you feel a little less isolated and a little more normal." 
• Lack of diversity in discussions. Fewer students means fewer (if any!) participants in a discussion. If the group is too small, "it's like they have a muzzle on." 

The magic number for class size, according to the teachers Gladwell polled, seems to be between 18 and 30 students. Since I have trouble understanding why a teacher would actually prefer to work with so many students at one time, I would like to contrast my experiences as a homeschooler with the experiences of the teachers Gladwell interviewed. The main question I'm attempting to answer is this:

Exactly what is it about certain settings—in particular, the various discussion-based classes that are taught by homeschooling parents like myself—that makes small class sizes desirable?  

(Although my response is necessarily based on my experiences as a home educator, I imagine there are many other situations where small class sizes are preferable, too.)

Social Learning: From Play Dates to Study Groups

"What about socialization?" is a question every homeschooler is asked, usually more than once. The question is so ubiquitous, books about homeschooling typically include a section devoted to the topic (as one example, see Addressing Homeschool Socialization in Homeschooling for Dummies). Homeschoolers soon learn to ask for clarification: Is the questioner asking whether their homeschooled children have any friends? Or are they worried that their children will become social misfits? By now, enough research has been done to put both of these questions to rest (see Socialization: A Great Reason Not to Go to School by Karl M. Bunday), and my own experience during the past two decades supports the prevailing research: homeschooled kids enjoy a reasonable social life and possess decent social skills.

By the time they are three or four years old, kids show an interest in making friends. So, when my kids reached that age, I found or formed playgroups and arranged "play dates" for them. As they got older, I drove them to social activities: dance, music and art classes; book groups; scout meetings; science workshops; homeschool group "field trips" and science fairs; special days at nature centers, science museums, and historical landmarks. There was rarely a shortage of things to do or people to meet, and socialization wasn't a big concern.

I noticed a change, though, at around the age of 10 or 12. There were three new developments:

1. My kids began to crave meaningful, lasting relationships with a group of their peers. It wasn't enough for them to participate in large group activities with kids of all ages. Although those activities were fun, opportunities to make friends and "really talk," one-on-one, tended to be limited. 
2. They became more selective about their friendships. Unlike younger children, who seem willing to play with almost anyone they meet, my preteens wanted to spend time with people who were special to them in one way or another. They needed to find their "tribe." As they connected with a handful of friends who shared similar interests and a passion for life and learning, they favored time with those friends over other opportunities for "socializing." 
3. They wanted company during the long hours their more in-depth studies now required. They wanted to engage in serious conversations about what they were studying, and it was more interesting to learn with friends.

It was at this point that a handful of parents and preteens got together to brainstorm ways to combine academics with socializing. Without ever having heard of "social learning," we helped our kids form various study groups (book clubs and poetry workshops; cooking, sewing, science, and history classes). Most groups met once a week. The format usually included an adult mentor (one of the parents or an outside tutor) and four to eight kids whose ages were within a few years of each other. When it came to participating, maturity level mattered more than chronological age. From one year to the next, the group would change slightly as a few kids moved, went back to school, or graduated, and new members joined.