Write about: the learning centre.
As mentioned yesterday, today was a big day.
Mine:
It's been clear to us for a while now that Max would not enjoy attending regular school. He would always tell us that there were too many kids when he visited Natalie's kindergarten class last year. He is remarkably stubborn and it's difficult to imagine him doing what a teacher wanted him to do if he had no interest in doing it. He does so, so much better outside than in.
But most of all, he has such a massive enthusiasm for learning that we did not want to see diminished in a typical classroom setting. The thought of him getting lost in a crowded class, being forced to do things that he didn't care about, with minimal individual attention... none of that sat well with us.
Despite all this, the decision to homeschool Max was not exactly a slam dunk. It's going to take a lot of time and effort on our part. Dropping him off at school in the morning and then picking him up in the afternoon would have been easy (assuming he didn't put up a huge fight every morning). Essentially returning to being parents of one child for most of the day is undeniably appealing.
But that wouldn't have been in his best interests. And we really, really want to see him thrive as he learns and grows.
And we knew we'd need help.
The learning centre that Kat worked with in OK Falls was an obvious choice. We'd hoped to get enough kids signed up locally to start a new centre here in Osoyoos but we couldn't quite get the numbers for this year. We're still optimistic that will happen in the next few years.
But for now we'll be taking Max up every Thursday to attend class. With eight students and one teacher (as opposed to twenty-something students and one teacher at the local elementary school). Every other Friday there will be an optional outing/event/special lesson. At each class one parent of the students will be volunteering to help the teacher, so parents will be much more involved than in a traditional setting (which we're pretty sure Max will also appreciate).
Kat took him up for his first morning at learning centre this morning. Next week he'll begin full days (9 to 2:30). We, of course, wanted to get a picture before he left. Kat made the mistake of asking him to smile. I waited out his usual scrunched up, super fake smile, and then he opted to go with an excited pose. I liked that one much better:
I sent a text after class was done, asking how he liked it. Kat reported back that he said it was really, really fun fun fun and that he wanted to go again tomorrow.
I'd call that a win.
Wow, I'm not exactly surprised that you've elected to go the home-schooling route with Max (and I guess Miles will get the same?) but I think I thought you'd try him in the traditional schools first. Still, having read through your considerations and how you came to this decision, I think you've probably made the right choice. Looking back, I wish I'd had that option when I was a child, as I know what Max means when he says "too many children" -- I still have that reaction now to social gatherings and anywhere where there's more than about 8 people. (Yes, with the word "children" no matter how old these so-called adults are :-P). I hope you'll be teaching him about perception and stealth using a PlayStation and ice-hockey on the local lakes in winter though.
ReplyDeleteAnd... I suspect you'll both get more out of this than out of traditional schooling, though I'm pretty sure there will also be weeks when it really doesn't feel like it! Good luck :)
Sorry for the double post, I seem to unable to judge what blogger will accept....
The learning centre
ReplyDeleteThe sign above the door said "the learNiNg ceNtre" in bright coloured letters. They were up above my head and it was dark, so it was hard to judge, but I'd say that that illiteracy was at least two metres tall. Angled spotlights would illuminate them when they were turned on, so the whole neighbourhood could see that these so-called teachers couldn't get the capital letters in the right places. It was such a small thing, but it's on small things like this, and the odd coincidences that inhabit this world, that everything turns.
I'd walked past, just annoyed, and then into the parking lot. It was a quiet day, it had been warm and was cooling down quickly now. A breeze had risen, coming in from the north and there was, if you knew how to smell it, a hint of ice there. And there were five cars, probably the teachers's, and a sixth just parking. And my fingers itched, and so I wandered over to the car that was parking. The guy in the car had opened the door and was getting out, one shiny shoe set on the concrete of the carpark, his neatly suited body turning so he could stand up and out. He paused, his eyes showing curiosity, which was a mistake. I reached out with my right hand, so he looked at that and never saw my left fist driving into his temple. He sort of coughed, and slumped over the steering wheel, and my right hand just picked him up and pushed him back into seat.
I shunted him over into the passenger seat -- unconscious people are worse than dead people for trying to shift around, but I've had practice -- and sat in the driver's seat. A quick surf through his pockets proved interesting: not much in the way of cash, but a card saying that he was the school's inspector for the District. That flicker of annoyance from earlier got fanned into a flame. I looked around the car for anything else, and found a shopping back on the back seat: cling-film, butter, bacon, some eggs and a can of deoderant. Five minutes later I exited the car, locking it. Anyone looking in would find Mr. Shephard in the passenger seat with his willy out and wrapped in bacon, the butter package on the driver's seat, open, his fingers smeared with the butter, and his head wrapped tightly in cling-film. I supposed someone might think it was murder, but I'd be long gone before they decided that.
Miss Glosster did not like being told that her school was going to be closed down for promoting illiteracy amongst children and adults alike.
"The learning centre," she said, I was certain I could hear her trying to pronounce the capitals in the words, "is about creativity and exploring differences. Look at e e cumings -- would his poetry be better if it was spelled traditionally?"
"That sounds obscene," I replied, working hard on keeping a straight face. "Do you expose all the children to pornography, or select ones you find particularly attractive?"
She turned a shade of purple that I suspect Mr. Shephard had just reached as well, though for different reasons. I almost felt proud of myself for promoting diversity.
"We! Do! Not!" She was practially spitting the words at me, struggling to get them out past her outrage.
"Sure you don't," I said. "I think I'll close you down. Tonight."
"You can't!" She stood up and went to her filing cabinets. "I can show you our incorporation documents, that the District approved!"
Turning her back on me was such a bad idea.
Greg - oh, I'll be teaching him about stealth all right... uh, I mean, bank robbing is bad and people who rob banks are bad and... moving on!
ReplyDeleteJust as an additional note on this, one of Max's buddies started kindergarten at the elementary school a few weeks back. I was talking to his mom and she said that one of the older kids was spitting (literally spitting) on the kindergarten kids at recess.
Woo, traditional learning!
The description of how the inspector was left in his car is... horrifyingly hilarious? Yes, let's go with that :P