Yesterday evening, I learned that my Darling Daughter 1 (DD1) has been invited by her teacher to represent her kindergarten classmates in the Student Government meeting coming up on Friday. An hour after my daughter reported this good news, she revealed that she is scared she won't do a good job by asking me: "What if I don't have anything to say at the meeting? Will there be lots of other big kids there, too? Why can't my teacher pick someone else?" My heart went out to my daughter as she shared her fears. And I was left wondering, how can I work with my DD1 to help her cultivate some confidence about expressing her own voice?
Since the beginning of the school year, my daughter has been struggling to learn how to assert herself. Because my DD1 and her classmates are left largely to themselves to work through whatever dynamics and conflicts arise in their small group classroom interactions, as well as in the larger settings of the lunchroom and the playground, she has complained regularly throughout kindergarten that she does not have any "real friends" at school because no one really "listens" to her, including the teacher. In Rachel Simmon's The Curse of the Good Girl, the author asserts that being a "good girl" is a "richly rewarded pursuit . . . yet many girls learn to succeed by sequestering the most genuine parts of their developing selves. . . . Many girls are disconnecting from the truest parts of themselves, sacrificing essential self-knowledge to the pressure of who they think they ought to be." How has my DD1 come to believe in kindergarten that she should accommodate to the wishes of others rather than assert her own desires? How has she become so ready to comply rather than to be true to herself?
I picked this book up from one of my favorite, local bookstores as I was struggling to get my bearings and to better understand not only why my daughter was so miserable in the first several months of kindergarten, but also to get some insights about how to work with my daughter's teacher and other school personnel to assist in the transition. At home, my DD1 does not to have any trouble conveying how she feels or what she wants to her family, and yet she reports that while at school she is "afraid" to stand up for herself because she does not want her friends to get "mad" or "laugh" at her, or to get in "trouble" with the teacher. My husband and I have reached out to both my daughter's teacher and to the guidance counselor and asked for their help in modeling ways to work through conflict with peers. We were promised by the guidance counselor last fall that she would set up some one to one coaching sessions with our DD1, and yet nothing has come to pass. I am compassionate to the fact that my daughter's kindergarten teacher is under a great deal of pressure in our school district to utilize every moment of the school day in kindergarten to focus on academic outcomes. However, if the steely focus on academics means that her teacher can no longer attend to the development of her students' social-emotional needs, too, then how will my sensitive and accommodating DD1 fare over time?
What parts of herself is my DD1 at risk of losing if there is no attention or support for children's social and emotional development at school? Given the emphasis in my daughter's kindergarten class on working independently, doesn't it make sense that the teacher should be providing her students with on-going practice and coaching in how to work through conflicts when they arise? What responsibility, if any, ought our public school teachers have in helping their students develop an authentic, individual voice?
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
The Privilege of Comparison and Choice; the Challenge of Public Kindergarten
Last week, I enjoyed the opportunity to lead several groups of visiting parents on tours through the cooperative pre-school where my younger daughter currently attends, and from which my Darling Daughter 1 (DD1) "graduated" last June. A few days later, I waited in the on-line cue to enroll my daughters in our favorite summer day camp. By talking with these aspiring parents, and in setting my phone to alert me of the precise minute in which the camp registration opened, I was reminded this week of just how intent my husband and I have been about finding the right preschool and enrichment activities for our daughters.
I recognize the privileged choices that my husband and I have had as parents of young children, including the choice of caregiver, nursery education, summer camp, and extracurricular activities. Moreover, I am deeply appreciative of the fact that we have been able to look for and choose the "just right" option for each. However, I am also increasingly aware of the fact that this orientation to comparison and choice, and our commitment to selecting the best environments we can to foster our daughters' growth, has created quite a dilemma for us through this transition to kindergarten. I now find myself wondering: By choosing the public schools and not a private alternative, is it necessary to shed this desire to give our children "the best" we can? Yet what is the alternative paradigm?
It seems to me that the challenge for parents like my husband and me is to shift away from a consumer-driven orientation towards schooling to a more values-driven orientation, wherein the reason to choose the public schools is not because it can be ensured that our individual children will receive the "best" education possible. Instead, the reason to enroll our children in the public schools is because of both the individual and the public good that can only be achieved if we collectively maintain our investment in the public schools. In a report from the Center on Education Policy entitled Why We Still Need the Public Schools (Kober, 2007), the author asserts that there are six reasons why the public schools are necessary to the vitality of American society, which include: 1) to provide universal access to free education; 2) to guarantee equal opportunities for all children; 3) to unify a diverse population; 4) to prepare people for citizenship in a democratic society; 5) to prepare people to become economically self-sufficient; 6) to improve social conditions. As an educator, it is easy to testify to the importance of our public schools for all of the reasons listed above. And yet as a high aspiring parent, I wonder: How do I learn to trust that the public schools will serve my daughters well?
I recognize the privileged choices that my husband and I have had as parents of young children, including the choice of caregiver, nursery education, summer camp, and extracurricular activities. Moreover, I am deeply appreciative of the fact that we have been able to look for and choose the "just right" option for each. However, I am also increasingly aware of the fact that this orientation to comparison and choice, and our commitment to selecting the best environments we can to foster our daughters' growth, has created quite a dilemma for us through this transition to kindergarten. I now find myself wondering: By choosing the public schools and not a private alternative, is it necessary to shed this desire to give our children "the best" we can? Yet what is the alternative paradigm?
It seems to me that the challenge for parents like my husband and me is to shift away from a consumer-driven orientation towards schooling to a more values-driven orientation, wherein the reason to choose the public schools is not because it can be ensured that our individual children will receive the "best" education possible. Instead, the reason to enroll our children in the public schools is because of both the individual and the public good that can only be achieved if we collectively maintain our investment in the public schools. In a report from the Center on Education Policy entitled Why We Still Need the Public Schools (Kober, 2007), the author asserts that there are six reasons why the public schools are necessary to the vitality of American society, which include: 1) to provide universal access to free education; 2) to guarantee equal opportunities for all children; 3) to unify a diverse population; 4) to prepare people for citizenship in a democratic society; 5) to prepare people to become economically self-sufficient; 6) to improve social conditions. As an educator, it is easy to testify to the importance of our public schools for all of the reasons listed above. And yet as a high aspiring parent, I wonder: How do I learn to trust that the public schools will serve my daughters well?
Friday, January 20, 2012
What is Rigor in Kindergarten?
Maryland has joined the majority of states across the country in adopting the Common Core State Standards. These standards will now guide the work of most public school educators in terms of establishing what students should know and be able to do from kindergarten to twelfth grades in English/Language Arts and Mathematics. In the description of these standards on the Common Core website, it is indicated that these standards were adopted to ensure that students across the country had access to "rigorous content" as well as opportunities to develop "higher order thinking skills." Similarly, in the "Guiding Tenants" of my daughter's school district Mission Statement, it is asserted that the county is committed to "the pursuit of excellence for all children," through which they will be pushed to learn and perform at "high levels." And yet as I spend time in my older daughter's kindergarten classroom, I find myself wondering: What is the place of rigor in kindergarten?
As a member of a university faculty, the question of rigor surfaces regularly. During this past week, for example, I participated in a Webinar in which the presenters from University of Washington shared their emerging insights about what "ambitious pedagogy" looks like in their teacher education program. Earlier this week in another setting, I contributed to a conversation with leaders from a nearby suburban/urban school district in which they revealed that one of the serious dilemmas they face is how to foster "high expectations" among all of their teachers for all of their students, particularly those students from poverty. The goal among the educators with whom I interact appears to be crystal clear -- to provide students with consistent, high quality learning experiences. Yet the question of what constitutes excellent, ambitious, high quality, or rigorous learning in the classroom day to day, lesson by lesson, remains much more murky for most of us as educators.
During my two hours in my older daughter's classroom this week, I listened to the teacher read aloud a story about Martin Luther King, Jr., which was followed up by a coloring and sequencing activity for the students. The kindergarteners then spent an hour rotating through several of the classroom's literacy centers, which include two computer stations, a writing center, a listening center, a block area, a housekeeping area, a classroom library/reading corner, and a puzzle station. As the children worked independently in their small groups in the various centers, my daughter's kindergarten teacher met with individual and clusters of students to diagnose their progress in reading. The conversation among the kindergarteners during these rotations did not sound much different to me than the kind of peer to peer talk that is common at my younger daughter's preschool -- which is to say that the kindergarteners' conversation among themselves did not appear to be particularly academic or rigorous. Neither did the snippets of dialogue that I overheard between the teacher the individual students with whom she was working sound like evidence of rigor in the kindergarten classroom either. Rather, it appeared that the focus of these exchanges was drilling for sight words and vocabulary extension.
As an educator, I welcomed the opportunity this week to consider anew the importance of rigor in our public school classrooms. However, I wonder if I know enough about what rigor can look like or sound like in a kindergarten classroom? In contrast as a parent, I wonder about whether or not rigor is even a developmentally appropriate goal for my kindergartener? I was glad to see my Darling Daughter 1 (DD1) and her classmates engaging in free play for a part of their school day, and was cheered to hear them swapping imagined stories about their plastic elephants, lions, and zebras. I was happy to hear my DD1 and her friends laughing in the classroom. So how do I reconcile my ambitions as an educator and my experiences as a parent? Should I be heartened that there is some room for fun in my older daughter's classroom, or should I be concerned that my daughter's kindergarten class is not rigorous enough?
As a member of a university faculty, the question of rigor surfaces regularly. During this past week, for example, I participated in a Webinar in which the presenters from University of Washington shared their emerging insights about what "ambitious pedagogy" looks like in their teacher education program. Earlier this week in another setting, I contributed to a conversation with leaders from a nearby suburban/urban school district in which they revealed that one of the serious dilemmas they face is how to foster "high expectations" among all of their teachers for all of their students, particularly those students from poverty. The goal among the educators with whom I interact appears to be crystal clear -- to provide students with consistent, high quality learning experiences. Yet the question of what constitutes excellent, ambitious, high quality, or rigorous learning in the classroom day to day, lesson by lesson, remains much more murky for most of us as educators.
During my two hours in my older daughter's classroom this week, I listened to the teacher read aloud a story about Martin Luther King, Jr., which was followed up by a coloring and sequencing activity for the students. The kindergarteners then spent an hour rotating through several of the classroom's literacy centers, which include two computer stations, a writing center, a listening center, a block area, a housekeeping area, a classroom library/reading corner, and a puzzle station. As the children worked independently in their small groups in the various centers, my daughter's kindergarten teacher met with individual and clusters of students to diagnose their progress in reading. The conversation among the kindergarteners during these rotations did not sound much different to me than the kind of peer to peer talk that is common at my younger daughter's preschool -- which is to say that the kindergarteners' conversation among themselves did not appear to be particularly academic or rigorous. Neither did the snippets of dialogue that I overheard between the teacher the individual students with whom she was working sound like evidence of rigor in the kindergarten classroom either. Rather, it appeared that the focus of these exchanges was drilling for sight words and vocabulary extension.
As an educator, I welcomed the opportunity this week to consider anew the importance of rigor in our public school classrooms. However, I wonder if I know enough about what rigor can look like or sound like in a kindergarten classroom? In contrast as a parent, I wonder about whether or not rigor is even a developmentally appropriate goal for my kindergartener? I was glad to see my Darling Daughter 1 (DD1) and her classmates engaging in free play for a part of their school day, and was cheered to hear them swapping imagined stories about their plastic elephants, lions, and zebras. I was happy to hear my DD1 and her friends laughing in the classroom. So how do I reconcile my ambitions as an educator and my experiences as a parent? Should I be heartened that there is some room for fun in my older daughter's classroom, or should I be concerned that my daughter's kindergarten class is not rigorous enough?
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
My Kindergartener is an Emerging Reader
This weekend, I experienced a profound moment as a mother. My Darling Daughter 1 (DD1) read a book to me independently for the first time, cover to cover. Yes, the book was a leveled reader text with a basic plot and characters that have only one syllable names. Yet still, my daughter's basic level reading voice was, indeed, music to my ears.
I do not, myself, remember learning to read. I do not remember laboring over words, struggling to sound out words by going letter by letter, or becoming frustrated if/when I could not readily see the pattern in a series of words. I do not remember the first time I read to my parents, nor actually do I remember much about reading with them. Instead, when I recall my childhood I remember myself as an already established reader who seemingly has always loved to read. My hope for my daughters is that the process of learning to read does not thwart their emerging capacity, confidence, nor pleasure as readers.
In "A Parent's Guide to the Integrated Curriculum," published and distributed by my school district, the learning goals for all PreK through Fifth grade students in Reading are that they will "develop the knowledge and skills essential to becoming literate, thoughtful communicators," who can "strategically read texts with fluency, purpose, and comprehension," and who can "understand and appreciate language and literature as a catalyst for deep thought and emotion." For kindergarteners, this overarching reading goal is translated into learning literary routines as well as the text features of fiction and non-fiction, becoming fluent with phonetic word recognition, and acquiring a strong foundational vocabulary and handwriting skills.
I find myself wondering: Can this emphasis on developing students' foundational skill set for reading detract from fostering a sense of joy, curiosity, and imagination in students through reading? I wonder: Will learning to read serve as a kind of portal to the enticing and wide-ranging world of learning for my daughters, or could it become a merely perfunctory task required by school for my DD1 and DD2? I wonder: What kind of reader my DD1 will become?
I do not, myself, remember learning to read. I do not remember laboring over words, struggling to sound out words by going letter by letter, or becoming frustrated if/when I could not readily see the pattern in a series of words. I do not remember the first time I read to my parents, nor actually do I remember much about reading with them. Instead, when I recall my childhood I remember myself as an already established reader who seemingly has always loved to read. My hope for my daughters is that the process of learning to read does not thwart their emerging capacity, confidence, nor pleasure as readers.
In "A Parent's Guide to the Integrated Curriculum," published and distributed by my school district, the learning goals for all PreK through Fifth grade students in Reading are that they will "develop the knowledge and skills essential to becoming literate, thoughtful communicators," who can "strategically read texts with fluency, purpose, and comprehension," and who can "understand and appreciate language and literature as a catalyst for deep thought and emotion." For kindergarteners, this overarching reading goal is translated into learning literary routines as well as the text features of fiction and non-fiction, becoming fluent with phonetic word recognition, and acquiring a strong foundational vocabulary and handwriting skills.
I find myself wondering: Can this emphasis on developing students' foundational skill set for reading detract from fostering a sense of joy, curiosity, and imagination in students through reading? I wonder: Will learning to read serve as a kind of portal to the enticing and wide-ranging world of learning for my daughters, or could it become a merely perfunctory task required by school for my DD1 and DD2? I wonder: What kind of reader my DD1 will become?
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Is Thriving a Reasonable Aim for Kindergarten?
What is thriving? How can I as a parent work to engender conditions for my daughters' thriving? How do I know when they are thriving? And how do I recognize when the hurdles they face are a necessary part of growing up versus an obstacle to their thriving?
In Beverly Cleary's Ramona the Pest, Ramona enters kindergarten and meets "the nicest teacher in the world." Through her interactions with Miss Binney and her classmates, this young protagonist learns about the world of playground games, seat work, getting along with others, and the anguish of being too big to get away with babyish behavior, like tantrums or too much play, and yet still too young to fully discipline herself all day, every day. What makes Cleary's Ramona series so compelling to me as I read it again as a mom and an educator (having also read the Ramona books when I was a young girl), is that the author captures so poignantly the travails an imaginative young girl might face in her journey to grow up and become a responsible being.
My older daughter has had a hard week as a kindergartner. Her teacher was absent from school on Monday, and my Darling Daughter 1 (DD1) reported that not much happened in class while they were being overseen by the substitute. I learned last night over dinner that my DD1 did not eat the lunch on Tuesday or Wednesday because she did not like what was served. In addition, she misses the fact that one of her two new best friends in kindergarten is away on vacation this week. And to top it off, she woke up yesterday morning with a swollen knee and we are now investigating whether or not she may have Lyme Disease. It does not appear that this is a week in which my daughter is exactly thriving.
One line of on-going inquiry that I intend to explore in this blog is to examine my own assumptions as a parent and as an educator about my desire for my daughters' thriving, and to differentiate between what may be my hopes for my daughters and my expectations. Is it reasonable on my part to want my daughters to thrive through each developmental stage? How do you keep yourself in check from expecting too much for your children or from the public schools?
In Beverly Cleary's Ramona the Pest, Ramona enters kindergarten and meets "the nicest teacher in the world." Through her interactions with Miss Binney and her classmates, this young protagonist learns about the world of playground games, seat work, getting along with others, and the anguish of being too big to get away with babyish behavior, like tantrums or too much play, and yet still too young to fully discipline herself all day, every day. What makes Cleary's Ramona series so compelling to me as I read it again as a mom and an educator (having also read the Ramona books when I was a young girl), is that the author captures so poignantly the travails an imaginative young girl might face in her journey to grow up and become a responsible being.
My older daughter has had a hard week as a kindergartner. Her teacher was absent from school on Monday, and my Darling Daughter 1 (DD1) reported that not much happened in class while they were being overseen by the substitute. I learned last night over dinner that my DD1 did not eat the lunch on Tuesday or Wednesday because she did not like what was served. In addition, she misses the fact that one of her two new best friends in kindergarten is away on vacation this week. And to top it off, she woke up yesterday morning with a swollen knee and we are now investigating whether or not she may have Lyme Disease. It does not appear that this is a week in which my daughter is exactly thriving.
One line of on-going inquiry that I intend to explore in this blog is to examine my own assumptions as a parent and as an educator about my desire for my daughters' thriving, and to differentiate between what may be my hopes for my daughters and my expectations. Is it reasonable on my part to want my daughters to thrive through each developmental stage? How do you keep yourself in check from expecting too much for your children or from the public schools?
Sunday, January 8, 2012
The Lure of Enrichment
For three years now, my older daughter has dabbled in a range of early childhood appropriate enrichment activities, including community soccer, music, library story time, creative movement, and swim lessons. However, what she has longed to do is to take a hip hop dance class. This weekend, my husband, our two "Darling Daughters" (DD1 & DD2) and I visited the Open House of a new dance studio in our community, and before we were through prospecting we had signed up each daughter for a dance class (beginning hip hop for DD1 and beginning tap for DD2) and we are even considering the possibility of enrolling them in an additional African dance class per week. We are also anticipating the release of the school enrichment schedule this week for the upcoming term, which will likely entice us to consider in what other weekly enrichment activity, such as art, science, or drama, we could engage DD1.
Yet before I get carried away by the lure of enrichment activities, I do not want to forget what matters most to my daughter(s). My daughters love to lose themselves in imaginary play, and to create scenarios in which they are the actors, directors, costumers, and stage crew. After a long, scripted day at school, DD1 prefers to let off steam on the school playground for an hour, come home and eat graham crackers and milk, and then play for an additional hour with her sister before dinner and our daily bedtime ritual. Perhaps this preferred after school routine should be sufficient and does not warrant the intrusion of more formal enrichment/extra-curricular activities. Perhaps I should attend more to the suggested daily homework rather than looking to supplemental actives to extend and/or augment the kindergarten school day. What I do know is that I am committed to staying conscious and thoughtful about the quantity of scheduled activity in which my daughter(s) are subscribed beyond the required school day.
One of the high points of the transition to our local elementary school is that I have had the chance to get to know families outside of my normative circles. In fact, my older daughter's favorite new kindergarten friend is the child of parents who immigrated to this country as adults. I have talked with the mother about what she believes a good education can forge for her daughters, and how she is committed to ensuring that they all get into good colleges with significant scholarships. In order to solidify her daughters' credentials for this college-bound path, the mother has indicated to me that every evening after school their family time is dedicated to reading, practicing their instruments, and doing homework. Her children watch no television, nor do they have much time to play at home during the week. So as I fret over which and how many enrichment activities to take advantage of for my children, my new acquaintance worries over her daughters' futures. What a poignant contrast.
Yet before I get carried away by the lure of enrichment activities, I do not want to forget what matters most to my daughter(s). My daughters love to lose themselves in imaginary play, and to create scenarios in which they are the actors, directors, costumers, and stage crew. After a long, scripted day at school, DD1 prefers to let off steam on the school playground for an hour, come home and eat graham crackers and milk, and then play for an additional hour with her sister before dinner and our daily bedtime ritual. Perhaps this preferred after school routine should be sufficient and does not warrant the intrusion of more formal enrichment/extra-curricular activities. Perhaps I should attend more to the suggested daily homework rather than looking to supplemental actives to extend and/or augment the kindergarten school day. What I do know is that I am committed to staying conscious and thoughtful about the quantity of scheduled activity in which my daughter(s) are subscribed beyond the required school day.
One of the high points of the transition to our local elementary school is that I have had the chance to get to know families outside of my normative circles. In fact, my older daughter's favorite new kindergarten friend is the child of parents who immigrated to this country as adults. I have talked with the mother about what she believes a good education can forge for her daughters, and how she is committed to ensuring that they all get into good colleges with significant scholarships. In order to solidify her daughters' credentials for this college-bound path, the mother has indicated to me that every evening after school their family time is dedicated to reading, practicing their instruments, and doing homework. Her children watch no television, nor do they have much time to play at home during the week. So as I fret over which and how many enrichment activities to take advantage of for my children, my new acquaintance worries over her daughters' futures. What a poignant contrast.
Friday, January 6, 2012
The Ritual of Homework Starts in Kindergarten
At the close of my older daughter, Darling Daughter 1 (DD1)'s first day back at kindergarten, I surveyed her backpack for any important papers or updated school information. Tucked into her school/home folder, I found the "January Homework Calendar." I have been surprised by my own reluctance to establish and support the importance of homework with my new kindergartener over these past few months. My excuse has been that my daughter was struggling to adjust to the full school day and that her stamina was still developing. I have not been enthusiastic about encouraging her to spend any more time sitting in a chair, which is what the suggested writing-focused tasks required of my daughter. And it was not just the "seat time" aspect of the homework from which I shrunk away -- neither have I perceived that many of the suggested activities had much intrinsic interest to my daughter. As such, I did not want to get into a pattern of tussling with her over the completion of an assignment, when I, myself, was not convinced of the authentic value of the assigned experiences.
In my local school district, the school board has established an official homework policy which they assert: "Research studies have shown that the amount of time devoted to learning is related to achievement in a subject. Homework, therefore, is important in a student's overall program." My local school district has clearly signaled that homework engenders greater student learning, and the principal and the teachers in my daughter's school are clearly in compliance with the district's homework imperative. However, what has not been so clear to me is how sensibly this district homework credo had been translated into the daily roster of learning tasks offered to my newcomer kindergartner student. Progressive philosopher John Dewey asserts that "all genuine education comes about through experience," and that "everything depends on the quality of the experience which is had." (Experience and Education 1938). I have wondered whether or not the activities assigned as kindergarten homework can be characterized as genuinely educative? I have wondered, too, about what range of supplemental activities might be most useful to my daughter's learning and development in this kindergarten year? What is the relationship between school learning and home-based learning? Is my primary job as a parent to extend the school learning at home or to supplement and augment what's learned in school?
As I look over the January calendar, I am encouraged to see that the renewed emphasis of the homework tasks are better connected to what my daughter is inclined towards at home. Drawing on Mondays, reading on Tuesdays, whole child development tasks on Wednesdays, such as practice tying shoes or playing a board game, counting and calendar activities on Thursdays, and writing on Fridays -- I can genuinely generate some enthusiasm for this slate of activities. And yet, I am still left wondering -- if left purely to our own devices, to what would my daughter and I be drawn? What learning experiences and forms of engagement would call to us? If I am committed to doing my part to raise a daughter who is a curious, life-long learning, what is my job as a parent in terms of balancing the demands of school with providing her with opportunities to explore the world more broadly?
In my local school district, the school board has established an official homework policy which they assert: "Research studies have shown that the amount of time devoted to learning is related to achievement in a subject. Homework, therefore, is important in a student's overall program." My local school district has clearly signaled that homework engenders greater student learning, and the principal and the teachers in my daughter's school are clearly in compliance with the district's homework imperative. However, what has not been so clear to me is how sensibly this district homework credo had been translated into the daily roster of learning tasks offered to my newcomer kindergartner student. Progressive philosopher John Dewey asserts that "all genuine education comes about through experience," and that "everything depends on the quality of the experience which is had." (Experience and Education 1938). I have wondered whether or not the activities assigned as kindergarten homework can be characterized as genuinely educative? I have wondered, too, about what range of supplemental activities might be most useful to my daughter's learning and development in this kindergarten year? What is the relationship between school learning and home-based learning? Is my primary job as a parent to extend the school learning at home or to supplement and augment what's learned in school?
As I look over the January calendar, I am encouraged to see that the renewed emphasis of the homework tasks are better connected to what my daughter is inclined towards at home. Drawing on Mondays, reading on Tuesdays, whole child development tasks on Wednesdays, such as practice tying shoes or playing a board game, counting and calendar activities on Thursdays, and writing on Fridays -- I can genuinely generate some enthusiasm for this slate of activities. And yet, I am still left wondering -- if left purely to our own devices, to what would my daughter and I be drawn? What learning experiences and forms of engagement would call to us? If I am committed to doing my part to raise a daughter who is a curious, life-long learning, what is my job as a parent in terms of balancing the demands of school with providing her with opportunities to explore the world more broadly?
Monday, January 2, 2012
An Introduction to Kindergarten Reconciliation
This blog was born out of my experience in the past few months witnessing my (now) six year old daughter's transition to kindergarten at our neighborhood elementary school. Previous experience had led me to believe that my older daughter (to whom I will refer hereafter as "Darling Daughter 1" (DD1) would take to kindergarten like a fish to water, which is how I remember her launch into pre-school as well as her response to summer camp and varied extracurricular activities. Yet instead of coming home brimming with stories of what she was learning and whom she had played with, after the first week of kindergarten my DD1 complained miserably that she did not like her new school and she questioned why she could not return to her Pre-K class immediately. For the next few months, my daughter's lament continued and worsened. Thus began my inquiry into the source of my daughter's unhappiness.
As a mother who has been struggling these past few months to make some sense of my daughter's kindergarten experiences, I could have chosen to utilize the local parenting and mom list serves to seek out advice and/or to engage in conversation about how to best navigate the entry to the public schools. However, as an educator who has spent the last twenty or so years engaging in the enterprise of teaching and learning, and as a scholar of the philosophy of education, I see this blog is an opportunity to spark a broader dialogue about what we should be able to expect from our public schools and why. I hope that the questions with which I am grappling, questions about the nature of my aspirations for the public schools, can serve as fodder for a shared inquiry into the meaning of our collective experiences and expectations. I hope that together we can come into a deeper understanding of why it is worth investing in the public schools, even as an wide range of educational alternatives are also available for consideration.
As I launch this blog in the first week of 2012, I intend to chronicle my daughter's journey through kindergarten (and beyond) via one to two postings per week. Each week, I will share the questions that arise from my observations as a volunteer in both my older and my younger daughters' classrooms (kindergarten and pre-school) and I will reflect on the school-based issues that continue to be raised directly by my DD1. I will also connect these reflections to what I am learning in my professional role as a teacher educator who interacts weekly with preservice teacher candidates who are interning in the public schools. As I work to discern more about the nature of my own ambivalence regarding my daughter's transition to the public schools, I want to learn how my own efforts at this "kindergarten reconciliation" compare to your experiences. I invite you to share your perspective, and I welcome your comments, your questions, and your feedback.
As a mother who has been struggling these past few months to make some sense of my daughter's kindergarten experiences, I could have chosen to utilize the local parenting and mom list serves to seek out advice and/or to engage in conversation about how to best navigate the entry to the public schools. However, as an educator who has spent the last twenty or so years engaging in the enterprise of teaching and learning, and as a scholar of the philosophy of education, I see this blog is an opportunity to spark a broader dialogue about what we should be able to expect from our public schools and why. I hope that the questions with which I am grappling, questions about the nature of my aspirations for the public schools, can serve as fodder for a shared inquiry into the meaning of our collective experiences and expectations. I hope that together we can come into a deeper understanding of why it is worth investing in the public schools, even as an wide range of educational alternatives are also available for consideration.
As I launch this blog in the first week of 2012, I intend to chronicle my daughter's journey through kindergarten (and beyond) via one to two postings per week. Each week, I will share the questions that arise from my observations as a volunteer in both my older and my younger daughters' classrooms (kindergarten and pre-school) and I will reflect on the school-based issues that continue to be raised directly by my DD1. I will also connect these reflections to what I am learning in my professional role as a teacher educator who interacts weekly with preservice teacher candidates who are interning in the public schools. As I work to discern more about the nature of my own ambivalence regarding my daughter's transition to the public schools, I want to learn how my own efforts at this "kindergarten reconciliation" compare to your experiences. I invite you to share your perspective, and I welcome your comments, your questions, and your feedback.
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