‘Not doing’

 

Tempus fugit. And it flies filled, yet liberated from the frantic programming which drove our days in school.

As quickly as time flies do moods change: highs are checked by the reality of coexisting and finding space for ourselves as individuals within this new rhythm. I have had moments – a number of them – of doubt and worries, as I knew I would. These moments (or, more accurately, these nights; naturally, they usually come typically and frustratingly, at night, worries queuing up to plague me while I try increasingly frantically to sleep), are however, inevitably inverted fully by a conversation, an article, a podcast which convinces me yet again that this decision is right.

This absolute security is driven overwhelmingly by the growing body of evidence – psychological, anecdotal or fuelled by developments in neuroscience – that continually challenges preconceived notions about the ways in which children learn and seeks to move on or overturn the prevailing system of schooling. Over the last week, by way of example, I have been inspired, reassured and motivated by articles such as Jo Boaler’s research into the ways in which our brains are wired to think mathematically, by books such as Cathy Davidson’s Now You See It, and by the Education Futures Podcast interviewing Peter Hartkamp in Beyond Coercive Education. Collectively, such reading and listening, supported by the unprecedented speed at which modern life is being radicalised by technological advances, reinforces my belief that ‘schools’ as we know them are on their way out. That is not to say that learning in communities won’t form part of the future of education, but these communities will look radically different from the way in which they look today.

This is not going to happen quickly, for one simple reason.

Risk.

Risk in innovation is good. Risk in business is usually calculated. Risk in banking… well, I won’t go into that one. But Risk, with a capital R, in education is unfathomably daunting. It’s daunting because people are afraid to take the Risk to ‘not do’. To ‘not do’ could define broadly what being outside mainstream education looks like.

Risking and thereby ‘not doing’ is daunting, for the simple reason that this Risk is perceived to be playing as at dice with our children’s future.

Inside mainstream education there is an overwhelming drive to ‘do’ rather than to ‘not do’. By ‘doing’ I mean these sorts of things: putting children in after school clubs, in breakfast clubs, slotting in extra lessons to catch up, extra lessons to get ahead, following after school clubs held at school with extra curricular clubs in the neighbourhood. Schools themselves drive this: if children are perceived as ‘behind’ (behind expected levels of attainment which have been determined at a national level, which define learning as linear, ascribe educational milestones to specific ages and fundamentally hold schools and de facto children accountable to test scores), those children are given extra lessons to catch up: they are put into more lessons, given less freedom, less play time, less autonomy in an effort to fit them into the (outmoded, in my opinion) system, which insists on boxing children into a post-industrial revolution educational model. They are put into these extra lessons because the system wants them to fit into a particular model, a model which insists, as Sir Ken Robinson reminds us frequently and eloquently, that children enter school at one point, travel through a system of specified milestones and are churned out the other end with a specific set of frequently tested, easily measurable body of knowledge. The knowledge so frequently tested and with which these children are equipped is, however, increasingly criticised by those in industry and business, who report regularly that graduates are ill equipped to work in the modern world. That knowledge has been gained all too often at the expense of developing far more difficult to measure soft skills, such as critical thinking, resourcefulness, resilience, the desire to continue learning, creativity, innovation, curiosity, empathy, self awareness, self regulation…

So, here are some examples of what ‘not doing’ the education system looks like.

 

 

It looks like taking our time to get to places, so we can leave on a Friday (a school day, in terms time), to stop off at Stonehenge on our way down to a weekend away with friends. We walk through the fields to the stones. Three children, equipped with three audio guides, listened to thoroughly unsynchronised, thereby allowing me to listen to the same audio in triple delay, gleaning nothing on my own and instead delighting when the children turn to me with nuggets of information – what the mounds around us are, who and what are in them; why that stone was called the blood stone; where the sun rises at solstice. We sit in the sun and the children draw: H’s sketch tries to take in the stone circle itself; P is interested in how the stones were put there and draws a diagram. We take our time wandering back, picking daisies. We stop in the visitor centre and watch the seasons change in the projected stones in 360 around us.

Not doing looks like exploring maths, art and nature as we draw out the Fibonacci sequence, then translate it into art and a Fibonacci view finder. We spend the day spotting the Golden Curve in art around the house. We take it outside to see if we can spot it in nature.

Not doing looks like seizing the chance to immerse ourselves in art and visit the Hockney Exhibition. P takes the audio again and tells me about key paintings. H is fascinated by faces. They sit and draw again. P’s is bright, colourful, with bold lines and strong sense of Hockney. H takes the chance to think again about how you draw people. S’s sketch catches the eyes of other visitors. I offer it up at a relatively low price – cash in now on an early SD?

 

 

Not doing looks like having a home day because we are tired. Taking the bikes out, falling off and P wondering ‘why do you cry when you hurt yourself?’ I don’t have much of an answer, but I know that doesn’t matter. Because ‘not doing’ also means undoing all your preconceived notions of education. Not doing and being out of the system is about not expecting to know all of the answers, but rather fostering the curiosity that drives the questions. P returns to his own question later, adding in other physiological responses to pain. I am pretty sure the thought will resurface and reconnect at another point.

Not doing looks like joining in everyday jobs too. We have to nip to the shops but we remember the watch batteries need changing. The children are delighted to wear their watches again. P tells me that at school they had only started to teach him quarter past and half past. He wants to know how to tell ‘all the times’. I’m driving the car. He would rather like to know now. I think about how I would have taught this if I’d planned it: with a clock, with several clock faces drawn on paper plates, with coloured pens and moveable hands. I can’t do that, because he wants to know now. So I try to explain, without taking my hands off the wheel to gesticulate as much as I would like. The rest of the day is punctuated by P. telling me what time it is: the learning is happening because it is real, driven by him. It’s not finite, he doesn’t definitively know how to tell the time, though I imagine if I had tested him on it that day, he would have done fine. We have and will continue to revisit telling the time, and have done – while waiting for trains, buses and tubes, when wondering what time our friends will arrive, or how long the pasta takes to cook. We tell the time in real time.

 

Not doing looks like deciding they want to sew. P. makes a heart cushion ‘for the kittens’. He draws out the template, folding the heart in half (symmetry), cutting template and material, working out how the machine works. He’s off. He runs upstairs to find his Boys Craft Book, pulls out an old t-shirt and runs himself up a drawstring bag, cutting it to size (measurements). H flicks through craft magazines and wants to make a padded bag. We work through the pattern, measuring our materials, working out how we need to pin the pieces together and why. The sewing machine breaks. It’s frustrating. We turn to hand sewing for a while and P embroiders letters in chain stitch on phone cases that he has carefully measured out 2 cms wider and longer than a phone.

Not doing looks like taking the local preschool up on the invitation to share some of our Italian with the children there. H. leads a session, carefully introducing why we are there, including all the children in the session, thinking of activities that will involve them. They sing their hearts out – Italian nursery rhymes the tunes of which the children will know from English, followed by a beautiful solo by P. The preschool children would like them to go back to teach them numbers. H and P would be delighted, they say.

We’re not doing and, on balance, we’re loving it. We haven’t done many – any – worksheets and not a great deal of writing. It would be hard to mark what we have done against a set of prescribed metrics. I’m not sure the activities could be divided up according to subject silos and I haven’t a clue whether the children are a level 3, 4 or 5. Instead I know that we have created and made, food, art, woodwork and crafts. We have questioned, wondered and marvelled. We’ve been out in the real world and had real world conversations. My brother has a poster on his wall: ‘Do what you love and the money will follow’. I am considering making my own, slightly altered version: ‘Do what you love and the learning will follow’.

 

 

 

 

Early reflections

Just over two weeks in…. on the drive up north and a moment for reflection.

Things I’ve noticed:

Time is calmer, despite the fact that I have less of it to myself. We are allowed to follow a natural family rhythm. Although we have still had organised activities and appointments which have required some schedule to the day, we haven’t had the morning getup-breakfast-dress-getyourbagreadyNOW-Ihaven’tdonemyhomework-Ineedmybook-where’smyshoe?’ stress. We also haven’t had the end of the day high antics as both of them have needed to get the school day out of their system. Somehow, I feel that I have enjoyed being with the children, rather than just chivvying them from one task/activity/order to the next.

I can’t say that I have particularly found much consistent time for my writing, getting through my massive reading list and planning my dream ‘future school that’s not a school’, but I have managed to snatch moments to jot down thoughts and ideas and it has been delightful that there have been whole periods of time in which the children have been thoroughly immersed in an activity of their choosing.

Some highlights from the last two weeks:

Bees. Distressed to learn that 20 species of bee population have become extinct in the last century, H and P decided to give two week’ pocket money each to help buy a Friends of the Earth Bee Saver Kit. Industrious as bees themselves, no sooner was the donation made, than bed time stories were postponed as they plotted a cake sale to raise money and awareness, and before I’d even made my coffee the next morning, P was creating guides to making your own bee hotel and H writing information leaflets. Even S was on board, decorating guides with stamps and bees. I agreed to the cake sale on condition that the children find the recipe, calculate quantities and costs involved. P was lucky enough to develop his bee hotel ideas in a mini apprenticeship with a friend’s father who is an incredibly skilled ‘amateur’ carpenter. Our kit has arrived and our home made tally chart is on the wall complete with bee identifier. Flower beds have been weeded and space made and our bee-attracting seeds are sown. Science, maths, writing and drawing all combined with intergenerational learning, family time and being outside.

 

Gravity. On our journey north,  we had the luxury of control over our own time and stopped off en route at the family home of Sir Isaac Newton, National Trust property, Woolsthorpe Manor. P couldn’t contain his excitement to see the bedroom in which Newton had used his prism and played with light. We sketched the famous apple tree lying on a blanket in the sun and the children had a chance to engage actively with the scientific discoveries in the excellent, hands on science centre. Long saved birthday money was spent wisely, only after calculating how much they would have left and as soon as we were at our night stop, P. made his windmill light generator. Learning happens thick and fast. It’s not always necessary to write it down in an exercise book to be marked with a red pen.

 

Eagles and falcons. On an early morning walk in the first week, P, who has enjoyed an alter ego as an eagle in the past, was musing on the possibility of having his own bird of prey one day. Great timing for us, then, that on our way up north we could spend a day at Thorpe Perrow Arboretum and enjoy two falconry displays. The peregrine falcon and Colin the Eagle sat on the bench next to us. Happy days.

Word play. You can’t plan for spontaneity. As a teacher in the classroom, there were days I would walk into class brimful with excitement, laden with resources for a technicolour lesson. I would walk out buzzing with the excitement from a tangential thought we’d taken as the children drove the lesson forward in an unexpected way. The technicolour resources would stand untouched: their ideas had been too good to miss. It’s hard to follow these moments in teaching nowadays, such is the pressure of the curriculum. Without the shackles of the ever-laden timetabled days increasingly synonymous with childhood, as children’s after-school time is programmed with clubs and activities designed to ensure they are never bored, we can follow tangents. Boredom is far from our enemy. From boredom comes creativity. Bored on the car journey home from London last week, H started talking aloud about ‘a family poem like that ‘A is an Apple Pie’ poem’. She started working it out. By letter ‘D’, P had joined in. By ‘J’, I’d decided this was too good to miss and we set the audio recorder on my phone. 45 minutes of focussed concentration later, we’d arrived home and H, P and S had co-created an alphabet poem with family members, attributes or memories for every letter, self correcting rhyme, rhythm and alliteration as they went.

Seizing the sun. I can see the freedom in their faces. We’ve taken our wheels out and cycled and scooted through these days of early spring bulbs. Out in the garden while I was cooking, they pulled the climbing frame from between the sheds (packed there when we went to Italy), realised it had rusted in places, but wasted no time problem solving. They wanted the slide, so they inverted monkey bars to help them make one.

 

Within all this, thanks to the support of a wonderful grandma, I’ve also been able to go to two meetings, the latter a debate on an alternative to Primary Assessment. The four speeches, including one each by the Head of the NUT and the co-director of the Cambridge Primary Review Trust, simply affirmed fully my decision to deregister the children from a system which in its insistence on measuring and examining according to pre-determined paths is systematically failing our children. The graphic depiction for a learning path is better compared to the scribbling doodles of a pre-schooler than the linear progression from level to level and competency to competency drilled into the documents of the current curriculum. KS1 SATs have been scrapped this year, but I fear this simply detracts attention from the reintroduction of baseline assessment at school entry; one has to continue to question a government which has announced another consultation on Primary Assessment, rather than responding to the views of the last one. Childhood doesn’t wait. They are growing now and the government needs to listen to the views of professionals and parents who are right to demand better for the next generation.

 

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