Is that an oxymoron? A contradiction in terms?
Well, I'm trying it out ;)
I've found the blog of the most amazing young woman, Idzie, from near Montreal, who is unschooled. I want my boy to turn out as cool as she is! She calls herself, among other things, an anti-civilizationist. I'm not super-clear on what this means, but it seems to be based on the premises that civilization is unsustainable, i.e. too many people living in the same places to provide enough food, and that civilization thus requires violence to secure enough food for it's citizens.
From my studies of oppression and marginalized social groups, especially the Indigenous peoples of North America, I'm inclined to agree, at least as a hypothesis. I want to read more, of course, but it reminds me of the readings I was assigned when I took an upper level philosophy course in applied ethics. We studied Liberalism, Libertarianism, and what my prof called Democratic Cultural Pluralism, for which we read selections from Iris Marion Young's The Politics of Difference. Young advocated for recognition over redistribution, arguing that one cannot redistribute such goods as respect and opportunity, exactly what is missing for marginalized people. She also talked a lot about regionalism as a form of political control, which reminded me a lot of the way First nations groups in BC have been negotiating self government.
But I digress. I want to raise curious, thoughtful children, critical thinkers who can deconstruct any opinion, value, attitude, political philosophy or policy. I want to raise radical thinkers, committed to getting to the root of social issues who are not content with a shallow life of media consumption. I am committed to authentic social justice, to the transformation of our political relationships, both locally and globally. I am not yet suspicious of the public education system, as are some of the radical unschoolers I have read on the internet, but I am very aware of the history of institutionalized oppression.
As I ponder what it's going to take for me to be able to walk away from public school, I think more and more of my own schooling. I've come to realize that I never liked school. However, I have always been extremely intelligent, and a voracious reader. I love education, learning, knowledge, wisdom, and I always have, but I felt both squashed and exposed in school. I think I am finally, after 15 years out of the public school system, 4 years of aimless, part-time college studies, a year of fine arts, childbirth and motherhood followed by 3 years of focused, full-time university studies, starting to really, truly enjoy my studies. I want to pursue graduate studies, maybe even law! However, I still struggle with anxiety, perfectionism and procrastination around my assignments, so I have a ways to go, yet.
But my boy, oh, I don't want him to have to deprogram himself the way I have to deprogram myself. I've been saving for his post-secondary education with an RESP since he was a couple months old. I want him to want to use that money. I don't want him to stress, to feel panic about exams, to write papers the night before they're due. I want him to be a true scholar, naturally reading and writing and exploring. And I'm starting to be convinced that the only way to achieve this is unschooling.
(I read on the internet about an unschooled 12 year old who was attending classes at Malaspina, a college on Vancouver Island. He got an A+ in Philosophy 100. He felt that high school students were treated like prisoners, whereas college students were treated like customers, free to leave if the class wasn't interesting. Good point.)
But I read on a radical unschooling message board that this is more than theory for education, it's a theory for parenting in general. Treat your kids with the same respect you'd treat an adult. What a radical concept, considering there is still a legal defense to assault of one's children in Canada. (You just can't hit them on the head, or with an object.) The post said that a child could be unschooled and go to public school if said child chose public school of his/her own volition - the key, according to the poster, was coersion.
However, my children do not choose school. It is childcare for me. Ugh.
Friday, October 23, 2009
university news
I've recently been hired in a work-study position with my department, the School of Social Work and Human Services. I am a research assistant on campus, I work from 5 to 10 hours a week, from the beginning of October to the end of April. The job itself isn't particularly thrilling, I'm updating the department's policy manual (I was a little slow with applying, due to getting married and all). However, it's a great job for me; I can really use the extra cash, but I don't have the time to commit to even a part-time job - who wants an employee who only wants to work 8 hours a week?
My school is a very small one; there are so few BSW students that several of their upper level courses are only offered once a year, even once every two years. This gives it a cozy, close-knit feel, which I am really enjoying. However, sometimes things seem a bit too casual, like with my job. I don't really have any supervision, and I'm kind of making things up as I go. This isn't all that bad, I'm good with ambiguity in general, and I'm really great at creating structure (I am not very good, however, at maintaining structure!)
Case in point: the professional association for social workers for my province (BCASW) is having their annual conference in November. There are some really fascinating sounding lectures and workshops - one about sex workers, and their current Constitutional challenge before the courts, another about migrant workers and their quasi-legal status and lack of rights. I registered for one of the two days at the beginning of October, at the early-bird registration deadline. At this same time, the social work student association (SWSA) put out an email offering to sponsor students at the conference. I sent in a letter of intent, expecting to hear something back, but didn't.
Until today, that is, when I got an email from the BCASW. It was my official receipt for the moneys covered by the university!
So now I guess I see if I can get my money refunded?
UPDATE, Oct 28: So today I finally called the Association office to ask about a duplicate registration. The person who answered the phone looked me up, and found only one registration in the system - the one from the student association. I then clarified that I'd registered by phone, and she double-checked - yes, indeedy, they had charged my credit card $75, which will be refunded to me. Yay for being proactive!!
My school is a very small one; there are so few BSW students that several of their upper level courses are only offered once a year, even once every two years. This gives it a cozy, close-knit feel, which I am really enjoying. However, sometimes things seem a bit too casual, like with my job. I don't really have any supervision, and I'm kind of making things up as I go. This isn't all that bad, I'm good with ambiguity in general, and I'm really great at creating structure (I am not very good, however, at maintaining structure!)
Case in point: the professional association for social workers for my province (BCASW) is having their annual conference in November. There are some really fascinating sounding lectures and workshops - one about sex workers, and their current Constitutional challenge before the courts, another about migrant workers and their quasi-legal status and lack of rights. I registered for one of the two days at the beginning of October, at the early-bird registration deadline. At this same time, the social work student association (SWSA) put out an email offering to sponsor students at the conference. I sent in a letter of intent, expecting to hear something back, but didn't.
Until today, that is, when I got an email from the BCASW. It was my official receipt for the moneys covered by the university!
So now I guess I see if I can get my money refunded?
UPDATE, Oct 28: So today I finally called the Association office to ask about a duplicate registration. The person who answered the phone looked me up, and found only one registration in the system - the one from the student association. I then clarified that I'd registered by phone, and she double-checked - yes, indeedy, they had charged my credit card $75, which will be refunded to me. Yay for being proactive!!
Monday, October 19, 2009
Farmer Boy
I passionately loved all of Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House books as a child. I remember 3rd grade recess and lunch periods spent sitting in a bathroom stall, reading away. Recently, my boy, who just started 2nd grade, has been studying pioneers. They went on a field trip to Fort Langley, and they're reading Little House in the Big Woods. So I borrowed Farmer Boy from the local public library to read to the boys at bedtime.
That was Saturday. I read the first two chapters to my boy on Saturday night. Step-son wasn't interested in giving it a try, so he read himself a Pokemon story.
(I'm sick of Pokemon. I thought it was high time we read a new chapter book. My boy and I read Stuart Little, Charlotte's Webb and The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane last year, and he enjoyed them all, and I enjoyed reading a true story, written by a true writer with a voice and a style.)
Yesterday was Sunday, our lazy, do-nothing-for-the-whole-morning day. The boys played video games, and I read Farmer Boy. The WHOLE thing! I devoured it. I want to live on Almanzo's father's farm!!! What an amazing place, what a wondrous lifestyle! Everything was hand made. And the containers and dishes they used! Bushel baskets! Six quart pans for milk! I want them! Cellars for storing potatoes and apples and carrots and corn and salt-pork and flour you grind yourself! I'm totally enraptured.
I can't wait to re-read ALL of these wonderful stories.
That was Saturday. I read the first two chapters to my boy on Saturday night. Step-son wasn't interested in giving it a try, so he read himself a Pokemon story.
(I'm sick of Pokemon. I thought it was high time we read a new chapter book. My boy and I read Stuart Little, Charlotte's Webb and The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane last year, and he enjoyed them all, and I enjoyed reading a true story, written by a true writer with a voice and a style.)
Yesterday was Sunday, our lazy, do-nothing-for-the-whole-morning day. The boys played video games, and I read Farmer Boy. The WHOLE thing! I devoured it. I want to live on Almanzo's father's farm!!! What an amazing place, what a wondrous lifestyle! Everything was hand made. And the containers and dishes they used! Bushel baskets! Six quart pans for milk! I want them! Cellars for storing potatoes and apples and carrots and corn and salt-pork and flour you grind yourself! I'm totally enraptured.
I can't wait to re-read ALL of these wonderful stories.
thinking more and more about unschooling...
Can I be a radical unschooler if my kids go to public school? I know I'm certainly giving it a try.
I do my best to allow them unlimited access to video games, although I have been known to make them go outside after 6 hours of uninterrupted DS time (and a few tears because SOMEONE was too busy playing to notice he'd been up for 6 hours without eating! Bad mom, I MADE him eat - he devoured his pb&j sammy)
I've been trying out the "strewing" concept - I took out a bunch of cool-looking books from the public library, books they could've cared less about while we were there, but which they've been loving at home. They took out Pokemon books, I took out an atlas and some joke books and a book about the history of hockey (to read with dad) and Farmer Boy. They love the joke books. One out of 4 ain't bad, eh?
I'm practicing saying yes. I'm practicing letting them do things I REALLY want to say no to. It's hard. The other night, my step-son wanted to sleep without his shirt on, and I made him wear it. Our house is old and poorly insulated, therefore cold at night. Step-son tosses about quite a bit in his sleep, usually kicking the blankets to the floor. He had a cold - sore throat and sneezes, so I explained that I worried he would be very cold in the middle of the night, which might make his cold harder to get over. This is a great example of the dictatorial, coercive style I'm trying to learn to let go of. It's hard.
I so want to keep my boy out of school with me. I could do it, this semester. But, come January, I will be doing a social work practicum - 3 days a week, plus one day on campus, maybe two, depending on the scheduling of the other courses I need to take. Out of pocket child care expenses for that are prohibitive - we are broke, heavily in debt, and we can't subsist on my husband's income now, let alone paying 5 times as much for daycare.
Add to this, I don't really want to keep step-son at home. He exhausts me, and I just don't love him as much as I love my boy. And I'm coming to terms with that. He's lived with us for 2 months. My boy has lived with me for 7 years. I'm realizing that it's normal, and it's okay for me to love my boy more, just as it's normal and ok that my husband loves his son more than mine.
But still, I'm frustrated, and I wish it was a perfect world, where I had the financial support I need to eschew this whole public school thing.
I do my best to allow them unlimited access to video games, although I have been known to make them go outside after 6 hours of uninterrupted DS time (and a few tears because SOMEONE was too busy playing to notice he'd been up for 6 hours without eating! Bad mom, I MADE him eat - he devoured his pb&j sammy)
I've been trying out the "strewing" concept - I took out a bunch of cool-looking books from the public library, books they could've cared less about while we were there, but which they've been loving at home. They took out Pokemon books, I took out an atlas and some joke books and a book about the history of hockey (to read with dad) and Farmer Boy. They love the joke books. One out of 4 ain't bad, eh?
I'm practicing saying yes. I'm practicing letting them do things I REALLY want to say no to. It's hard. The other night, my step-son wanted to sleep without his shirt on, and I made him wear it. Our house is old and poorly insulated, therefore cold at night. Step-son tosses about quite a bit in his sleep, usually kicking the blankets to the floor. He had a cold - sore throat and sneezes, so I explained that I worried he would be very cold in the middle of the night, which might make his cold harder to get over. This is a great example of the dictatorial, coercive style I'm trying to learn to let go of. It's hard.
I so want to keep my boy out of school with me. I could do it, this semester. But, come January, I will be doing a social work practicum - 3 days a week, plus one day on campus, maybe two, depending on the scheduling of the other courses I need to take. Out of pocket child care expenses for that are prohibitive - we are broke, heavily in debt, and we can't subsist on my husband's income now, let alone paying 5 times as much for daycare.
Add to this, I don't really want to keep step-son at home. He exhausts me, and I just don't love him as much as I love my boy. And I'm coming to terms with that. He's lived with us for 2 months. My boy has lived with me for 7 years. I'm realizing that it's normal, and it's okay for me to love my boy more, just as it's normal and ok that my husband loves his son more than mine.
But still, I'm frustrated, and I wish it was a perfect world, where I had the financial support I need to eschew this whole public school thing.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
if I was one of those religious freaks...
...I would be saying that G-d is calling me to homeschool my kids. But I'm not a capital C Christian, I'm a bit too prosaic to really believe in a Deity who takes an active interest in His creation, nudging them this way and that. Don't get me wrong, religion is cool, and all, but I like my gods abstract. I don't want my god to tell me what to do, already :)
But really, most of the blogs I've been reading lately are those of homeschooling women. Hint, hint.
And a lot of my university readings discuss oppression - the bread 'n' butter of a profession committed to social justice. Today's assigned reading for my class, the Politics of Multiculturalism (government policy since the 70's here in Canada, the first country in the world to make it official) is the opening chapter of Paulo Freire's classic, The Pedagogy of the Oppressed (1970).
Pedagogy, of course, is the science or art of teaching, the theory of how to teach, but it also has connotations of conceit; a pedagogue is a pedantic, narrow-minded teacher. (You've gotta love the circularity of dictionary definitions. Pedantry is an ostentatious display of knowledge, an insistence on the importance of trifling points of scholarship, from the Latin paedagogus. All definitions from Funk & Wagnall's Canadian College Dictionary, 1989.)
But The Pedagogy of the Oppressed is about the struggle for justice and equity within the educational system. The first chapter explores the relationship between the oppressed and the oppressor, the colonized and the colonizer. Friere, like Fanon, cites Hegel, and ventures into ontological discussions of freedom and humanity and authenticity. However, so far I've been finding his analysis to be somewhat analytical. There is a dialectic between the oppressed and the oppressor, just as between Hegel's master and slave. But this duality, this opposition between the two keeps them separated. Who is the oppressor, in my reality? Am I the oppressor, a white descendant of European immigrants living on the stolen land of the original inhabitants of this continent? Or am I, a working class woman, a former single mother, a student with a significant debt, the oppressed?
Tied up in all of this is my role as a parent. Am I the radical parent with no rules, no rewards and punishment schemes, who follows, rather than leads her child? Or am I the oppressor, disciplining my child by yelling, forcing him to attend an institution he hates, telling him he has to fit the mold?
Add to all of this the fact that my son's teacher called today after school. He missed recess, lunch and art, if I remember the conversation correctly. This was because he passively resisted doing his work. He just sat there. His teacher doesn't understand his motivation. She is institutionalized, obviously, as she can't see that my son is resisting being institutionalized himself. Does this make her the oppressor? Am I the oppressor for continually requiring that he go to school?
If I had the resources, I tell myself, and others, I would homeschool my son. But we live on just my husband's meager salary from his retail job. I receive student loans each semester that I attend school. I'm creeping up towards $45000, with two more years to go. I don't have the time to spend being his teacher, I need to focus on my expensive education. If I take him out of school, do I lose my government funding for after school care? Besides, now there is my stepson. How can I take one child out of school and leave the other? How can I carve out the time to teach two rambunctious boys, to teach myself to teach them, and to study for my own classes - up to 30 hours a week.
If I was really one of those religious freaks, I'd be praying to win the lottery, or for my husband to miraculously double his salary...
But I don't really pray.
But really, most of the blogs I've been reading lately are those of homeschooling women. Hint, hint.
And a lot of my university readings discuss oppression - the bread 'n' butter of a profession committed to social justice. Today's assigned reading for my class, the Politics of Multiculturalism (government policy since the 70's here in Canada, the first country in the world to make it official) is the opening chapter of Paulo Freire's classic, The Pedagogy of the Oppressed (1970).
Pedagogy, of course, is the science or art of teaching, the theory of how to teach, but it also has connotations of conceit; a pedagogue is a pedantic, narrow-minded teacher. (You've gotta love the circularity of dictionary definitions. Pedantry is an ostentatious display of knowledge, an insistence on the importance of trifling points of scholarship, from the Latin paedagogus. All definitions from Funk & Wagnall's Canadian College Dictionary, 1989.)
But The Pedagogy of the Oppressed is about the struggle for justice and equity within the educational system. The first chapter explores the relationship between the oppressed and the oppressor, the colonized and the colonizer. Friere, like Fanon, cites Hegel, and ventures into ontological discussions of freedom and humanity and authenticity. However, so far I've been finding his analysis to be somewhat analytical. There is a dialectic between the oppressed and the oppressor, just as between Hegel's master and slave. But this duality, this opposition between the two keeps them separated. Who is the oppressor, in my reality? Am I the oppressor, a white descendant of European immigrants living on the stolen land of the original inhabitants of this continent? Or am I, a working class woman, a former single mother, a student with a significant debt, the oppressed?
Tied up in all of this is my role as a parent. Am I the radical parent with no rules, no rewards and punishment schemes, who follows, rather than leads her child? Or am I the oppressor, disciplining my child by yelling, forcing him to attend an institution he hates, telling him he has to fit the mold?
Add to all of this the fact that my son's teacher called today after school. He missed recess, lunch and art, if I remember the conversation correctly. This was because he passively resisted doing his work. He just sat there. His teacher doesn't understand his motivation. She is institutionalized, obviously, as she can't see that my son is resisting being institutionalized himself. Does this make her the oppressor? Am I the oppressor for continually requiring that he go to school?
If I had the resources, I tell myself, and others, I would homeschool my son. But we live on just my husband's meager salary from his retail job. I receive student loans each semester that I attend school. I'm creeping up towards $45000, with two more years to go. I don't have the time to spend being his teacher, I need to focus on my expensive education. If I take him out of school, do I lose my government funding for after school care? Besides, now there is my stepson. How can I take one child out of school and leave the other? How can I carve out the time to teach two rambunctious boys, to teach myself to teach them, and to study for my own classes - up to 30 hours a week.
If I was really one of those religious freaks, I'd be praying to win the lottery, or for my husband to miraculously double his salary...
But I don't really pray.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Aaak!! And now September is over!
(as an aside, the Aaak!! in my title totally reminds me of Bill the Cat from Bloom County (? - the one w/Opus the penguin). My dad loved it when I was a teen)
Once more, a month has escaped me without a blog post. I'm supposed to be loving this. It is supposed to be my writing lite. As in not heavy-duty theoretical, as in not centered on social justice, or politics of identity/difference, as in, no heavy reading before-hand.
But then, silly me, I had a wedding. With a hundred guests. A HUNDRED!! I didn't really realize I knew a hundred people, as I'm a bit of a hermit, mostly just hangin' with the fam' - the ones who live in my household, and my folks, mostly. But, honestly, almost all of those 100 people were family. My husband is the youngest of 10 kids (neither Catholic nor careless, as the saying goes... mama had two families, the Laroses, 4 kids, then the Reeves, 5 kids, plus a foster brother. Gosh, brave mama, I certainly couldn't see pushing that many babies out of my body, yikes!)
It was a lovely wedding. We managed it all on a 'shoestring' budget - over 5 grand. Kinda makes my frugal heart sick to think of all that money spent on ONE day (it wasn't all our money, my parents paid a lot, and Ryder's dad bought a bunch of the booze). But this one day wasn't really about Ryder and I, or even us and the kids. It was about family. It was about community. It was about being together as one very large, brand new family grouping.
We invited one of my mother-in-law's cousins that no one really knew because her side and mama's side of their family had been estranged for years, and they were just now getting back in touch. How lovely to be able to host her and her hubby and grandkids. She asked to invite 2 of her 3 grown sons (who weren't able to make it), and we, of course, said "YES!" Cutting costs was about doing it ourselves, not cutting the guest list.
So, despite all the perfectly valid and reasonable reasons to NOT have a big wedding, I'm really glad we did. I'm really glad we created such a wonderful experience for our families. There were about 25 little kids there, one of the biggest highlights of the day for me. I'm sure I could say this better, and more theoretically. In my speech, I mentioned post-modernism, and I could go on at length here about that, and feminism as well, but I'm just happy to get a little loose, flowy writing out without worrying about my grade - now, on to the heavy reading - 2 hours with 12 pages, yeee-haw!
Oh, yeah, and so when does this feeling married thing kick in? (wrote that on Facebook, and stepson's mother told me I'm broken, which pissed me off, because she's the one who doesn't love her son - who's broken, b!tch?! - sorry, sometimes even social workers need to vent)
Once more, a month has escaped me without a blog post. I'm supposed to be loving this. It is supposed to be my writing lite. As in not heavy-duty theoretical, as in not centered on social justice, or politics of identity/difference, as in, no heavy reading before-hand.
But then, silly me, I had a wedding. With a hundred guests. A HUNDRED!! I didn't really realize I knew a hundred people, as I'm a bit of a hermit, mostly just hangin' with the fam' - the ones who live in my household, and my folks, mostly. But, honestly, almost all of those 100 people were family. My husband is the youngest of 10 kids (neither Catholic nor careless, as the saying goes... mama had two families, the Laroses, 4 kids, then the Reeves, 5 kids, plus a foster brother. Gosh, brave mama, I certainly couldn't see pushing that many babies out of my body, yikes!)
It was a lovely wedding. We managed it all on a 'shoestring' budget - over 5 grand. Kinda makes my frugal heart sick to think of all that money spent on ONE day (it wasn't all our money, my parents paid a lot, and Ryder's dad bought a bunch of the booze). But this one day wasn't really about Ryder and I, or even us and the kids. It was about family. It was about community. It was about being together as one very large, brand new family grouping.
We invited one of my mother-in-law's cousins that no one really knew because her side and mama's side of their family had been estranged for years, and they were just now getting back in touch. How lovely to be able to host her and her hubby and grandkids. She asked to invite 2 of her 3 grown sons (who weren't able to make it), and we, of course, said "YES!" Cutting costs was about doing it ourselves, not cutting the guest list.
So, despite all the perfectly valid and reasonable reasons to NOT have a big wedding, I'm really glad we did. I'm really glad we created such a wonderful experience for our families. There were about 25 little kids there, one of the biggest highlights of the day for me. I'm sure I could say this better, and more theoretically. In my speech, I mentioned post-modernism, and I could go on at length here about that, and feminism as well, but I'm just happy to get a little loose, flowy writing out without worrying about my grade - now, on to the heavy reading - 2 hours with 12 pages, yeee-haw!
Oh, yeah, and so when does this feeling married thing kick in? (wrote that on Facebook, and stepson's mother told me I'm broken, which pissed me off, because she's the one who doesn't love her son - who's broken, b!tch?! - sorry, sometimes even social workers need to vent)
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