What with recent discussions about my daughter's school, I've had opportunity lately to reflect on my own primary education. I attended six different schools through 9th grade: the Cedar School in Campbell River, BC; the Charleston School in Ocean Falls, BC; Vigaun Volksschule in Hallein, Austria; Jar barneskole outside of Oslo; and Ringstabekk ungdomsskole near Oslo. Two of the schools (Cedar and Ringstabekk) were experimental, and Ringstabekk, brand new when I attended, was literally torn down last year. I had my very best teacher (Mrs. Cleveland) and worst teacher (Miss Hoon) in Canada; in Austria, corporeal punishment was still used; and in Norway, we had to endure pseudo-socialist ideals of equality. My school in Ocean Falls burned down to the ground one year. I had to learn three different styles of cursive writing and be told that what I learned earlier was not just different but wrong. And of course instruction was in three different languages. In Canada and Austria I had to learn new languages without the benefit of any remedial instruction.
I have no doubt that in today's world - at least in the New York suburbs - there would have been no end to the interventions to “help” me get through these transitions. Some number of identified special needs woulkd have been brought up. As it was, I simply dealt. My clearest recollection of any anxiety was when I arrived in Norway and didn't know how to play the flute recorder. After faking it for a few months, I fessed up to the teacher and set out to learn to play on my own. Within a year, my friend Pål and I were much coveted performers of Baroque duets at school events. He was a musical talent (and is today a professor of music), but I clearly wasn't.
I probably had the benefit of a scholastic aptitude and relatively language acquisition, but it must be said that the obstacles were formidable and the support minimal. It all makes me wonder whether we fuss to much over our children today. There's something to be said for articulating the challenge, providing emotional reassurance, and letting the kids figure it out on their own.
My son has a real developmental handicap; he's nearly six and doesn't talk, to pick one illustrative point. Of course he needs help and a tailored approach. But in a recent parent meeting it came to light that 38% of one class at my daughter's (private and parochial) school had “identified special needs.” It's entirely possible that the criteria for “typical” are too tight at this school, the learning milestones too rigidly set, and that there - quite frankly - is too little faith in the kids' ability to come around on their own.
Perhaps we're driven too much by neuroses and too little by reason and experience. Sent wirelessly from my Blackberry.
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