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“I Can’t Wait to Get Homework!”by Kathy Sena, Parents' Source - Tri-County Edition, January 2006 It was my son’s favorite question, and he was asked it frequently by kind friends, neighbors and grocery-store clerks: “So, are you excited about being in kindergarten?” “Yeah! I can’t wait to get homework!” was his standard reply. And why not? At five, “getting homework” — reading a poem to his parents; drawing a picture of his favorite book; coloring all the rectangles green — makes you one of the big kids. What five-year- old isn’t curious about the world? Doesn’t ask more questions in a 24-hour period than his poor parents’ brains can handle? (Bless you, askJeeves.com.) It was people’s reactions to his obviously enthusiastic answer that took me by surprise. “Oh, that won’t last long.” “You won’t be saying that in a few years.” And my favorite (directed to me, with Matthew standing right beside me at the grocery store): “Remember this moment when he’s in seventh grade and you’re nagging him to do his homework.” Gee thanks. After the first few such encounters, Matt continued to happily chatter on about school, so enthralled with the idea of learning that he even insisted, “My name it ‘MATH-ew’ because I love math.” But after hearing the same comments a few more times, another type of learning began to kick in. “Mom, what’s so bad about homework? Why don’t big kids like to do it? Is it really no fun?” Uh-oh. Now it’s Mom and Dad’s word vs that of the “big kids.” But we hadn’t heard a peep from a homework-averse seventh grader. It was the really big kids — the adults — who had planted this seed. Fortunately, Matthew has also been is surrounded by adults who have made learning out to be the big adventure it should be. Thanks to his kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Robinson, Matt came home from his first week of “real school” singing “I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy” and telling us all about George M. Cohan. He danced around the kitchen in anticipation of the much-heralded arrival of “Zero The Hero” (a math-related superhero who’s a hit with the under-six set at our school); and delighted in telling us all about octagons, which he learned about by first memorizing Mrs. Robinson’s Riddle of the Day: “What to you get when an octopus leaves?” In short, Mrs. Robinson knew how to make learning a blast for kindergartners. I’m confident she could do the same for seventh-graders, too. She expected an enthusiastic response from Matthew and his classmates, and they lived up to her expectations. But kids will readily live down to our expectations, too. When the adults in a child’s life expect him to be bored by the rigors of school — or when they start assuming there’s no longer a need to make learning fun because “you have to nag them to do their homework,” they’re teaching another kind of lesson. And the kids are listening. Remember junior high? Yes, there was the dry-as-dirt (math, English, you-fill-in-the-blank) teacher who hadn’t been excited about teaching — or by much of anything else — in years. But remember that seventh-grade history teacher who showed up one day dressed as Ben Franklin, complete with a kite? He answered questions, in character, for an hour, and no one wanted to leave when the bell rang. Remember the English teacher that made a particular novel come alive? Remember the math teacher who made algebra suddenly “click” in eighth grade? Perhaps we owe these inspiring teachers a bit more gratitude than we realized. And perhaps we need to take a cue from them when we talk with our kids — and even when we talk to the kid and his mom standing behind us in the grocery-store check-out line. Matthew’s first-grade teacher, Mrs. Okumura, shared her Japanese heritage with her students by creating a “Kabuki Theater” presentation. Each student wrote his or her own Haiku poem, and then read it aloud while standing behind a hand-made Kabuki mask of his own face. The kids sang songs in Japanese, shared special Japanese cookies, showed off their origami drinking cups (which actually held water) and bragged about how they had learned to use chop sticks by practicing picking up mini marshmallows. Each child had a special line to say during the performance. Matthew’s line was “Arigato. That means ‘thank you’ in Japanese.” We know what lies ahead. We’ve seen Matthew’s favorite babysitter, Jessi, loaded down with textbooks, stressing out over SAT scores, AP classes and college applications. But we’ve also seen how some special teachers and other adults in her life have helped instilled in her some of the unique things that have come to make Jessi, well, Jessi. Her love of music. Her interest in — and impressive knowledge of — the world beyond her own circle of friends. Her conviction that she can make a difference in that world. Jessi learned — from her parents, her teachers and all the other positive role models that surrounded her from the time she drew her first picture in kindergarten — to expect great things for herself and great things from the process of learning. This year she’s busy studying international affairs at George Washington University. Who knows what adventures lie ahead for Jessi — and for Matthew. Arigato, Mrs. Okumura, Mrs. Robinson, Jessi and all the positive teachers — both in and out of the classroom — that have yet to come into my young son’s life. — Kathy Sena is an award-winning freelance writer and essayist. Visit her Web site at www.kathysena.com. |
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