Robin Hood (1922)
This silent film featuring Douglas Fairbanks provided the family-centered learning project with two evenings of enjoyment, during which we narrated in turns and alternately laughed (in bemused delight) and paused (in wonder at the technical achievement).
El Cid (1961)
The Misses read about El Cid in their history assignment a few weeks ago, and I mentioned that when I was in high school, the Spanish teacher had shown a film about the hero. "It took a whole week of classes to see, and I don't remember much more than the final scene," I confessed, "but that was sort of the problem with traditional school -- for me, anyway. I was always more absorbed in my own 'drama' than in any drama my studies may have held." (Yes, the Misses and I often discuss the pros (and (few) cons) of their unconventional education.) They greatly appreciated the pageantry of the film, and, like Master M-mv before them, have developed a bit of a soft spot for Charlton Heston. Then again, their teacher was raised on ABC's "The 4:30 Movie" (science fiction week, Planet of the Apes week, Charlton Heston week, etc.). A soft spot for Heston is in their blood.
Soylent Green (1973)
Speaking of Heston... Although many have reduced this portrait of a dystopian future to a signature line (spoiler below), this movie gives us so many other memorable images and ideas. For those of us who think that reading science fiction and Shakespeare with our students begets the most fruitful and far-reaching literary discussions, the merits of Soylent Green are apparent.
The Renaissance Man (1994)
Speaking of Shakespeare... In this film, Danny DeVito plays an unemployed ad man hired to teach a class of Army "squeakers" -- recruits who may be dismissed for being too "dumb" to make it through basic training. Naturally, the film's central conceit is that none of the eight students in DeVito's class lacks the brains to be all he or she can be; life has just prevented each of them from demonstrating all of the ways in which they are smart. After a few wasted classes, during which DeVito's sour, self-absorbed Bill Rago reveals more about his own lack of direction and interest in life than his students', teacher and class finally connect -- by accident, not intent -- over Hamlet. Despite a bit of predictability, all of us loved this movie. (I know that some M-mv readers may wish to screen for language before sharing The Renaissance Man with their children and/or students.)
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"It's people. Soylent Green is made out of people."
Some offbeat film recommendations
Family-centered learning project
From Yehudi Menuhin's autobiography Unfinished Journey: Twenty Years Later:
p.42
So we were educated at home. What did we lose thereby? Most obviously we lost acquaintance with other children. By the time I was ten I was used to adults taking me seriously but was only on tentative speaking terms with boys and girls of my own age. The academic gains and losses of the system are harder to weigh. If we didn't take mathematics beyond the beginnings of algebra and geometry, nor even physics or chemistry, nor learn Greek and Latin, I believe that the languages and literature we did concentrate on were taken beyond the level offered by most schools. I was thirteen and my sisters nine and seven when a holiday at Ospedaletti was celebrated by daily readings from The Divine Comedy in the original.
p. 44
The great virtues of home education were undoubtedly the amount of personal attention accorded by teacher to pupil, the swift progress thereby made, and the correspondingly short time devoted to lessons in the course of the day. [...] The result was a coherence in family life which allowed all manner of speculations on the purpose of the universe without threatening the fabric of existence. [Emphasis added.]
"[W]e’ve all become mentally obese."
From "In Defense of Distraction" (New York Magazine, May 25):
Over the last several years, the problem of attention has migrated right into the center of our cultural attention. We hunt it in neurology labs, lament its decline on op-ed pages, fetishize it in grassroots quality-of-life movements, diagnose its absence in more and more of our children every year, cultivate it in yoga class twice a week, harness it as the engine of self-help empires, and pump it up to superhuman levels with drugs originally intended to treat Alzheimer’s and narcolepsy. Everyone still pays some form of attention all the time, of course—it’s basically impossible for humans not to—but the currency in which we pay it, and the goods we get in exchange, have changed dramatically.
From the archives:
Someone asked...
"If you had two weeks with no kids, what would you do?"
My reply -- which, of course, presupposes that said kids are happily in the care of Aunt M-mv -- follows.
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We were married for four years before we had our first child. We married right out of college. In fact, we both graduated early in order to marry sooner. We had good (as in "satisfying" and "related to our studies," not necessarily "well paid") jobs and dear friends within biking distance.
On our days off, we would sleep late. Oh, so late. We'd... well, you know. We'd take long showers. Tidy up the joint. Walk to the store for all the papers. (Once upon a time ago, we read three or more papers every weekend.) Bring them home. Hop in the car and head to the Bread Factory for carb-rich twists and knots and decadent breads. (Once upon a time ago, we were thin.) We'd eat bread and read newspapers in bed. And nap. And... well, you know.
We'd get dressed up and go to dinner with friends. Play board games and discuss books into the wee morning hours.
Then we'd go home. Sleep late. Oh, so late. We'd... well, you know. We'd take long showers....
Twenty years of marriage and three children later. Our anniversary is only a couple of weeks away, and I don't dream of Paris or a cruise, anniversary rings or fancy cars. No, I want nothing more than the rhythms that define our relationship, then and now.
So... if I had two weeks with my husband, sans children?
We'd sleep late. Oh, so late. We'd... well, you know. We'd take long showers. Tidy up the joint. Walk to the store for all the papers. Bring them home. Hop in the car and head to the Bread Factory for carb-rich twists and knots and decadent breads. We'd eat bread and read newspapers in bed. And nap. And... well, you know.
We'd get dressed up and go to dinner. Play board games and discuss books into the wee morning hours.
Then we'd go to bed. Sleep late. Oh, so late. We'd... well, you know. We'd take long showers....
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
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This entry first ran on 4.26.2006. I reposted it today to commemorate our twenty-third wedding anniversary.
Yeah. That would be twenty-seven years all together for us.
To celebrate, we gave each other diamonds... I mean Diamondbacks. His and hers. We'd like to stay healthy enough to celebrate many more anniversaries together.
As I was putting this entry together, Mr. M-mv finished up the chores.
"Hey!" I called. "How many readers will I lose when I tell them that I mentally sing Queen's 'Bicycle' and 'Fat-Bottomed Girls' every. single. time. we go bike-riding?"
He suggested that I just link the videos.
Heh, heh, heh.
Bicycle races are coming your way
So forget all your duties oh yeah
Fat bottomed girls they'll be riding today
So look out for those beauties oh yeah
On your marks get set go
Bicycle race bicycle race bicycle race
Are you following the Servicing Mission 4? Today...
the fourth day of the Hubble servicing mission, astronauts John Grunsfeld and Andrew Feustel will conduct the first of five spacewalks to service and upgrade the telescope. They will remove the Wide Field Planetary Camera 2 (installed on Hubble in 1993) and replace it with the new Wide Field Camera 3. They will also install a new Science Instrument Control and Data Handling unit, which contains the computer that stores, formats, and sends to Earth all the data and images Hubble collects.
Boost your brain
1. Google.
2. Exercise.
3. Brush and floss.
4. Drink sparingly.
5. Eat blueberries.
6. Do puzzles.
7. Meditate.
See "7 Surprising Ways to Boost Your Brain" (Prevention, June 2009). Of course, not all of these (blueberries, exercise, puzzles) are "surprising" to regular M-mv readers. But I think we can all appreciate the reminder to take care of our brains by taking care of our bodies.
On the nightstand
Here we go again...
Books read
■ Unwind (Neal Shusterman)
Quite possibly the most emotionally devastating (to say nothing of riveting, thought-provoking) novel I have ever read, this YA novel set in a not-too-distant future packs (more than) enough narrative wallop to appeal to adult readers, so it puzzles me that I haven't heard more buzz about this fictional exploration of the pro-life/pro-choice "debate." Do NOT miss this one.
■ The Compound (S. A. Bodeen)
I saw this reviewed over at Semicolon, and while it was good -- original and compelling -- it was eclipsed in this reader's imagination by Unwind.
■ Columbine (Dave Cullen)
A nimble review of the facts and myths.
■ The Armchair Birder (John Yow)
My favorite birding adventures begin and end in a dark-brown leather bucket chair. It's placed near the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, which look out onto our front lawn and a number of well (at)tended bird feeders. Yow, whose book features Audubon plates (reproduced in black and white), speaks to my sedentary-birding side.
■ Harvard Medical School Guide to Lowering Your Blood Pressure
Don't ask.
■ Schooling for Life: Reclaiming the Essence of Learning (Jacqueline Grennon Brooks)
What if classroom instruction focused on "real world" learning and problem-solving and eschewed standardized testing and state-mandated programs altogether?
■ The Adoration of Jenna Fox (Mary E. Pearson)
Brilliant.
■ The Girl Who Played with Fire (Stieg Larsson) *
As I explained in the last "On the nightstand" entry, the first book in this trilogy, The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, made my list of particularly memorable books of 2008. (Another related entry here.) The second book, The Girl Who Played with Fire, will be released here in the States in mid-summer, but it's already been released elsewhere, which is how I secured a copy. Let me just say (again): I ♥ Amazon's third-party sellers' program!
* Denotes "partially read" books
Notable acquisitions
■ Home: A Memoir of My Early Years (Julie Andrews)
A birthday gift from Master M-mv.
Books borrowed
■ Unwind (Neal Shusterman)
■ The Compound (S. A. Bodeen)
■ Schooling for Life: Reclaiming the Essence of Learning (Jacqueline Grennon Brooks)
■ The Adoration of Jenna Fox (Mary E. Pearson)
Review copies offered
More than two dozen.
Review copies accepted
None. I have a backlog of review copies accepted earlier in the year, and none that I was offered in the last couple of weeks called my name.
From the archives:
Twenty-five cedar waxwings...
alighted in the tall bushes and old trees that border our front side yard. And my children knew these friends by name -- common and Latin (Bombycilla cedrorum). Two of them are now drawing the trees and the visitors. The third has returned to his reading.
He is reading, and he is conversing with the book's author in the margins.
And every once in a while he steals a glance at the twenty-five cedar waxwings that alighted in the tall bushes and old trees that border our front side yard.
And he smiles.
And now I remember -- all over again -- why I simply don't care if your students are ahead of or behind mine.
We do what we do with joy and confidence and laughter and love.
And, as it turns out, by all of the conventional standards (e.g., the ACT, college acceptance, advancement in work, success on teams, and more), what we do -- whether it is more than what you do or less -- is, in fact, more than enough.
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When I read the much-linked article about Joshua Bell's experiment in the DC train station, in which he offered harried morning commuters the precious jewels of his performance and was all but ignored, I realized in a flash, "If I've done nothing else here, I've parented and taught three young people who would know -- intuitively -- to stop and listen."
This realization did more for my parent-teacher's heart than my son's solid ACT scores and my daughters' progress in music.
They stop to look at cedar waxwings. They stop to hear the music at O'Hare. They "talk" to the authors of the books they read. They think before they speak. They write to see what they think, and then write it better the second or third or tenth time.
They do this because they have had the space-time to stop and look at the twenty-five cedar waxwings alighting in the tall bushes and old trees that border our front side yard.
And when they do, it means something to them.
Added later
I've been called an elitist and an academic snob, particularly when I launch into one of my tirades against mediocrity. I am, after all, one of those parents who was motivated to home-educate in order to ensure a standard of academic excellence I didn't see at work in either the public or private schools to which we had access.
But a pursuit of excellence need not preclude a deep appreciation of everything else. Folks become alternately discouraged or, curiously, triumphant about standards when the conventional wisdom is challenged, and sometimes, well, they lose sight of the cedar waxwings.
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As I've said before, the fact that we homeschool is the very last thing I share with people because I don't want my children to labor under the stereotypes -- socially ill-adept, unevenly educated, zealously religious, etc. -- currently associated with homeschoolers. We could argue all day about the veracity of the stereotypes, but they do exist; therefore, I think that I have a responsibility to ensure that my children are not only well educated but also that they can comfortably function in the society and culture to which they belong. In other words, I think that it's my job to ensure that they not only meet the vision of the well educated conversational partner I carry in my head but also that they meet conventional standards of achievement and success.
In short, I've failed them if they can't pass the same tests their similarly skilled peers do -- whether those peers are educated in a conventional classroom or not.
I repeat myself when I say that we need to dispel the myth that simply because we homeschool we're doing a better job than our classroom counterparts.
We're not.
Not all of us, anyway.
And the ones who aren't make it hell for the rest of us. The ones who aren't make the admissions counselor think twice about my son's application. We're lucky that he thought the same thing the second time, but still -- someone else prepared her son poorly; now my son's credentials are more carefully scrutinized.
That said, though, I still don't think it's my business to prescribe what other homeschoolers or public schoolers should be doing, any more that it's theirs to prescribe what mine do.
______________________
The short story is this: Academic excellence and joy are not mutually exclusive concepts (any more than a clean home and well educated children are).
We can teach them to read and to look; to watch and to learn; to think and to speak. We might even throw in some science and math, eh? Heh, heh, heh.
I want it all for my students, which is why I work so hard to provide it.
We'll let you know how it turns out.
