Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have a problem at all with Halloween as a significant event on a country’s cultural calendar. If that country is the US or Canada.
I just don’t think it belongs here in Australia. When I was a teen, the only experience we had of Halloween was from the TV, and mostly from the steady afternoon viewing diet of shows like My Three Sons, The Brady Bunch, The Beverly Hillbillies, and others in that genre. The concept of Halloween as an American cultural celebration was something I and my generation understood well, and I gained pleasure from that understanding as it gave me a social context in which to frame the workings of other countries.
But Halloween just wasn’t something we would do. It would seem preposterous to copy another country’s cultural heritage for no apparent reason.
In the last few years, an inexplicable interest in Halloween has become more and more prevalent, so much so that children look forward to it with a great degree of excitement – not that this is very surprising, considering lollies and chocolate are involved. Children are so easily bought.
The first time trick-or-treaters knocked on my door was when my last child was still only a baby, and had just been put down for her evening sleep. I opened the door and grumpily whispered that it wasn’t a good time. The poor kids got it and moved on to the next house where they probably hoped a more agreeable person would answer the door. A few days later, I met the mother of one of those children, and she apologetically referred to her child bothering me on Halloween night. I replied that it was no bother (though in reality it was), and then I told her that I had a philosophical opposition to Halloween, since it was a cultural festival that had no place in Australia. She listened politely, but I don’t think she shared my views.
The following year, I put a sign on our gate that said, No Trick-Or-Treaters. Rather humbug of me, I know, but I really do feel this strongly about it. That year, nobody came. But there have been times when children dressed as ghouls and ghosts, monsters and witches have knocked on our door, and I’ve had to turn them away in the most diplomatic way possible. Quite simply, I do not wish to give sweets of any kind to children I don’t know. I realise most or all of these children would have their parents’ permission to go trick-or-treating, but I have no way of being sure. As a result, I am not willing to risk the ramifications of a child being in trouble for accepting food from strangers, or eating too many lollies. What if the child is a diabetic and has snuck out without permission? It’s not an outlandish idea that there would be children dragged along on Halloween walks without their parents’ knowledge if they were sleeping at a friend’s house that night. God forbid there should be a child with a severe nut allergy who eats one of my chocolate bars that has been contaminated with traces of nuts from a conveyor belt in the factory where it was packaged.
I also feel extremely uncomfortable about children knocking on random doors without knowing the residents. I’m not going to be a panic merchant now, and say that it’s potentially dangerous because they could, say, inadvertently meet with a pedophile. The likelihood of that is remote, and as kids are generally moving about their own neighbourhood, and in groups, there is little opportunity for a predator of that kind to harm them then and there. Still, I’m just not okay about children knocking on strangers’ doors uninvited and unannounced. It’s different if the purpose of the visit is to spread the word about a missing pet, or to retrieve a ball. Knocking on doors asking for sweets with the threat of tricks if the treats aren’t delivered is, on my radar, just not good manners.
So when my children started asking if they could join their friends in the annual Halloween knock and grab, I voiced my objections, explaining the reasons for my philosophical opposition to the practice. They listened with looks of despair on their faces, and – of course – continued in their quest to be allowed to participate. Gradually, year by year, they have worn me down. When they were younger, I made a rule that they could go as long as there was a parent or responsible teenage sibling supervising the excursion. This meant that some invitations had to be declined. I know it might seem hypocritical of me to allow my children to participate (the oldest, at fifteen, is over it, thankfully) without being at the ready in my own home to dispense sweets. But I simply cannot take part.
Now, if I lived in the US, I’m sure I would have a vastly different view of Halloween. I would indulge in the festivities, encouraging my children to dress up and take part with their friends. I would still have serious misgivings about my role as the giver of sweets, and of my children as knockers, but I would work out ways to get around it with sensible supervision. We do, after all, indulge in all sorts of mildly politically incorrect practices for the sake of social cohesion and cultural identity. Take Christmas, for example: Those who can afford to, sit around gorging themselves on rich food and throwing away lots of money on presents nobody needs or wants while there are so many who have so little in their own communities…but that’s another story.
We engage with Christmas if it’s part of our cultural heritage, and because there are many wonderful aspects of this festivity. Increasingly, there are members of Australian communities who do not celebrate Christmas. They observe other festivities, tied to their cultural heritage. These festivities – Ramadan and Chinese New Year to name a couple – are incredibly significant in the lives of large numbers of Australians. What has always puzzled me is that often, we don’t embrace these religious and cultural festivals and share the celebrations in our communities. At school, children often speak of these celebrations, sharing stories of the traditions and gifts, and it’s wonderful to see how fascinating these accounts are to children from different cultural backgrounds.
So my point is, if we are going to widen our experience of cultural celebrations, why choose one that has no relevance in Australia? Do we have a significant number of American residents here? Not to my knowledge, and if we did, I would have no objection to them organising some Halloween fun to share with the rest of us. But I have a big problem with Australians actively taking part in Halloween and ignoring or shunning the religious and cultural festivals of fellow Australians.
Schools are getting behind Halloween, too, with little opposition from parents. If the local school were to have a Ramadan Day, I think there would be more than a few parents who would complain about the Muslims taking over the country. Why are we so eager to welcome in American culture when it has no relevance to our modern Australian reality? Being Australian no longer means being White, Anglo-Saxon Protestant (if it ever did). And what of our Indigenous Australians? How much do we know of their heritage? This is the knowledge our children should have. The modern Australian melting pot of cultures is what our children need to experience. Where, in all this, is the relevance of Halloween?
Maybe it’s just me, but I saw this clip on Facebook today and it really bothered me. It didn’t scare me, like I think it was supposed to, but it really annoyed me.
Yes, some of the statistics in there are concerning, but I would need a lot more information before I could accept the information presented as fact.
For instance how is the information collected? How many children were asked these questions and where did they come from i.e was data collected from a wide cross-section of the community? Were the children asked these questions orally or did they have to complete a written questionnaire?
Then there is the issue of interpretation. There are subjective terms used in this clip like “bully” and “sex”. What one child may consider bullying another may not. Many “tweens” have an incomplete understanding of “sex” and may include kissing in a definition of sex.
Then there’s the way the facts are skewed to make them seem more insidious than they actually are. For example, the statistic about girls being more worried about being teased than about natural disasters or terrorism. Smart kids! They’re much more likely to be teased (most of us are at some point) than to be a victim of a natural disaster or a terrorist act. And surely we would prefer our kids to be more concerned about “kid stuff” than adult problems like terrorism.
I’m not saying that these statistics are not true. I am saying we need to really think about where the information comes from and what it actually means. It’s a shame because the overall message of the clip is a good one. “Be involved” – you can’t argue with that. Teach tolerance – yep, I agree, but is using parental fear really the best way to get the message across?
I don’t think so. In fact, I believe fear breeds a culture of mistrust – the opposite of what this campaign is setting out to achieve.
I get very annoyed at the ’scaremongering’ that seems to be prevalent in the media and some parts of society today. As the mother of a tween and a teen, I would like to reassure parents of younger children that it’s not all doom and gloom out there. Yes, there are things that we, as adults, need to be aware of and to educate our kids about, but haven’t there always been? Yes, society is different now and new technologies bring new dangers along with new benefits. But the principles of good parenting haven’t changed. Love your kids, be involved in their lives, know what they are doing and who they are doing it with. Teach your kids to be responsible and trust them, but don’t be afraid to take charge when necessary.
In fact, don’t be afraid at all.
Does your child struggle in certain areas of the curriculum? Do you feel as though his/her talents are not appreciated, or even acknowledged? Do you think your child would perform much better if only teachers were aware of….
The issue of knowing students is very prominent in education nowadays. Good teachers have always been aware of this, but it’s only in recent years that its relevance has been targeted as one of the significant methods that teachers can use to effectively cater for different styles of learners.
Teachers knowing students has been the stuff of success or failure stories since time began. A pathway that works for one child may be a dead-end street for another. Sometimes teachers fail to recognise in their students what a parent knows intrinsically about their child. It’s here where a parent’s role is instrumental.
A teacher’s opinion of a student is just that: an opinion. Mostly, it’s a very educated opinion, and on the right track, but teachers are, after all, only human. Just as we see our GPs to gain information on a medical condition, so too teachers proffer their views on how best to educate our children. As an educator, I think that for the most part, teachers offer invaluable advice to parents on how their children can maximise their learning potential. There are times, however, when teachers miss the mark, and that’s when parents need to make decisions on what’s best for their child.
The website, Raising Small Souls, offers invaluable advice on parenting, and has produced a number of interesting videos. The one I’ve included in this post is a favourite of mine. By using animals in place of students, it makes the concept of teachers knowing students, and different learning styles much easier to comprehend.
Which animal is your child?
Has her/his ability been understood by teachers, or by you, the parent?
What is the best way to maximise his/her learning potential?
Watch this video, and if applicable, think about the ways your child may benefit from a new approach to his/her learning needs. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to email either of us at ligia@themumfiles.com.au or lisa@themumfiles.com.au
People have a tendency to sentimentalise the past. Everything that belongs to the past was somehow better, more wholesome, easier and free of the stresses that plague us in our hectic and sometimes perilous present-day lives.
When I was little, I used to hear the old people (and that included people of my parents’ age as well as the elderly) go on and on about how good it used to be in the past while at the same time waxing lyrical about all the new, time and labour-saving devices like washing machines and fridges. It was the seventies, and didn’t people love their television set? – even if they didn’t yet own one in colour! They were so busy bagging faded jeans bearing political slogans, mini skirts that showed too much leg and long hair on young men I don’t think they were aware of the paradox. Funny, but I didn’t realise then that what I was witnessing was simply an age-related tendency. Now I’ve lived a few years in the world, I realise nothing much changes about human nature. In general, the young look to the future and the old look to the past. It’s our job, what we are genetically predisposed to do. All being well and good, it’s a natural thing to attack life when we’re fledglings just as it is to seek the security of those things we find comfortable and familiar when our bones are getting a bit more brittle and the concept of wandering far from the nest starts to look less and less appealing.
As I write, Ocean Eyes has wandered into the room, and without knowing the subject of this post, she sadly informed me that in the future, there will be no 5c coins. She is aware of the demise of the 1c and 2c coins only because she’s seen old specimens around the house. She went on, ‘And then there will be no 10c, or 20c.’ I said, ‘Dollar coins will be like 1c, and it will cost three hundred million dollars to buy a house.’
‘I will never have enough money to buy one,’ she said dejectedly. And then we laughed. It made me think that maybe we start sentimentalising the past a lot earlier than we realise; while we’re living it, in the present. We hold dear to the familiar and fear the unknown.
What I find fascinating about this tendency, is that it’s now happening around me. My peers are engaging in it, and it’s sometimes easy to fall right in with them. We demonise the young the same way as previous generations. And we thought we’d never become like them. Funny about that.
What I find uncomfortable about it is that it means age is catching up…or to put it another way, youthful exuberance is being replaced with narrow-mindedness and fear. For this reason, I try as often as possible to think outside the square, to keep up with the times, and to stay in the now. I figure the more I practice doing it, the more I’ll be able to do it as I get older.
From time to time, I receive an email with a whole list of reasons why life was better in the 40s, 50s, 60s and 70s than it is now. Past childhood experiences are being held up against present-day ones, which in comparison seem sanitised, lacklustre, boring and even depraved.
Sure, every era has its challenges, and we have some doozies nowadays. But let’s not let the rose-coloured glasses of childhoods past tell us that there were no problems back then to challenge even the most resourceful of parents.
Recalling some of the ‘glories of the past’ mentioned in aforesaid emails makes quite a humorous list – if it weren’t so tragic.
Sure, seatbelts weren’t needed in cars. Children could happily bounce around in the backseat while going on jolly Sunday drives with their parents. It all sounds great if we didn’t know what we know now. Seatbelts save lives, and in the past, many children perished while riding in cars without being safely strapped in.
Oh, we got every possible communicable disease and still lived to tell the tale. Yeah, right. Before mass immunisation programs, literally hundreds of children died every year from now-preventable diseases. I was one of those ‘tough’ children of the sixties who lived through Measles and Whooping Cough. I can laugh about the coughing fits that rendered me breathless for excruciatingly long seconds while my mother tugged at my arm in shops and told me to stop it so nobody would know and order us out of there. Looking back, it seems funny. That’s because I was lucky enough to contract the illness at the age of 5 and was strong enough not to die.
And weren’t we a much more functional, social bunch of people, who actually had to use the telephone to contact each other, or do the unthinkable in terms of current noughties etiquette… pop in on our friends when we thought they might be home? After all, we had so much more time on our hands then. While we busily bemoan our kids’ seemingly mindless forays into MSN, Facebook and other online social networks, while we obsess about the dangers of cyber-bullying lurking there, we forget about the positive forces of such social networking. I’ve got the feelers out for this stuff – having one daughter who uses it probably more frequently than I’d like – and apart from the time element, which parents can control, it’s all positive. There are other young people I know who use these online social networks for good instead of evil, and through them, keep in touch with many friends they may otherwise have lost touch with, some of them now living overseas. That is an incredibly powerful and positive force in young people’s lives. What parents need to do is to work on the emotional and social intelligence necessary to negotiate online social networking (and the face-to-face variety, for that matter). All being okay there, there is little trouble young people will fall prey to.
And what about the velocity of life nowadays? Indeed, life was slow-paced back a few decades, and the older generation will tell you we could experience life in a far more measured way. Properly. Well, I know life is busy, and mine less than some people I know, but I remember my mother being too busy to come to anything held at school for parents. These events weren’t held every other week like they are now, mind you. They probably happened once or twice a year. I remember once asking her to come and see me act in a comedy skit our class was contributing to a whole-school performance. She told me she couldn’t come because she was busy. I don’t remember what she had to do, but it was probably the grocery shopping or a doctor’s appointment that could perhaps have been tweaked to accommodate my momentous stage debut. In the end, I wasn’t hurt or traumatised by her apparent lack of interest. I was secure in my parents’ love, so I accepted her decision without dwelling on it longer than a minute. Now I often bring it up so I can laugh about it. So different from nowadays – and not in a good way. It’s great that parents now choose to spend more time - even though we are apparently busier than ever – taking part in their kids’ lives. I believe that both parents’ and children’s lives are enriched by it.
So if you catch yourself bemoaning the muddle our planet’s getting into, take time to stop and smell the roses. And then roll up your sleeves and see if you can’t lend a hand to being part of the solution. If you don’t get enough leisure time with your kids, make the necessary changes to your life so it’s a possibility. If you worry about handing down a polluted environment to the next generation, there are small, powerful things we can all do to change attitudes and ultimately, global outcomes. Don’t be paralysed by the past, no matter how seductive its pull. Find the positives in the here and now, and if you miss something golden from the olden days, find a way to resurrect it (I hear the current generation of young adults - what letter of the alphabet are we up to now? – is right into vintage clothes, buying from op-shops and recycling).
For the sake of our kids and grandkids, we need to stay in step. They will thank us for it.
Have you noticed that modesty, as in being humble about one’s own achievements, seems to have gone out of style?
When I was a kid my parents were always proud of my achievements. They heaped praise on my brother and me whenever we did well at school, sport or in life. But they made it clear that it was very poor form indeed for us (or them) to brag about our achievements to others. We were taught to accept praise from others gracefully, with a simple ‘thank you’ but to never ‘fish’ for compliments, let alone boast about our accomplishments.
I believe this is a rule that has served me well over time. Practical Man and I have sought to instil the same value in our kids.
Recently I was embarrassed to hear Middle Kid tell a guest that he was the best speller in his class. I admonished him, telling him it wasn’t nice to brag. He looked confused. “Why?” he asked. “It’s true. I am the best speller in the class.”
“It may or may not be true,” I replied. “But that’s not the point. The point is, W doesn’t need to know you are the best speller in the class. She doesn’t need you to tell her that.”
After our guest left I had a long talk with Middle Kid, explaining to him that people didn’t need him to point out his good points to them. I told him that when he interacted with others they would be able to tell that he was intelligent and conscientious and that he was also kind and funny. “Let other people discover your talents for themselves.” I told him. “It’s rude to tell people how ‘good’ you are, but it’s also unnecessary.” I went on to explain that being the ‘best’ at something is only an achievement if it is your best and that there were kids in his grade who might have got half the words in the spelling test wrong but were still achieving a personal best.
I think he understood my point, but it is easy to see why he might be confused. It seems that being modest isn’t something that is being taught by parents these days. In the competitive 21st Century, where toddlers are enrolled in early learning programs in order to ‘get ahead’, it seems that bragging has shaken off its seedy past and is now mixing in polite society.
I have just spent an hour with the head of tutoring school. Big Kid needs some extra help with mathematics and so we are employing some outside help. This morning, the head of the school came over for me to sign some paperwork. In the space of an hour this man told me (“I don’t like to talk about myself, but…”) that he had gone to Oxford University at 14 years of age, he had excelled in every subject he took, he had owned seven houses by the time he was 19, he was better than most teachers in secondary schools because they “teach nothing these days.”
I was gobsmacked. I barely got a word in for the whole hour. Perhaps he thought that I would be impressed by his achievements. I wasn’t. In fact his self indulgent monologue made me reconsider whether I wanted to pursue the tutoring arrangement. It was only the fact that my son won’t be taught by this man that convinced me to continue.
For some people it’s not their own achievements they’re bragging about. Parental bragging has become so common in our society that many parents don’t even realise they are doing it. I have a friend who is an intelligent, talented and interesting woman. At least she used to be – before she had children. P has the perfect pigeon pair, a boy and a girl. Her kids are smart and athletic, they’re doing very well at school. B was dux of his primary school and has received the highest academic prize in each year level since. He’s captain of the school cricket team. G is also clever, she’s won academic prizes and made it to the regional championships in cross country. She didn’t win, because she “…didn’t even train. She’s just a natural talent.”
How do I know all this? P told me, of course. We used to talk about books, movies and politics. Now when we get together we talk about kids. Her kids. Oh, she always asks after my kids, but I’m sure she’s not interested. After all, my kids are not gifted, talented, athletic specimens like her own children, are they? Well, she’s not ever likely to know whether they are or not, because tempting as it is to play the “me too” game, I refuse to buy into that type of competitive point scoring. What she doesn’t realise is that I have formed my own opinions of her kids, based on my interactions with them. B is a lovely kid. He’s smart, witty and more importantly, he’s nice. G, on the other hand, is manipulative and sullen. She exhibits some very disturbing qualities, but her mother seems blissfully unaware of her daughter’s shortcomings.
I think it pays to remember that we can’t manage the opinions of others. People are going to make up their own minds about whether we are smart, funny, athletic, kind, nice or whatever. That being the case, it doesn’t really pay to be shouting our (or our kids’) achievements from the rooftops.
After all, nobody likes a bragger.
didn’t do much!
I’m sure that’s what my kids will write when they return to school on Monday!
I made no plans at all for these holidays and so far that’s worked out just fine. We’ve had a relaxing and enjoyable time, free from drama.
On the first Saturday of the holidays everyone was content to sleep in and then hang about in their PJs for a bit. The afternoon was taken up with doing chores. The kids helped weed and tidy the garden after giving their rooms a clean. Although not a totally pleasurable experience, they did seem to have fun using the gardening tools. Little Kid was especially proud of helping to do “grown up” jobs.
That night Practical Man, Big Kid and I went to the football. Big Kid loves it when he is taken to an event without his younger brothers. As we sheltered from the pouring rain at Flinders St Station, I asked him why he was so pleased his brothers weren’t with us. His answer was simple, “I get to talk to you more.”
On Sunday I headed out to Trailwalker training while the boys hung out at home with PM. They lazed about for a bit and then went to the local nursery to buy some lime trees. After planting the trees PM took them all to the local ice cream parlour as a treat and a reward for all their help in the garden.
The first week flew by without us doing too much. Our football team made it into the AFL Grand Final, so on the Monday I bundled the boys into the car and we headed down the highway to Geelong, to watch our team’s final public training session. Practical Man met us at my brother’s house and we all (our family and my brother’s family) headed to the ground on foot. Even Middle Kid (who is not football mad) got caught up in the excitement. He enjoyed spending the time with his cousins and was particularly enamoured of the sausage sizzle put on by the cheer squad.
Early in the week we did a bit of book shopping. Little Kid purchased another Anna Fienberg book, Minton Goes! Underwater & Home at Last. Middle Kid got the latest Andy Griffith offering, while Big Kid added to his JK Rowling collection. I grabbed Debra Adelaide’s The Household Guide to Dying for myself. So we were set for a week full of indulgent lay ins and lazing on the couch. (I’ll do a separate post on our holiday reading at some point!)
The Minton book led to a paper mache hot air balloon being constructed by Little Kid. As always Andy Griffith sent Middle Kid into peals of laughter. MK spent many hours drawing the characters from the book and constructing new stories about them.
We all had friends over to play. For me that meant time to catch up with my teaching friends, who are all so dedicated that it’s hard to find time for proper get-togethers during the school term.
Ligia and I did a “kid swap” during the second week, which provided us both with a bit of much needed sanity. Our kids get on very well. My bigger boys loved having Ratty here for the night and they were happy to have a break from Little Kid’s constant chatter.
Our football team won the premiership, much to our great delight. Practical Man and I were lucky enough to be at the game and the boys watched it at home with an indulgent babysitter. The celebrations continued into this week and we all trundled back down to Geelong for the Victory Parade on Tuesday.
On Wednesday Ligia and I and most of our kids headed in to Book and Paper, a bookshop in Williamstown, to participate in a pirate party. Our friend, Sherryl Clark, was signing books there that day, and of course the kids were all keen to buy her latest offerings and have them signed on the spot.
Yesterday Big Kid was dropped off at the local shopping centre. He and a friend shopped, wandered and ate for a couple of hours while I took the other boys to meet friends at a park. Big Kid is growing up and I expect this type of excursion will become more and more frequent. Some of his friends have part-time jobs now. It doesn’t seem so long ago that he was a tiny baby, dependent on me for everything. I remember longing for him to gain some independence so I could have some of my old freedom back. Now he’s capable of doing most things on his own, I wonder where all the time in between has gone.
Our luxurious, indulgent holiday is almost at an end now. I’m sure when the kids go back to school they’ll be envious for a moment of all the kids who have travelled to theme parks, been taken to movies , bowling and other fun activities. But hopefully they’ll look back on these holidays and realise that there was some fun to be had by doing nothing much at all.
A friend emailed this article to me today. Thought I’d leave the link here for you read. Let us know your thoughts.
Popular folklore is full of stories of winning against the odds, of remarkable comebacks, of David and Goliath struggles. Of ignoring rejections until someone comes along who will recognise the great undiscovered talent that lies within. We love these stories, don’t we? Love the story of penniless J.K. Rowling writing her fabulous, yet-to-be-discovered Harry Potter sensation while mooching in the cafes around her local area. How many times have we heard of the countless rejections she received before hitting the highest of mega-heights with her runaway success series of books?
My personal favourite triumph-against-the-odds story is that of Stephen Bradbury, our very first Winter Olympics Gold Medallist! I find this story enormously charming, and I never, ever, tire of thinking or talking about it. Even now, more than seven years later, it still makes me giggle and feel wonderful. It’s the eternal you’ve-gotta-be-in-it-to-win-it story, the definitive lesson in never giving up because that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is real and one never knows when it might actually land in our lap.
Imagine being a 28 year-old athlete, competing at what will undoubtedly be your last Olympic Games. Imagine making it into the final 1000m skating race only because three of the other competitors fell over in the semi-final and the winner was disqualified. Imagine trailing a bad fifth all through the final race, and then coming home to win it because the other four competitors got under each other’s feet and ended up in a tangle on the side of the track only metres from the finish line, too late to get up and scramble to victory. A look at the video clip I’ve included above will show how well-timed the skaters’ falls were. If they’d fallen any earlier in the race, they would surely have been able to get back into it. In the shock and disorientation of the aftermath, it took the judges a good ten minutes to consider whether the bizarre result could be considered valid. Eventually, they declared Bradbury the winner. Afterwards, when asked if he felt he deserved to win the gold medal, Bradbury replied confidently that he did. He had managed to get as far as the final, and that was a valid enough reason to claim gold once he got over the finish line first. No matter how he got there. Very true, and good luck to him, I reckon.
Stories like J.K. Rowling’s and Bradbury’s give us strength to go on when we’re facing opposition, rejection and repeated failures. That’s a good thing, right?
Not necessarily. There comes a time when it’s a good idea to listen to what others are saying to us and re-assess our position. There comes a time when fantasy must give way to reality. Either that, or risk living in la-la land where nothing is ever achieved, where we always come up with some lame excuse for our shortcomings instead of being pro-active.
For every J.K. Rowling and Stephen Bradbury, there are thousands, no, millions of people who need to take a long, hard look at themselves and pull up their socks. I refer specifically to people who continally make excuses for their bad behaviour, or inability to achieve the goals they set for themselves, and who blame others for these shortcomings. For these people (I’ll refer to them as the Helpless here), it’s not a case of waiting until someone discovers the gold that lies beneath, but of coming to terms with reality and cleaning up their act.
This is not an easy thing to do. Denial, or blaming others for personal failings and weaknesses provides a shield against the real world. It’s a shield the Helpless find it easy to hide behind. In the shadow provided by the shield, it’s okay for the Helpless to languish in their own incompetence, to ignore the advice of those who care enough to comment or to offer help. For in general, people do want to be helpful. But these attempts to encourage are often seen as attacks and criticisms. Instead of rising to the challenge, the Helpless sink further into a victim type of mentality, where they turn anybody who questions their actions into an enemy. It’s a clever strategy, in a way, because it allows the Helpless to justify to themselves and to the world that they have received unjust treatment and it is others who must make amends. From this viewpoint, it’s convenient for the Helpless to sit by and do nothing. A stalemate is created that negates any catalyst for positive change.
In schools, this type of denial of reality – the Helpless mentality – is evident in both students and parents. There is the child who always blames someone else when they lose their temper and hit a fellow student in the playground. This can be the child who has little impulse control, and who settles arguments with a fist in place of negotiation. It’s extremely difficult to help these children to look inwardly and reflect on their own behaviour. The notion of changing oneself as opposed to forcing others to change is a foreign one.
Helpless parents can be seen aiding and abetting their children to become members of the Helpless in their turn. When their children are having difficulty with school work, or socialising, Helpless parents will start off with excuses. It will be another child’s fault that their darling got into an argument, or didn’t finish homework. They were distracted, led astray, bullied. When teachers become involved and make their observations known to these parents in an effort to fix a problem situation, they often end up being demonised. Every teacher has witnessed the poor child who is shunted from school to school by a parent who is looking for Nirvana. The one educational setting where their child won’t be picked on by students and teachers alike.
When we are hearing the same story from multiple sources, it’s wise to take the hint and start reflecting. Yes, we do love the stories where the underdog proved everybody wrong, but it’s not often everybody is wrong. Taking the hint is sometimes the best thing we can do for ourselves.
So I guess the moral of the story is, work hard, face your critics and then keep working to improve weaknesses. Some of us may end up becoming the Rowlings or Bradburys of the world, though our successes may not reach quite those dizzy heights. When we are rewarded with success, no matter how small, we should greet it ecstatically, for the road to larger achievements is always paved with the small, seemingly insignificant victories. J.K. Rowling wouldn’t be where she is now if she’d decided all those editors who told her her books were rubbish had nothing to offer at all. I’m willing to bet she took advice along the way as she learnt her craft. I’m certain she kept her ear to the ground and listened carefully to take advantage of any crucial hints that came her way.
And as for Steve Bradbury, he’d already won an Olympic bronze medal in an earlier Winter Olympics. Wasn’t it wonderful that he didn’t sit back and accept that was the best he would ever be and instead kept skating and training hard to make it into another Olympic team? Perhaps there were people who told him he was washed up and it was time he quit, and perhaps he didn’t listen to them. But maybe, just maybe, there were enough people in Bradbury’s life who told him he had another Olympics in him – and Bradbury took the hint.
Hectic.
If I had to choose one word to describe the last week hectic would be it.
You may have noticed the posts have been a little thin on the ground around here lately. Both Ligia and I have been extremely busy these past few weeks and eventually something had to give. Blogging has taken a backseat to full-time jobs, writing fiction, attending school plays, parades, literacy and numeracy activities and so on. You know how it goes!
As the year gets closer to the “silly season” things are only going to get more hectic for us mums. Reluctantly, Ligia and I have decided will be not be posting quite as frequently as we have been. Don’t worry we’ll still be here on a regular basis, two or three times a week, but we won’t be posting daily for a while. Of course we are still interested in all your questions, comments and feedback, so please continue to contact us via email – ligia@themumfiles.com.au or lisa@themumfiles.com.au, or just click on the comments button and type away!
So… to my week. I’ll spare you the all the boring bits (shopping, cleaning, cooking, writing, meetings) and just hit the high/low lights!
This week was the second week of Literacy and Numeracy week at the boys’ school. My observation to other parents that the teachers couldn’t count (WEEK : singular, NOT plural) was met with weak smiles of agreement as we all squeezed our kids into yet another bloody homemade costume. Little Kid made his own costume for the Letterland Parade and was the subject of many sympathetic looks. I’m surprised there wasn’t a prize awarded to him for “Most Neglected Child”.
On Tuesday I travelled to Ballarat (70 minute drive) to spend the day in Her Majesty’s Theatre. Middle Kid was part of a choir competing at the Royal South Street Competition. The singing was lovely and all kids participating did a truly wonderful job. Unfortunately there were a few scheduling hiccups and our kids didn’t go on until 12pm – they were scheduled to perform at 1oam. The half-day I had allocated to the event turned into a full day and I got a parking fine for my trouble. And when I pulled into McDonalds on the way home for a much needed caffeine hit the coffee machine was broken. I resisted the urge to stuff an Oreo McFlurry down my throat instead (but only just!)
Some of my week was spent shopping for Big Kid, who left on his first big hike with scouts on Friday. I couldn’t take a trick with sizes and most items bought had to be returned at least once before the correct fit was found.
Friday afternoon, in the midst of helping Big Kid pack I realised that there would be girls on the camp/hike as well. As I looked around Big Kid’s electic (okay, extremely messy) bedroom, where posters of football heroes and favourite bands fight with images of Harry Potter for wall space, it suddenly hit me that my first born child is capable of having sex.
Oh My God!
Of course I don’t expect that he would choose to have sex with anyone at this tender age, but realistically it’s a possibility. And even if he’s not “going all the way” (Oh God , surely not???) there’s all that awkward pre-intercourse fumbling that’s bound to start happening soon. I know from good sources (dobbing little brothers) that he has kissed at least one girl.
I start to wonder if I have taught him well. Does he know how to treat girls respectfully? Will he behave in an appropriate manner?
I initiate a conversation about the girls going on the camp.
Are there girls going that he likes?
Yes, they’re all nice and lots of fun. Everyone in his group is nice.
Hmmm. Is there a girl that he particularly likes?
No.
Okay. But there will probably be lots of girls from other packs at the camp.
He grins and then he says the words I want to hear. “Don’t worry mum, I know how to behave around girls. I’m not an idiot.”
And there is something in his boyish smile that makes me believe him.
With Big Kid safely despatched to camp and the other kids bribed into good behaviour with the promise of a “sleepover” in Middle Kid’s room, I was finally free to spend some time doing something exclusively for me.
My latest obsession is participating in The 2010 Oxfam Trailwalker (Melbourne). Trailwalker is a fundraising event for Oxfam. Teams of four walk a challenging 100km course within a 48 hour period. It’s a team event, but not a relay. All four team members must start and finish together. My friend, Ellen, was keen to put together a team and asked if I was interested. I wavered for a few days, because it is a massive time commitment and my participation will mean a lot of time spent away from my family. I talked it over with Practical Man and he encouraged me to “go for it.”
Friday night the team (Ellen, her friend Emma, my friend Jenelle, and me) got together at my house for our first meeting. I was a little nervous beforehand, wondering if we would all “gel”. I was also concerned that I would be the weakest link in the team and that the others would regret inviting me to be part of it! I’m pleased to say the evening went really well. There were lots of laughs and it seems that we are all very compatible. We’ve planned our first official training session and committed ourselves to a regular training schedule in the new year. I think I probably am the weakest link fitness wise, but nobody seemed to mind, and I feel confident that we all bring different strengths to the team.
Today, while Practical Man heads off to help transport the campers home, I’m heading into the city with Middle Kid and Little Kid. We’re meeting up with my cousin’s husband, who is in town for a conference. I haven’t seen him for quite some time so we have a lot of catching up to do!
That was the week that was!
The saying, When the going gets tough, the tough get going, is often linked with impossible quests, with adventures or challenges where only the most diehard contender would have a chance of success.
It is not so. Perseverance is accessible to everybody, can be applied to the most basic and mundane of circumstances, and what’s more, there isn’t much to it. All you have to remember when learning something new, is to not give up at the first sign of difficulty. Of course, there are some things that are worth giving up, where it’s not in our best interests to persevere. Where the obstacles are so great that it’s realistic and advantageous to seek out another avenue where success will come more easily, or will at least be possible.
But I’m not writing about hopeless quests here, where the odds are stacked irrefutably against an overwhelmingly inferior contestant. No, what I’m writing about is the stuff of everyday. The simple achievements, or steps on the road to larger accomplishments that are within everybody’s reach.
In my years in schools, I’ve seen many students fail, or at the very least miss golden opportunities through an inability to stick at the hard things. Teachers with little insight into their students’ motivation sometimes fall into the trap of labelling such children as having too little drive, no ambition or desire to succeed. These children are often seen as lacking the self-discipline required to work hard enough to reap rewards.
Perseverance, like a lot of other personal skills, can be taught. Most people with a drive to succeed, who are ambitious, industrious and methodical in their approach to learning, have learned these skills from their parents. Children with parents who can’t stick at anything are unlikely to turn up at school with diligence tucked firmly inside their backpacks. It is in this way, that a family culture of apathy, and reluctance to push through pain barriers – sometimes psychological ones – can prevent children from realising their potential.
Sadly, it’s kids like these who are judged by their choices and behaviour, not their potential. With the right structure and guidance, they are capable of achieving highly. But without this inner sense of discipline, when challenges present themselves, they most often choose giving up over the rigours of perseverance. Unfortunately, it’s children whose family culture supports this kind of giving up who are most disadvantaged. When they come up against something difficult, they start to become disengaged. When teachers start turning up the pressure to complete tasks, or to stay on the learning track, these children take their grievances to the place they’re most likely to find a sympathetic ear: Home. Parents who have no experience of perseverance will often buy into their child’s distress and turn up to the school to argue their child’s case.
It’s here that the goals of parents and teachers become diametrically opposed. Instead of parents and teachers being on the same team, helping children to learn the life skills that will help them navigate their adult lives more productively, the game turns into one of sabotage. The child is able to successfully enlist the help of an adult to avoid the hard yards of school and other areas of their life.
It’s easy to blame parents who give in to their child’s protests, becoming co-conspirators against teachers’ strategies to facilitate the learning process. It’s easy to find fault, to conclude these parents are hopeless, uncaring, or worse – negligent. But these parents were probably never pushed beyond their limits by anybody in their family. They did not have the advantages of watching a parent persevering and succeeding. Most likely, they lacked the models needed to develop this vital personal quality. The consequence is that such parents are therefore unable to pass this vital quality on to their children. It’s a case of lacking the tools, rather than the ability.
Sometimes, such parents will listen to a teacher’s advice regarding their child. It takes courage for them to disregard the child’s protests and support the teacher’s course of action, but when they do, the results often amaze.
Years ago, I was in charge of teaching the recorder in the school where I worked. Naturally, the ability levels of the groups that I formed were widely varied. There were some kids who picked up new skills with ease and were able to reap quick rewards from their efforts. There were others who took longer to learn, and achievements were more gradual. There were some who seemed stuck on perfecting the same, simple skills week after week without much luck. When those children expressed a desire to leave the group, they were still encouraged to see it through to the end of the year. This was done to give them the best possible chance of developing the desired skills. Sometimes a slow start gave way to solid understandings that then enabled the student to progress and get a lot of pleasure out of making music. This is why persevering and not just giving up at the first signs of difficulty is so enormously important.
There was one particular student (I’ll call her Stacey), who was doing well, but had hit The Wall and wanted to leave. The Wall usually comes when the initial excitement about learning a new instrument subsides and is replaced with the relentless reality of everyday practice-time. It is a time of needing to put a little more in to get a whole lot more out. At beginner level, the commitment is usually between half an hour to an hour a week. Spread out across seven days it’s no more than ten minutes a day. Nonetheless, this new and constant routine is often the reason a lot of kids give up music, sport, and anything else that requires practice in order to develop skills and improve.
Stacey’s mother came to see me and told me she was going to quit recorder because she wasn’t enjoying it. I wondered whether this mother had been allowed to quit when the going got tough. I wondered if her distress about Stacey continuing recorder was really her anxiety about Stacey feeling uncomfortable for any length of time. Parents do get awfully distressed when their children are unhappy, but sometimes that unhappiness can lead to learning an important life lesson. I felt that was the case here with Stacey, so I persevered and put my case to her mother.
We had a bit of a discussion about what playing an instrument involved. I explained that it would be difficult to begin with, but once that hurdle was overcome, the pleasure and rewards of making music usually made up for the work required in keeping going. I told the mother that Stacey had a lot of potential (she really did), and that she should stick with it until the end of the year. If she still hated it then, it would be okay to quit. At least she could do so knowing she’d given it a decent go. Stacey’s mother agreed to put this plan to Stacey, and in the end, the girl decided to keep recorder going at least the end of the year. It was just as well. By the end of the year, she had improved so much, and had gotten over The Wall to such an extent that she was one of the leaders in the recorder group. Her mother came to see me to tell me how much Stacey was now loving playing the recorder and that practice time was not difficult to schedule in.
I hoped that both Stacey and her mother learned that quitting too early sometimes means missing out on something very, very special in life. And those opportunities sometimes don’t come around again.
Lisa
Ligia