And to think, I nearly didn’t go…

For one reason or another last week seemed to drag on forever. Friday arrived and I still had another morning of tutoring and an afternoon of training with our new tutors to go. I needed a diversion, so I went to the private screening of a film, Girl Rising, that I had been undecided about. I am so glad that I did!

I went with low expectations, a hope for an hour or so diversion, but I received so much more. From the opening scene I was completely gripped. If the measure of success for a film is emotional exhaustion, this one scores 10 out of 10. I laughed, I cried, I cried again, and at the end I carried part of it away with me, and it stayed with me all weekend.  I tried to explain it to Mark, but I couldn’t do it justice; it is simply something that you need to see. However, I will try to explain it to you, which is what the representative from World Vision asked us to do. Here goes.

Education for all children is something I clearly support, but running alongside that, for much of the world’s population, is gender inequality. Here are some compelling statistics from the film:

• There are 33 million fewer girls than boys in primary schooling and 66 million girls don’t attend school at all globally.

• Girls with 8 years of education are 4 times less likely to be married as children.

• 14 million girls under 18 will be married this year. That’s 38 thousand today – or 13 girls in the last 30 seconds.

• The #1 cause of death for girls 15-19 is childbirth. Yes, you read that right. CHILD BIRTH! IN CHILDREN!

The film is stunningly shot and beautifully crafted. It follows the stories of 9 girls in developing countries, whose challenging tales are scripted by professional writers from their own countries. Each story is narrated by a famous actor (including Cate Blanchett and Anne Hathaway), and interspersed with horrific statistics like the ones above.

This movie educates, inspires, moves, shocks and asks audiences to take action. Each girl’s story is recreated in film, using various artistic styles—animation, documentary, and re-enactments. The girls star in their own stories apart from an 11yr old Afghan girl, whose role was played by an actress to protect her safety.   Her identity could not be compromised because her husband (yes, husband) and community would most likely kill her if they found out she was speaking out in protest against her situation. However, despite her struggle, she is able to gain education due to the generosity of free educational groups.

I learned about the types of situations and circumstances that can be avoided if a girl is educated and attends school.  My favourite story, if you can possibly have a favourite, was abut Wadley (pictured above), who was displaced from her school due to the devastating earthquake of Haiti, insisting that she was allowed in school even though her family couldn’t afford it. She is surrounded by devastation and everyday challenges that we simply cannot comprehend, yet continues to share with everyone her gorgeous and unstoppable smile.

All these girls fight through unthinkable situations and circumstances to receive access to education. We often take education for granted. We shouldn’t. We should see it for what it is; something precious that literally millions of other children around the world can only dream of. I sympathise with parents who face the challenge of balancing their children’s lives so that they include sports, all of the other activities on offer, and education. We are so used to having easy access to things that simply don’t exist in other parts of the world, we have somehow reached a stage where we think of them all as equal. They are not.

Put simply, education is the most important gift that a child can receive. Everything else that they do, from relationships to travel to work to sports, is interpreted largely through the education they receive. There are of course elements of natural ability, upbringing, cultural environment and societal influences, but all of this is made more useful, circumspect, functional and worldly, through education. There is no substitute; no calculator, iPad or smartphone can replace an agile, knowledge-filled brain that has the ability to adapt and reason in any environment. Computer games, netball, hanging out with friends, are transient, education is for life. Watch Girl Rising and you will understand.

For those waiting with baited breath for our next blog instalment, apologies, we have both been burning the candle at both ends running the existing business, managing the purchase of our new centre in Valley View and recruiting staff for both! It would be an understatement to say that it has been a busy time! End of term break? What end of term break?

Which brings me to my ticklish topic for the week: how much control should parents really allow their kids over whether they attend tutoring or not? It is a difficult area for parents, because of course tutoring is not school, and therefore not mandatory, so as a parent can you really insist that your child attends tutoring if they make it clear that they don’t want to?

It is a question faced by many parents after an end of term break, and even more so after the summer holidays. Let’s face facts; we are talking about kids, whether they are in primary or secondary school, and after a week or more of video games, sleeping in late and hanging around with friends, any form of mental exercise will sound less than appealing, especially if it is in addition to school. In fact, Mark and I are more surprised by the students who are eager to return to tutoring after the holidays than those who drag their feet.

This is where the ‘tough love’ element comes in I’m afraid. Unless something miraculous has happened during the break, and your child has suddenly gained maths or English knowledge they did not possess at the end of the previous term, those skill gaps will still remain and tutoring will still be required. As someone who has completed their schooling and knows the value knowledge has at University, other forms of further education and in the workplace, you have a responsibility to use that perspective to advise your child.

If your child says ‘I don’t want to go anymore’, you have to recognise that this is a natural reaction to losing the freedom of the holidays, and be wise enough and tough enough to urge them on. Make no mistake, this is a huge responsibility; if they are remedial and there are significant skill gaps, your response to their attempt at giving up will impact on the rest of their schooling and potentially their working life.

If you are unsure how to handle the conversation, or need support, ask the tutor. As noted, this is not an uncommon post-holiday reaction, and any experienced tutor will have faced this challenge many times before. When the stakes are this high, a tough conversation is a small price to pay.

I hasten to add by the way that it is extremely rare for the negativity to last even to the end of the first session, at least in our centres; students soon relax back in to familiar surroundings and get on with their work. So please relax, kids are remarkably resilient, it is the parents who agonise! Any doubts your child has now will be more than compensated for when they can read at the level of their peers, or achieve their first ‘B’ or ‘A’ in maths. These are the things that matter, the things that have long term value.

Have a great week!

I freely admit that today I am suffering the after effects of too much fun. Last night Mark and I helped celebrate the half century achievement of a lovely woman and friend whose selflessness makes anyone she comes across an instant friend. Put simply, if you don’t like her, your friend radar has gone extremely wonky!

Anyway, as is common for all similar celebrations, the passing years attract people of all ages and from all walks of life, from her lovely, accomplished and attractive daughters and their friends to us, of the, um, ever so slightly older generation, and beyond. If the numbers of people who attend your birthday celebrations is a measure of your value to others, she is highly valued indeed.

But this is not a commentary on our friend’s social acceptance, but instead the form of the party itself. It is normal at these events for people to gather in their usual peer groups, facing inwards, backs to the rest of the world as a protective barrier, passing between them the hot potatoes of shared stories that guarantee that no stranger can force their way in. But not at this one.

Our friend’s master stroke was to introduce a theme, a small and, in some cases, exceedingly hairy device that effectively disguised all partygoers: wigs. Long, short, curly, straight, or, in my Mark’s case, mohawked and multi-coloured! The result was hilarious confusion as longstanding friends struggled to locate each other and were forced to introduce themselves to complete strangers in a wig-infested elimination round.

Men of all ages returned to the dark days of the 80s rock gods, but although some of the younger ones seemed to enjoy this renaissance of hair, and quite suited it, it has to be said that the effect of combining shimmering locks with middle-aged spread was not always as positive.

Of course, the girls didn’t take it too seriously, just bit of fun really. No, not really, in some quarters it was all out war to try and out glamorise the competition! Greying, short, sensible haircuts disappeared under flowing tresses in all hues, matched to outfits that certainly hadn’t been just hanging around in the closet!

Basically, we all ‘went to town’, and had a great time for the first part of the evening re-introducing ourselves to the new personalities our friends had become, and introducing ourselves to the people we thought could be our friends and soon would be! 

As the evening wore on, and the bar staff fought to keep up, we moved in to a new stage, as the carefully staged wig and outfit combinations were stripped apart and wig-swapping became the latest craze. At last count, in the wee hours, one friend had managed to beg, borrow and barter, at least a dozen wigs, each of which became a new Facebook identity. There must be many of her friends unconnected with the party completely baffled by the quick fire transformations!

My point in all of this hairy mayhem is that the wigs acted as a social leveller. We were suddenly all the same; confused, self-conscious and ever so slightly itchy. We moved through the party in disguise, free to talk to whomever we wanted, without the social barriers that usually apply. In short, it was great fun and I highly recommend it.

Oops, I’m supposed to have an educational theme in here somewhere. Let’s see. Don’t judge a book by its cover?  Treat others as you wish to be treated? Actually, there may be something in that; so many of ‘our’ kids arrive with labels and histories, carried before them almost as a pre-judgement. But we refuse to let history colour our present with them. Our centre is a new start for many of them, and I honestly believe that this more than anything else has helped many of them to succeed. Sermon over, I’m off for yet another Sunday recovery cup of tea!

When I was a young girl, way back before iPads, smartphones and laptops, thanking someone for a present, or asking Santa Claus for something special, meant writing a letter. I’ll let that sink in for a moment for those born after the dawn of the keyboard.

Have you recovered? Yes, I really did say the words ‘writing’ and ‘letter’, ancient terms that bring to mind the horse and carriage, knights in shining armour and the invention of the wheel. But that’s not all. I am going to shock you even more: I still hand write letters! And thank you cards, and post cards, and invitations.

Why do I do this in an age when messages can be sent with a few button presses or key strokes and people no longer expect whole sentences in communications? Well, partly it is precisely for that reason, because it is unexpected, outside the norm, and I do like to be a little bit different. 

It also makes me feel good using all of those words that I have stored in my brain over the years and rarely get a chance to use. There is an undeniable pleasure in grouping together just the right words, in just the right order, and creating something that is far more than simply a combination of letters and spaces. Words can evoke emotion, describe a landscape unseen, put substance to an idea and take the reader back to a shared memory.

Can we do the same in a conversation? In part, but conversation throws words away, writing saves them. Also, when we speak we are hampered by other factors; time, convention, the natural reserve of sharing too much in public, the need to be liked and take other people’s opinions into account. When we are writing we can stretch out in our own space, take as much time as we need, be selfish, get all the emotional stuff out in the open, use those big words that would make us sound la de da in public, because we can.

There is a freedom to express in writing that is difficult to find in conversation. No matter how many times I speak by phone with my Aunt back in the UK, who I have always had a close bond with, I can somehow never get her past the discomfort of speaking on the phone with someone thousands of kilometres away. It is like talking with someone I barely know. So, in between phone calls, I write, and in those letters I can share all of the things I can’t by phone. And it works; we connect far better by writing than long distance talking.

Some time ago I began writing to my goddaughters. I have a few, seven in fact, all fast-growing girls and young ladies towards whom I feel a moral responsibility. The letter-writing with them is a little hit and miss, but I am pleased that my eldest goddaughter (17) and I now regularly write back and forth, and this has added a new level to our relationship. We share things that I am sure we would not do when speaking; writing somehow creates this lovely intimate and trusting environment, separate to the ‘real’ world.

We recently ran a contest at the centre, asking the kids to write persuasive letters to Kip McGrath, convincing him that their families were deserving of an all-costs family ticket to the Royal Adelaide Show. I was surprised by the number of entries, and more so by the obvious care taken in writing them. The winner was written by one of our younger students, who has struggled with the early stages of reading and writing, and spent three days writing his letter. He included a bribe in the form of a ‘bucket of fairy floss’ for Kip, but the main reason for his win, apart from the quality and honesty of his letter, was the use of an envelope, properly addressed to Mr Kip McGrath. I was genuinely moved by his efforts and, obviously, so was Kip.

All of which, dear reader, brings me round to you. I want you to try, writing that is. A little thank you note, or a letter to your Mum, or your children; something that forces you to stop, pick up a pen and focus on the act of writing, just for a few minutes. Then, let that letter float away from you, straight in to the nearest post box. You may be pleasantly surprised by the reaction you get, first to the use of ‘snail mail’, but then, just perhaps, to the time and care you have invested in sending them a special message.

I firmly believe that the ability to express oneself in writing is a key skill that everyone should possess. Whether it is writing (emailing) a new idea to the boss, recording a daily diary, or crafting a carefully worded dissertation, there really is no excuse for not being able to tell your own story. This is after all a key part of our development as human beings.
All of which gives me an excuse to be fascinated by blogs. I can’t help myself; I love those little glimpses in to people’s lives, their inner workings. It’s addictive being able to step in to someone else’s shoes from the comfort of your own sofa with a cup of tea in hand, and so much better when the author is able to tell a story.  For example, here’s an excerpt from a blog that I read every day http://thestoryoftelling.com/the-elephant-in-the-marketing-room/

“I was raised in Dublin, the storytelling capital of the world. There is no place on earth that is more hardwired for story than Ireland, home of Guinness and oversize teapots.  Wikipedia will tell you that the Irish are some of the biggest consumers of tea. What Wikipedia won’t tell you is that in Ireland, tea (like Guinness), isn’t just a drink—it’s a lubricator of story.”

What a great start to a blog! How could you not read more? In one paragraph I am immersed in the descriptive language, mentally adding Dublin back on my list of places to see and looking forward to yet another cup of tea! Many Hollywood productions do far less with far more!
So, as I sit once again with the kettle gently bubbling away behind me, I want to tell you a story about my experience in Ireland, and how it changed my life. Way back in the dark ages of1990 I was a corporate cog in the wheel of the busy press office of Guinness, home of that famous inky pint. Ironically though, at the tender age of 24 I preferred sweet white wine to a pint of the black stuff, so the staff perk of a case (slab) once a quarter was a bit wasted on me.

And so it remained until, many twists of fate and 8 years later, I found myself on a literal and figurative pilgrimage to Ireland. Armed with the guilty cash of a soon to be dissolved marriage, I hired a car, determined to complete a circuit of the emerald isle’s coast.
It was a lonely, somewhat tragic and cathartic experience, but let’s quickly gloss over that and get to the twist. My consolations along the way were a temporary fascination with whisky and a belated conversion to the joys of Guinness. If only I had known what wonderful stuff Guinness was, I would have made far better use of my employee bonus!

As I travelled, petrol fuelled my car and Guinness fuelled my soul, or at least the wounded part of me that craved artistic output. Yes, you guessed it; I wrote a sweeping memoir of my trip, destined to gather dust in a drawer somewhere. But not only that, I also penned a number of songs of equally dark content, which, in a moment of sympathy, a friend helped me to record back in London.  The songs were depressing a full of woe, and I have not been able to listen to them since, but they served as an odd kind of closure, and I was able to move on thanks to the healing powers of Guinness.

So there you go, one interesting blog leads to an odd little story about change, which I would not have been able to share if I was not confident in being able to put myself down on paper.

The point is that the spoken word is wonderful, but can be limited, by context, social convention, by our own inhibitions. But the written word; no such limitations apply, we can write to a blank page, overlooked by no one and judged only by our own thoughts. What wonderful escapism, which is why as tutors we encourage every child to have a go, put pencil t paper and see what happens. The results are funny, challenging, confusing, but never, ever boring.

So get your pens or keyboards out and have a go. In this age of bite-sized information, where texts are the language of choice, we need to rediscover the joys of slow communication. We will be the better for it. 

There was a time when I knew everything, or at least I thought I did. And what I didn’t know didn’t matter, or could wait until later. I think it was roughly between 5 years old and my mid-twenties, that golden age when everything was possible. And I was going to take full advantage; watch out world!

Then a curious thing happened. I discovered these strange things call ‘challenges’, and with challenges came these equally unfamiliar things called ‘doubts’. Those little cracks in my armour worried me, and I found myself working harder and harder in the mistaken notion that I had to do it all myself. My great fear was failing others and being found wanting against my peers.

If I am honest, it took me a few years to realise that sometimes asking for help is a positive step, not a sign of weakness. The concept of ‘mentoring’ entered my life, and I have never looked back. From tentative beginnings, I have become something of a mentoring junkie! Once you start looking you soon realise that help is at hand in pretty much every facet of your life!

Far from a weakness, I now realise that seeking out the best advice possible is a practical and efficient method of improving yourself, not to mention a great way of connecting with interesting people.

Most of my mentoring is unofficial, and often casual. My husband Mark for instance, has mentored me on numerous occasions throughout our years together (10 years this week in fact). He is a natural ‘big picture’ thinker, and I value the perspective that he gives me when I am ‘nutting’ through a challenge and in danger of ‘disappearing down the rabbit hole.’ Equally, his big picture thinking sometimes ignores important details, and I am able to mentor him in return by reminding him of the importance of those pesky little bits and pieces that actually get things done.

I have many good friends who are also my mentors, and this provides me with a wider pool of resources when I am making decisions. They also act as sounding boards when I am trying out new concepts, especially for my business. I also have specific business mentors from a wide range of specialist areas, who help me to streamline my thinking, try out new ideas and concepts and catch me when I am heading off in the wrong direction.

And of course, never one to shirk responsibility or pay a debt, I have also taken up the mentoring baton, and try to provide practical support for friends, work colleagues and others. Mentoring is a natural part of who I am now.

During a recent chat with a friend, she advised me that I should be charging for my advice.  But, and here I may sound a little ‘holier than thou’, it really is not about monetary reward for me. In fact, it is quite the opposite; I gain a far greater reward from mentoring than money. It really is a chance to ‘give back’, to let others gain from my (sometimes painful) experiences.

When we tutor at the centre, it is never just about the facts and figures. There are plenty of services out there based around memorising and strict discipline, but we firmly believe that learning should be an enjoyable and positive experience and that education is a composite of concepts and knowledge, but also personal growth, communication, interpersonal skills, confidence, pride and a myriad of other factors.

Mentoring is an implicit part of how we work, and watching the maturing process of a disengaged learner in to a smiling and happy learning adventurer is an absolute pleasure and something that money cannot buy. The parents of those students know what we mean, as do the teachers who watch their progress in the classroom.

I would encourage anyone to mentor and be mentored; open yourselves up to the possibility of not knowing everything, but enough to help others and you will find life much richer for it.  

For many years now I have kept a journal. It is a private thing, not for sharing, and records my daily musings, rants, quirks and amusements. I don’t write in it every day, but when I do, I usually include a section for things I am grateful for, like the ‘wagging tale’ of our puppy that I have mentioned before. It is a simple process that grounds me and puts life’s priorities in their right order.

This past week I have again included two things for which I have been grateful many times in the past. The first is my involvement with Tutti, a choir of mixed abilities associated with Minda. Many of the choir members have severe physical and mental challenges, and you could be forgiven for assuming that my gratefulness is for not being in their position. But you would be wrong.

My gratefulness is for the opportunity to spend time with these amazing people. This includes the helpers, volunteers, the Tutti team and my fellow able-bodied and minded choir members, but I reserve special mention for those choir members who face challenges every day that would bring most of us to our knees.

They arrive by themselves as well as in the care and support of others, from a diverse range of backgrounds and all of them with individual tales of hardship and sadness, resilience and triumph against adversity. But they will not tell them, not here, not in this place where they join us to make the music that has raised audiences to their feet with clapping hands and tears in their eyes. Here they are performers, just like the rest of us, and they need to learn their lines and get their timing just right.

When I joined Tutti, several years ago now, I had been singing with a ‘normal’ choir in Port Adelaide for a couple of years, and it was confronting at first. At least, it was for about the first 5 minutes, and then we began to sing, and this disparate group, drawn together from all quarters, came together with one unified purpose. By the end of the evening I was hooked, and it is now a highlight of my week, complete escapism. And so I am grateful, for their company, for their inspiration and for the opportunity to be part of something that creates happiness.

My second gratitude is for my lovely Helen, who I have been delivering library books to as a volunteer for more than 6 years. In that time we have shared our loves of reading, travel and teaching, laughed and cried together as we talked through our lives, loves and experiences. Helen has been the grandmother I never knew, and I like to think that I have added something to her retirement.

Sadly, Helen passed away suddenly last week at the age of 93. I was, and am, bereft, suddenly cut off from someone who has been such an important part of my life. Mark and I had been away for the weekend, and by the time I heard the news, her room had been cleared and someone new had taken residence. Even her library books had been cleared away, and no one knows where they went.

Thankfully, within days Helen’s daughter had called me. We had a long and heartfelt chat, and she shared with me how much my visits meant to her Mother.
  
These days, surrounded by all that money can buy, we can lose sight of what is important. Singing with Tutti and volunteering with Helen are entirely selfish acts; I have gained far more from them than I could possibly give. My perspective on life, my sense of what is really valuable, my awareness of the fragility of our existence, my willingness to forgive others, all of these are directly influenced by my contact with these wonderful people.

Okay, long story short, this piece is about education, but in the broadest possible sense. It is about getting out there and doing something different that has real value. Try it, encourage your children to try it. No matter how small it may seem, the personal impact can be extraordinary. Please share your stories with us, we would love to hear from you. Enjoy your week.

You will have to excuse my somewhat indulgent blog this week, but I do have genuine cause to celebrate and I want to share it.

It always amazes me how quickly time flies when we are having fun. According to my trusty smartphone calendar, it is 2 years nearly to the day since I first opened the doors to the Kip McGrath Holdfast Bay Education Centre. So many wonderful things have happened since then that it seems like yesterday!

In that brief time I have had the absolute pleasure of working with nearly 200 children, their parents, teachers, my tutors and supportive husband Mark. What started out as a new venture driven by my passion for helping kids, has become an all-consuming way of life that makes me smile each and every day. Let me share why.

Quite simply, we make a difference. We have had children arrive years behind in their reading who bring tears to their mum’s eyes when they voluntarily open books for the first time to read for pleasure, a senior maths student struggling to keep up who is now an ‘A’ student planning a teaching career in maths and sciences, a primary student missing basic sounds who is now happily working through our reading program, a student absent from school for long periods who is outpacing her peers in maths due to the Kip system. There are many, many more stories, each as heart-warming as the next. 

It is the small things that make me smile the most. When children are assessed there are often tears, and this can still be the case when they arrive for their first lesson. But they soon realise that they are part of a place where everyone works at their own pace, where no one is judged, and actually, it is fun. The tears are soon forgotten and without realising it they re-engage with the learning process. Parents often say that whilst their kids may not be having a great time at school, they can’t wait to get to Kip. Even our nieces are part of the mix, and what a wonderful thing it is to help them on their way through their education.

Along the way we have become part of the fabric of our community, sponsoring local events and sports teams, and attending school fetes. We have appeared in the Glenelg Christmas pageant twice now, on each occasion with an army of Kip kids following behind the Kip car, challenging the crowds with times tables! We have also worked with a local not for profit to provide tutoring for young carers, including offering scholarships so that this important work can continue when funding has run out.

When the Advertiser ran their annual business awards last year, we were proud to be runner-up to a large national real estate group, a measure of the connection we have made with our kids and parents. We have also been lucky enough to appear in the press a few times, and the kids have become used to photographers dropping by for a quick ‘photo shoot’.

Every week brings new ‘lightbulb’ moments, when kids suddenly ‘get it’, and the smiles are worth all the effort. I am immensely proud of the fact that many of our ‘graduates’ have dropped by simply to say hi and share with us their achievements since leaving Kip. This is an extremely personal and emotional business, and it is not surprising that we sit right alongside their parents, enjoying every little success along the way.

Since Mark joined me in the business last year, so inspired by what we do that he gave up his well-paid corporate career to ‘make a difference’, we have grown significantly (which he of course attributes to his influence!). Nevertheless, we are committed to the small group approach, and have simply increased the number of sessions each week to enable us to help more kids achieve their goals. We have also recruited in some excellent tutors, including Noelia and Laura, who apart from being qualified teachers, are just as passionate as we are about helping kids.

At times it is exhausting, particularly emotionally, and like all small businesses the hours go way beyond any reasonable forecast, but it is so, so worth it, and I have absolutely no regrets. There simply is no better feeling than helping a child to achieve their absolute best. Thank you for allowing me this indulgence, time for a bottle with bubbles to celebrate!

If you have a few grey hairs (yes, coloured ones do count!), think back to your childhood. What was your most valued possession: first bike, doll, football?

Mine was my imagination. I was an only child with protective parents, so I spent a fair amount of my childhood playing by myself. Even when we went caravanning (yep, the great British holiday, trapped in a tin can with the rain drilling into the roof), I was on my own most of the time, only with far fewer toys and less room! In the absence of pocket-sized boxes of electronic entertainment, my brain actually had to do some work to keep me amused!

I was a ballerina on tour, the first female Prime Minister (Maggie hadn’t been invented yet), the first female to climb all of the highest mountains, a teacher to my beach stone students, a singer in the best band in the world. I was all of these things and many, many more, because my imagination was able to place me in a movie set of my own design at any time and in any place.

My question is how many kids can do that these days? Gosh, I’m not even sure if I can do it anymore; I am ‘welded’ to my Samsung Note II when on the move, sleep with my iPad and my fingers twitch involuntarily when a remote control is at hand. How did this happen? How did we all become bit players in a world created by our own devices?

This past weekend I spent an enjoyable day at Central Market, a local café and then a film with a dear friend who is anti-technology and refuses to have a mobile phone. After spending hours in conversation with her, not a digital screen in sight, and really enjoying it, I began to empathise with her position.

On the tram on the way home I sat next to an extended family comprising no less than 5 iPads, 5 matching smartphones, several Gameboys and similar, and I think there were a few humans as well for good measure. The average number of devices in use per person was more than the number of hands. Figure that one out!

Not a word was spoken, unless you count the completely anti-social beeps, bangs and shouts from the devices, all turned up to full volume without earphones. At least three generations of the same family and no non-electronic communication at all from the CBD to the beach. At least, until all electronic devices were confiscated in preparation for departure from the tram. Then there was communication, if you count wailing and crying!

I know that this is an extreme and, I hope, rare, example, but I fear that it is more common than we would all like to admit, and the days of children being entertained by simple things like books and lego are as lost to us as hats and suits were to the horrified parents of children growing up in the sixties.

At our centre we combine computer work with paper-based work, and it can be difficult, persuading children to wrap their hands around a pencil and make primitive marks on paper. When asked to write, particularly the longer passages needed for certain writing, hand cramps quickly become an issue. Even here, we have given ourselves over to technology, and depending on your perspective, this is either to our advantage as it saves time and effort, or to our disadvantage as that effort gave us skills that are now being lost.

My sister-in-law has recently moved her family to a new house, in need of top to toe renovation, including the garden, which is a wild land of grass, old foundations and a crumbling driveway. But the amazing thing is that her kids are happier than I have seen them in ages. Somehow this ‘unfinished’ place has inspired their imagination and they now choose ‘playing’ (and by this I mean actual, physical playing, where there is a danger of dirt and getting hurt) over ‘gaming’ (to include all digital entertainment) by choice. Maybe there is still hope.

I am not suggesting that kids are deprived of computers; they are a fact of life and necessary for their future success. But I am suggesting that their use of computers is balanced with ‘proper’ play, that involves physical movement, social skills with others and, yes, large doses of imagination that will drive the next generation of writers, inventors, engineers and philosophers. Let’s try and keep those pesky little electronic devices in their place, as servants, not masters.

At what age do we stop asking why? Children have a natural curiosity and a huge, undiscovered world on their doorstep that they need to know more about. ‘Why are leaves green?’ ‘Why are clouds fluffy?’ ‘Where does all the rain come from?’ ‘Why does Uncle Fred have long nose hairs?’ They will keep asking ‘why?’ until they have the answers, even if it means asking ‘why?’ five or more times.

Their inquisitive nature has an important function. Every question puts their little feet a step closer to understanding their place in the universe.

Somewhere along the way however the questions lessen. It happens to all of us. There are a number of obvious reasons for this. We learn enough to satisfy initial curiosity and start discovering for ourselves. We make friends and start ‘pooling’ information. We attend school and discover an unending supply of data that needs to be processed that leaves little time for questions.

But there is another important factor that stops our natural questioning ability in its tracks: adults. Let’s be honest, in the middle of a busy modern life crammed full of things like work, the mortgage, sports, social engagements, love and travel, little kids asking ‘why?’ all the time can get, well, a little bit annoying. True?

And that is the reality faced by these little enquiring minds. They want to know everything, they want to know it now, and they have no social sensitivities to stop them, until the ‘big people’ start making it clear that asking too many questions is bad, or at least, inconvenient. Apparently there is an unspoken limit. So after a few attempts they reduce the number of questions they ask. This becomes the new, internal, social norm. And this continues.

By the time we have adapted to the rhythm of school, our natural instinct to question has been dampened down and we are shifting in to ‘receiving’ mode, ready to spend the next twelve plus years recording, filing, ordering and retransmitting, data.

 When we come across an adult who questions intensively, we are amazed; the James Dysons, Bill Gates and Steve Jobs of the world are ‘one in a million’, genetically unique. But they aren’t really, they are simply curious, and their curiosity is more powerful than any social norms that protect our sensitivities by limiting the number of times we can ask ‘why?’ 

Education runs in cycles. When I was young we read, listened, memorised and repeated. Questioning was not a big part of the curriculum. Later on this was largely replaced by ‘inquiry’ learning, which emphasised the need for children to discover rather than receive information. The two camps have been fighting for years and perhaps always will.

The best for children is perhaps a mixture of the two. Times tables are not an ‘inquiry’ they are a fact and need to be memorised. Later maths, in particular algebra, is more about discovery, and children need to have the freedom to explore concepts, and, ask questions.

Mark and I regularly have friends for dinner, and we enjoy bringing together mixed groups to see what will happen. Inevitably the best evenings leave behind a few empty bottles, and this is significant. The contents of the bottles break down the social conventions and the ‘why’s?’ flow freely across the table. We discover so much more about people when we all lose this ridiculous inhibition that prevents us from asking questions.

Now, I am not encouraging drinking as a social improvement exercise, but I am suggesting that a few more ‘why’s?’ in the world may not be a bad thing. All of which leads me to suggest that the next time a young mind looks at you with wide, anticipating eyes and says ‘why?’, you pause, draw breath, count to a patient ‘10’ if you need to, and answer them as honestly as you can. Encourage the curiosity of the next generation, and, while you’re at it, ask a few more questions yourself. You never know what new paths it may lead you down.