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.  

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. 

This week I have been getting closer to my inner self. No, I have not entered a hippy commune, but I have joined hundreds of other like-minded people at the annual Happiness Conference in Melbourne. Not as off-the-wall as it perhaps sounds, the conference brings together speakers from around the globe to share their surprisingly practical tips for maintaining our equilibriums.

But happiness is not in fact my theme for this week. What struck me again throughout this week, apart from the resonating themes of health, happiness and well-being that formed the core of most of the presentations, is the immense power of language to convey meaning.

Imagine nearly 2,000 people captivated by the words of one man. Granted, this man was His Holiness the Dalai Lama, and warrants our attention almost by default, but where would he be without his carefully chosen words? They are his stock and trade, the means by which he engages with the world, shares the plight of his people and passes on his wisdom (his laugh does help though, it is mesmerising and will absolutely make you smile every time).

Although perhaps the most significant orator of the week, he was by no means the only one, as presenter after presenter breathed life in to their ideas through the power of language. What an amazing thing it is, this ability, unique amongst all living things on this planet, to share thoughts and ideas by linking different sounds together.

But more than that, we can also convert these sounds in to symbols, again linking them together in patterns that mean something to others. Inspired by a number of speakers, I purchased their books. You would expect that removing voice and expression from the content would somehow lessen the impact, but in fact these qualities are somehow replaced by other elements, not least the ability of the written word to inspire imagination. When reading silently, the words themselves somehow become only one part of the story, the rest of which is supplied by our minds; the characters, landscapes, even the weather, somehow taking their cue from the words but becoming so much more.

This is why, in my role as a tutor to the speakers and writers of the next generation, I encourage them to think beyond the simple structure of the words and instead consider how they come to life when presented in a certain way. Texting, blogs, computer games, and all other manner of minimised communication, add nothing to the expression that language is capable of. Please don’t misunderstand me, they have their place, as effective tools for the quick transmission of fact, but they do not take full advantage of the written words ability to inspire, persuade and engage.

I recently watched a news story about a technology-rich school in Singapore that has replaced writing skills with a focus on technology, the theory being that the latter will have more value in five years’ time as the students enter the workforce. Perhaps, but in the absence of persuasive writing skills, how will the leaders of the future inspire their followers? How will the writers of the future create those worlds of the imagination in our heads?
 
There must still be a place in education for our languages to grow and develop, as they have for thousands of years, since long before Shakespeare, and ever since. Opposable thumbs are certainly an obvious physical characteristic of humanity, but I would argue that our ability to think beyond our present state, to use words to create ideas and stories that resonate far beyond the symbols on the page, is an equally defining characteristic of our humanity.

Hmmm, a slightly heavier tone this week. You can probably tell that language is a passion of mine, one that I am not willing to sacrifice to the efficiency of technology, and one that I believe is fundamentally important for your children. So please, encourage them to read, discuss with them what they read, help them to understand how important those little symbols on the page are and how necessary it is for them to be able to understand and use them. Till next time, happy reading! 

A more serious tone this week I’m afraid. Don’t worry, more humour to follow, but sometimes I have to put on my ‘sensible adult’ hat. So please read on and hopefully you will find some value in my ramblings.

This week, for the first time, we were forced to cancel an evening of lessons when an accident on a main road nearby robbed us of power. The electricity company couldn’t guarantee that we would have power back that evening, and, even though we would have been able to continue lessons with paper-based activities, without lights it was simply not safe to have children moving around the centre.

So, Mark and I made the tough decision to close for the night, and immediately started contacting parents by phone, text and email, to let them know what had happened and confirm how they would like to proceed. We told them that, as we were cancelling the lessons, they would be not be charged, but offered them the option of an at-home online lesson at a reduced cost.

We were pleased and a little surprised when the vast majority of parents took up the option of an online lesson. This response confirmed to us that what we do, tutoring young minds to help them achieve their best, has value to parents and is not just a ‘tick box’ exercise. The questions they asked, about how the lessons would be designed, what support they needed to provide, when the lessons would be ‘live’ and when would be best to complete them, was clear evidence that these parents are engaged with the learning process in a way that we hope but are never entirely sure happens.

This ‘partnership’ between tutor, child and parent, is so important to the success of our tutoring system. Without it, children struggle to maintain focus and get the best out of the process. An obvious example is the homework we assign, which is an important reinforcement of the learning process, but easily lost amongst school work, sports and other activities, unless children are gently urged to complete it by parents.

Less obvious is parent’s awareness of their children’s progress with us. Tutoring is easily accessible for parents. There is no need to wait for parent-teacher meetings, as every session is an opportunity for a quick chat with us (admittedly in the midst of changeover chaos!) and children can immediately share their results on the computer screen.

This intimate ‘hands on’ approach encourages parents to get directly involved in their children’s progress, and often helps us to understand children better. When this extends to homework activities, the result is invariably improved results. Do parents need to be able to understand senior algebra in order to help them? No, but they do need to be aware of their child’s progress, provide an environment that is conducive to learning and encourage them with positive reinforcement when they succeed.

This is why we were so pleased by parent’s response to the centre closure. It clearly demonstrated an engagement with their children’s learning that we hoped was happening but so seldom see evidence of. Was it worth the ‘investment’ of an evening’s revenue to find this out? Actually, it probably was and has added another layer of the good feeling we both have towards our little centre. So, thank you parents, you have helped to confirm again why what we do is so worthwhile.

I will be the first to admit that exercise is not my thing. In fact, I abhor anything that makes me move faster than a quiet stroll for a coffee. So imagine my shock and surprise when I found myself climbing off a treadmill with a flashing timer confirming that I had completed 30 minutes of continuous fast walking!

Had I experienced a blackout, or perhaps dramatically exceeded my daily caffeine intake? No, it was in fact all due to the new man in my life. With many apologies to my loving husband, I have to say that he is the most exciting exercise-related thing that has ever happened to me. Oh Richard, how did I reach my 40s without experiencing your talents?

Before you rush to the nearest group of water cooler gossips to share the news of my torrid affair, I should let you know that the man in question is Sir Richard Branson, and it is only his voice that has excited me, via the wonders of an audio book. In my opinion these little digital holidays are perhaps the single greatest piece of exercise equipment ever invented; I am barely aware of my fast moving legs beneath me as I roar with laughter over and over at the young Branson’s adventures. How has one man managed to pack so much in to his life?

 http://www.booktopia.com.au/losing-my-virginity-sir-richard-branson/prod9780307720740.html

This was actually the second time that Sir Branson had raised my pulse. Many years ago I had the pleasure of sharing a stage with him, singing alongside several of his ‘hosties’ as he launched a new product range. So as you can see, we have a special and enduring bond.

All of which brings me to my topic for this blog, persistence. No, I am not referring to my energetic endeavours after a life of slower motion, but instead the amazing perseverance of Mr Branson, who, despite being dyslexic, has managed to create a global brand so familiar that we all forget that its name is a little bit rude (or maybe it’s just the little Catholic school girl I once was!).

Both of a good friend’s sons are also dyslexic, and both regard Richard as a hero for his refusal to accept it as a limitation. In fact, one of her proud sons read his book as part of his Year 12 studies.

Many of the children that Mark and I and our team work with have challenges to deal with, be they physical, mental or emotional, but we refuse to let them define themselves or limit themselves because of these factors. And to their credit, most of our lovely kids excel, perhaps partly because there is no one to tell them that they can’t. I do also believe that providing an environment where they can learn individually and at their own pace does help.

Persistence is an intangible thing, but the results are so obvious it amazes me that we don’t all, as parents, teachers and tutors, spend more conscious thought on encouraging it in children. The student who tries long subtraction for the first time, and fails, and then tries again, and fails again, but finally, after several attempts, succeeds. How much better does that success feel to them because they triumphed over adversity?

James Dyson apparently built more than 7,000 failed vacuums on the way to success. Now that is persistence. And what was his reward? Yes, a sizeable estate and a house that the Queen would feel at home in, but I would be willing to bet that his most valuable possession is his sense of achievement.

So when you are parenting, teaching, or mentoring a child, think about my friends Richard and James, and encourage that child to practice persistence and make as many mistakes as it takes to reach their goal. The rewards will be so much greater. 
 

The past week has felt like a scene from the movie Julie & Julia as I suddenly found myself connected to like-minded people around the world responding to my blog. Blogging is quickly becoming addictive, partly because I get to see my words appear for the world to see, but more so because they appear to be striking a cord with so many people. Yay, I am not the only one that thinks educating children is an amazingly important job!...More...

I am told by head office that it is normal to start a new Kip McGrath centre with perhaps 1 or 2 children, so I was delighted to break the record and open with 15 aged between 5 and 15! After my first official week I can confirm that this business does provide all of the variety, challenges, laughs and rewards promised. More...

Nearly 3 months to the day after I completed my Kip McGrath training, and after an agonizingly long wait for my new premises to become available, I finally opened my doors this past Monday, and here I am blogging after surviving my first week!

And what a week! With very little marketing prior to opening (apart from networking everywhere possible!), in no time I had 16 sets of parents queuing up to have their children assessed! Naïve me, I assumed that the majority would take up the offer of a free assessment and walk away. But no, 100% of the parents enrolled their children, in some cases more than one child! More...