Soccer, soccer and soccer (and not just a little bit about education)
It’s fall, and my life is once again bounded by soccer. Four times a week, I’m dragging at least one of my children, and at least one of the neighbor children, up and down my community to various soccer practices and games. Today is one of those days where both kids have to be at different places at the same time. Still for all that it’s an inconvenience — a major inconvenience — I happen to like soccer. I enjoy watching the game, and I think it’s just an excellent antidote to the otherwise sedentary life children lead.
Their lives are getting especially sedentary now that they’re at public school. Both their schools have “no running in the school yard” policies. This would be an excellent policy if either (a) the children were fragile geriatric people or (b) the school yard was filled with fragile geriatric people. (I know of what I speak, since I frequently have to remind my children not to run at the delightful retirement community in which their grandmother lives.) Neither of these is true. As it is, the policy seems to be part and parcel of a “God forbid children should get hurt” world view or, perhaps, “God forbid the school district should get sued” view. As it is, several hundred children are chained at desks all day with periodic breaks in which they’re allowed to walk around sedately.
To add insult to injury, one of my children’s classrooms uses TV as a bribe. If the children sit quietly and cooperate, they’re allowed to watch cartoons in class. Then, of course, when they come home, they’re laden with homework which they have to sit and work on during their tired and cranky time. Chutzpah doesn’t even begin to describe the thinking that has the kids watch TV at school and do school work at home.
Yesterday, my son’s homework assignment, which comes out of a workbook a major publishing company sells to the State of California, had at least two grammatical mistakes. I say “at least” because my son hasn’t finished his homework, so I’m not sure what other little gems of illiteracy are lurking in the papers sitting on the kitchen table. I corrected the mistake in the text — something I could do without giving the teacher offense, because she didn’t write the material. Perhaps she’ll learn something, though, and will start thinking about her own grammar.
