The
sky was a bright blue, clear with wispy white clouds and a strong June sun. My
four children were ankle-deep in ocean water, shrieking with excitement each
time they spotted a hermit crab or a sea star or a snail as the tide retreated.
We were at “rocky beach,” the
made-up name my kids call that stretch of coastline near Cape Cod. It is a
favorite family spot, a place we spend hours together from spring through fall
marveling at the critters living precariously along the shore. The beach was
quiet that day, but for the crashing waves and seagull squawks. It’s a good
half-mile wooded walk to the public beach from the parking lot in this
state-managed nature preserve. The short hike and the rocky coast keep the
number of beach-goers to a minimum even at summer’s peak.
On that late-spring morning, the
beach was nearly empty for the first hour of our visit. Then, a busload of
middle-schoolers from the town’s public school arrived--worksheets and
pencils in hand. I overheard the teacher, a pleasant, middle-aged man, giving
instructions. The students, he said, were to explore the immediate beach area
searching for the items listed on the worksheet. When found, they were asked to
write their observations and cross the item off the list.
I watched the students scatter with
joyful enthusiasm, delighted to be at the beach on a warm day on the cusp of
summer. While my children continued their exploration and discovery of the
tidal critters, shouting now and then when they spotted something new or fascinating,
the middle-schoolers consulted their worksheets. I sat on a rock, noticing: the
schooled children with their worksheets and instructions and inevitable
assessment, and the never-been-schooled children with the wide-open beach and
all its treasures as their natural learning space.
One of the students ran past me
toward a classmate shouting that she had found something really cool along the
beach, a critter of some sort. She wanted to show it to her friend. “It’s not
on the worksheet,” the friend replied matter-of-factly and turned to walk away.
Her enthusiasm deflated, the girl dropped the critter and caught up to her
classmate to find the next item on the list.
So sad. It makes learning only a means to an end.
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ReplyDeleteI'm quietly panicked as my 10 yr old unschooled daughter has decided to try public school next year. We'd prefer her to stay home with her two younger sisters and younger brother but she's feeling like it's her last opportunity to experience elementary school. Perhaps it's the perfect thing for her. Still I'm a nervous dad.
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