Reevaluating the past.

Educating Ainan has taught me much about my own education. I have come to see where it lacked and where it was good. For me, the most telling revelation has been about my own maths education.

I went to a supposedly good school in the UK. Yet, now that I have gathered new experiences that allow me to make comparisons I can see problems with its education that I couldn't see at the time. As a kid, of course, I was too busy blaming myself for any deficiencies in the school, rather than realizing that the school was at fault. Now, however, I see differently.

In recent months I have taken to working with Ainan on his maths. In so doing, I have realized that maths is a lot simpler a subject than my school made it out to be. Matters which seemed a little tricky all those years ago, are now immediately clear. Now, it is not that I have been working on my maths, since: I haven't. Indeed, for the material I have been looking at, I haven't touched it in twenty-five years. No, the difference this time is that, instead of listening to the teachers' "explanations", I have been reading from the book. To my surprise, the books are a lot clearer than my teachers ever were. In fact, it seems to me that I would have been better off sitting at home with a book, than in going to school at all (with respect to maths).

I see clearly, now, what my maths teachers were not doing: firstly, they were not explaining anything, at all. They presented maths as something that was to be memorized and not something to be understood. Nothing was ever explained, derived or proved: it was just a case of "Here, memorize this!". As a consequence, their students proceeded to do maths mechanically and without true understanding - for they had never been given the chance to understand the meaning of what they did.

I realize, now, that it is most likely that my maths teachers did not, themselves, understand what the maths was actually doing. They gave no indication of such insight. Indeed, some of the teachers I had were truly execrable. One in particular comes to mind, a "Bob Hiller". He was a former Captain of England for Rugby and Rugby was basically all he knew well. He was the kind of man who had lived for his sport but didn't show much evidence of depth outside of it. It was a mystery to me, even as a boy, why a Rugby player had been assigned as my maths teacher - but there he was, occasionally, at the front of the class. I say occasionally, because he had the habit of being late to his own classes or sometimes just leaving us there to get on with it, ourselves, whatever it happened to be, since often he had not given us anything to do.

Bob Hiller's maths teaching technique consisted entirely of handing out printed notes. These were handwritten notes, perhaps to give the impression that Bob knew something about maths (though I never saw any convincing evidence that he did). That is it. That is all he did: handed out printed notes. I don't remember him explaining anything much. I don't remember him being able to explain anything much. I remember primarily his lateness to class and his overwhelming self-love.

The most memorable thing Bob Hiller ever did was to give me a punishment, a "Penal drill", for no reason whatsoever. He approached me once, at the beginning of a class, for which he had been late and just handed it to me. He had this great big vicious grin on his face, making it clear that he knew very well that there was no justification for what he was doing and that it was morally wrong - but he was filled with sheer vindictive enjoyment at doing so. Bob wasn't what you call a truly nice guy...though, inexplicably, he managed to love himself for it.

Now, I never did find out why he punished me. I had never been punished in the school before, in all my school career - primarily because I never did anything wrong. I just wasn't interested in doing so. I lived without impinging on others. Perhaps, I think, Bob Hiller had discovered that my "record" was blemish free and so wanted to make damn sure it didn't remain so. Perhaps it was something to do with preventing my selection as a Prefect (not that I wanted to be one: I had been Head of House in the Junior School, so I had already had that experience). I don't know the reason why he did it: but I know this - I hadn't done anything to deserve it.

So, rather than teaching me maths, Bob managed to teach me this: schools don't vet their teachers very well for character. Nor do they vet them for skill in their subject. Bob was neither a mathematician, nor a nice guy - yet, there he was, supposedly teaching me maths. The only lesson he actually taught me was one in injustice and the abuse of power.

For those who are curious, a "penal drill" involved running around the school fields after school, for what seems like an interminable time. My every step that day was filled with the injustice of serving an undeserved punishment. Yet, it was a good lesson, for me. You see, I had been a very good rugby player, up until two years before I left school. It was truly a revelation to see how Bob Hiller repaid those who had put in so much effort on his behalf in prior years. What a wonderful, grateful man he was. I saw him, thereafter, as he was. Many people didn't. You see he was one of these people focussed on being popular with others: he had all the patter and all the social skill in the world - but at the core was a man who could do what he did to me that day - whilst wearing a very big vindictive grin. It is a pity that not everyone saw him as I did, that day. I don't think he would have been so popular were it so.

Bob Hiller wasn't the only dreadful maths teacher at my school. There was another called Sinclair. He was an impossibly pompous man who spoke as if he had grown up in a Palace and thought himself deserving of Royal status. His every word seemed to be "looking down" on the person he spoke to. However, that was not what bothered me about him. It was his habit of not being in the class when he was supposed to be. This "teacher" would show up late, at class, then order us to do exercise so and so in the book - without, note, him doing any teaching of the material, or explanation of it, in any way - then he would WALK OUT OF THE CLASS AND NOT RETURN. He was always doing that. He spent more time out of our class than in it, during our lessons. I don't recall learning anything from him, all year.

There is more I could say on the subject of the maths "teaching" in my school, but it can easily be summed up with two words: incompetent and negligent. Yet, this was supposedly a good school. God knows, then, what the bad ones are like.

In working with Ainan I realize that none of my maths teachers actually taught maths. Not a one of them. Maths is straightforward, once explained properly. It is actually a much simpler subject than the sciences, in my opinion. Yet, in my school we had rubbish maths teachers and good science teachers (well, some of them). This made sciences much the easier subjects, when I don't think that this is naturally so.

I will write more on these matters in other posts, another time.

(If you would like to learn more of Ainan Celeste Cawley, 10, or his gifted brothers, Fintan, 6 and Tiarnan, 4, this month, please go to:
http://scientific-child-prodigy.blogspot.com/2006/10/scientific-child-prodigy-guide.html

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On the life of an expat

Expat. It is such a simple word but what does it really mean? Beyond the obvious in that it is short for expatriate, it means a whole lot more.

Recently, I was reminded of what it means to be an expat. I am one. I live daily as one. But it is only when I am confronted with the life I had before I came here, that I come to fully understand what it is that expat actually means. It means an exile.

Why do I say this? Well, all expats are living in a country other than the one of their birth. They have left behind all that they once knew, for a new land, a new world, a new experience. That has its merits. There is much to be learnt and understood, much to be felt and seen, thought and experienced. Yet, there is a price. To be an expat one has to give up all that one once had. One has to give up a country, friends and family. New friends must be found - and in my case a new family founded. Those are rewarding things - but they are not that which has been given up. The price paid remains paid. There is still a loss, still something left behind.

My thoughts have turned to these matters because of the recent visit of my mother and sister to Singapore. Seeing them, again, after a couple of years called to mind the world of my past that I have left behind. Old friends, old places, old thoughts and old feelings were evoked by their presence. I realized what I had had to give up, to win, for myself a new life. Some of those things I would wish not to have given up. Yet, it is unavoidable. Those places, people and things are not here, in Singapore. They will never be. Unless I return to England, one day, I will never see those places, people and things again. They will exist only as memories within, memories that will never live again. I have gained a new world, yes, but lost an old one. It is a hard trade, in many ways, that all expats have to make. They cannot be an expat and win a new world, without losing an old one.

There are riches, here, for me, in Singapore. I have a wonderful family, who daily give me joy and surprising moments - and I have interesting work, too - but all that I used to have, is mine no longer. In a sense, therefore, to be an expat - especially one who does not return to the homeland with any frequency - is to live a life truncated. All that went before has been cut away, to make way for the new life to come.

I knew the ways of the old world, well. I spoke the language with mastery, understood its customs, and had a map of it in my mind. The new world, however, remains strange, in some ways, despite the familiarity of my five years here. The people don't speak the standard English I once enjoyed. They don't think as the people I knew do. The social issues are not the same. Here I am a minority race member - and not just another one of the majority, as before (though being Irish, I was also a minority, in England, too, in another sense...). My social perspective on life here, is different. I am forever an outsider, looking in, not an insider looking out. I have friends, here, but they are few. It is difficult to relate when there is little common ground. The distance between me and others, here, is greater, though it was never that short, before. I have come to understand that I will never truly be a full part of the new world around me - for I will always be different, always be of another breed, another world. In that sense, I have brought my old world with me: it is inside me, it is me. Here, therefore, I am part of another culture, another nation, another race. My differences can never be dissolved, never wash off, or be forgotten. I will always be apart.

I look at other expats, here, too and note that though they may integrate quite well, in terms of work, socially they remain distinct. The world they have brought with them, inside them, cannot fully integrate with the world without. They are ever seen as different, and never, therefore, fully accepted as a true part of the scheme of things.

No doubt it is much the same all over the world, wherever expats live. They have left their old worlds behind, physically, but brought them with them, psychologically. Thus, they can never truly fit in. They are, therefore, marooned between worlds. They are no longer in their homelands, nor at home in their new nations. There will always be things, people, places, that they might wish were still part of their lives. There will always be things, people, places missing from their new worlds.

Only those who have been expats can fully understand these issues. Most countries take their expats for granted - seeing them as no more than a form of migrant worker. Yet, all these expats have given up a lot to be in their new world. No-one becomes an expat without a kind of sacrifice which cannot be seen, but which is ever there. All expats have left behind family, friends and culture. All expats have found new friends, a new culture and, for some, a new family. It is an exchange usually made by choice. But it is not an exchange without cost.

Perhaps the home nations of the world, should understand their expats a bit better, and appreciate them a bit more. For behind every foreign face, there lies a tale of an old world lost, a new world won.

Welcome them, therefore, for every expat has paid a price, no native ever pays: the giving up of a homeland just to be here.

(If you would like to learn more of Ainan Celeste Cawley, a scientific child prodigy, aged eight years and no months, or his gifted brothers, Fintan, four years and five months, and Tiarnan, twenty-two months, please go to: http://scientific-child-prodigy.blogspot.com/2006/10/scientific-child-prodigy-guide.html I also write of gifted education, IQ, intelligence, the Irish, the Malays, College, University, Chemistry, Science, genetics, left-handedness, precocity, child prodigy, child genius, baby genius, adult genius, savant, gifted adults and gifted children in general. Thanks.)

The tyranny of tests

England is not what it was, in many ways. Yet, only recently have I become aware of one way in which it has changed since my childhood.

I now live in Singapore and, having observed Singapore for a few years, I had come to the conclusion that Singaporeans are test mad. There is a test for everything and nothing is trusted unless it has been tested. I had come to view it as somewhat pathological - in the sense that it is far too prevalent to be healthy. Yet, that was before I came to know of the recent situation in the UK. If anything it is worse, there.

A UK student is now expected to take over 70 official tests from the age of 7 to the time they leave school. These are not, as far as I am aware, optional, in-house school testing, but obligatory mandatory, national testing.

I only became aware of this situation, not having lived in the UK since my children were born (apart from one stint), because of a proposal to end all such testing, that some brave political soul has tabled. It would probably be a good thing for British children were it to be enacted - but it is extremely unlikely, for the leaders of the educational establishment were quoted as being fully behind the test-taking tradition.

Let us look at what these tests do to children. With so many of them, there is forever another test coming up. There is ever the need to prepare for the next test. The focus of the students is on passing the test. There is never time or space to look around and see subjects in greater breadth or depth - there is only that which is in the test, in their minds. The consequence of an education that is nothing but a long series of tests is that the child is never truly educated. They are trained to do tests - and that is all. I have seen this phenomenon at work in Singapore which produces very good test takers...but not truly well-educated people: their minds have been too constricted by constant testing. The same unhealthy pressures have been constricting the minds of whole generations of British children while I wasn't looking. I don't imagine that it will lead to the national prosperity (and all the other things that politicians seek) that they imagine. Rather, it will lead to a nation unable to hold its place where once it reigned supreme.

Nothing should be allowed to stand in the way of the education of children - and most certainly not an official burden of over 70 tests per school career. How ridiculous.

(If you would like to read of Ainan Celeste Cawley, a scientific child prodigy, aged seven years and six months, or his gifted brothers, Fintan, three, and Tiarnan, sixteen months, please go to: http://scientific-child-prodigy.blogspot.com/2006/10/scientific-child-prodigy-guide.html I also write of gifted education, IQ, intelligence, child prodigy, child genius, baby genius, adult genius, savant, the creatively gifted, gifted children and gifed adults in general. Thanks.)