Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Home(work) for the Holidays

“Teacher, I didn’t do my homework because…..” Every teacher has rolled his or her eyes at this line. However, there are times when school should accommodate the rest of students’ lives. Perhaps a dog’s wayward eating habits do not qualify, but what about religious holidays?

The Jewish High Holidays just ended, and my community has a significant number of Jewish families. Each year about this time, our assistant principal sends an email to teachers asking them “not to schedule assessments or major projects on the days immediately following Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur, as many students will be unable to properly prepare due to family & religious obligations.” The assistant principal sends out similar notices for Easter, Ramadan, and a handful of other holidays.

It doesn’t matter.

Students report that they have quizzes, tests, and significant homework assignments due immediately following the High Holidays. When families are going to services, family gatherings, or traveling to be with relatives, time is tight. So the choice is to either participate in family and religious events or do homework.

I overheard two staff members talking in the teacher workroom.  One complained that his practice schedule was altered on the evenings before the holidays. He said that he made it clear to his athletes that it was okay if they needed to miss that practice or leave early. The second coach said something astute and sensitive: kids don’t want to disappoint the coach (or teacher). Although the practice may be noted as “optional,” kids fear that will reflect badly on them or cost them a chance at participating in the next contest.

The same scenario played out academically. As a teacher noted that his students were reporting lots of homework and tests the day after Rosh Hashanah, another teacher stated he made it clear that, if students were not able to get the work done, they just should tell him and he’d adjust their activities in class. But kids don’t like doing that. This teacher did note that few students had ever actually done this. I was not surprised.

I just learned that one coach had scheduled a field trip on the Sunday following Yom Kippur. The kids reported that it was “mandatory.” Given that some kids travel to celebrate the holiday, and Sunday after Yom Kippur is the primary day to get all that work done, this “field trip” was ill timed and insensitive.

School does not happen in a vacuum. There are many priorities competing for a child’s attention: activities, work, family, health, not to mention the emotional drama that is unfortunately part of many of our children’s lives. But none of that matters when we have to get through unit seven!

I am disappointed in some of my colleagues. Yes, it takes a little more planning and creativity to find a way to make a schedule work during the fall Jewish holidays – or the spring holidays when Easter and Passover come at nearly the same time. But it is important that we do so.

Kids do need to partner with their teachers. Students need to use assignment sheets to plan in advance. They can approach teachers and point out problems before they become issues. However, the adults have to give them these tools. If the test is announced on the Wednesday before Rosh Hashanah, the student has been put in an untenable position – and it is the teacher’s fault!


It is important that we acknowledge that school, specifically homework, is only one of many priorities for students when they leave the classroom. We can help kids manage the “crunch” times, whether they are religious holidays, the play, or playoffs. It is critical to teach them ways to juggle their lives outside of school and stay engaged in their studies. It is a give and take, and teachers need to be better at giving.

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Tears at the Airport

“Don’t cry in front of your child,” was the advice a friend gave me. And I didn’t when we dropped our daughter off for her freshman year of college about a year ago. I had more than a few tears after we left the dorm. I had a rough time on the flight back home. And then I got used to the new situation, video chats, text messages, and visits every two or three months.

But this year it is different.

My daughter just left for Africa. This time, she will be away for four months and there will be no visiting. This time, she is in a foreign country far away from the familiar. This time, she is really on her own. This excites her, and it scares me.

She is capable, smart, and strong. I am very confident that she will be able to cope with the challenges ahead of her. I know that some of them will be significant, and some will be “growing experiences.” My fear is not rational. It is not about her; it is about me.

My daughter’s semester abroad is so much more than an extended vacation. A majority of the students we know study aboard in more conventional locations. Had she chosen to study in Europe, the weight of the distance would probably have been less. Maybe. Since she is traveling to a part of the world that is very different and very distant, it means that she is more on her own than she has ever been before. And I am less in contact and control.

Yes, I think that is what this is about. This is about the ever-present parachute, even when she is two hours away by plane. I could come to her rescue if she needed me. I could sweep in and play powerful parent. I haven’t done that. She hasn’t needed it. But I could. It is possible. Not this semester.

We want to protect our children. We want to shield them from emotional or physical harm. We don’t want to keep them in a bubble, but we don’t want scars or scares. I don’t know that this impulse ever goes away. I can’t imagine ever losing it. Yet, I must suppress it.

I cried at the airport when we dropped her off. We all cried at home before we left. I cried on the way home, too. And every so often an irrational fear hits me, and I have to fight that feeling.

There are many parenting turning points. Many seem to be related to increasing the distance between parents and children. They are about putting our children in the very positions we worked so hard to keep them from; placing them in harm’s way, stepping back, swallowing our anxiety, and letting them protect themselves.

And we want that. Right?

Yes, I want that. She is more than ready for it. She can do it, and I am going to have to step back, shut up, and let her go. Besides, she is in Africa.

Yet, I am not ready to let go, and that’s tough luck, because she is on her way. And I am crying.