Letter to a science teacher

If I haven't blogged for a while, it's because my husband and I and the twins have recently taken two trips: one pleasurable, to Quebec for March break, and the other an all too familiar (figurative) journey to school-project-hell and back. I've written about how and why I dislike school projects previously on this blog, so I won't repeat my arguments here. What I do want to do is share a letter I wrote earlier in the school year (November 2010) to my daughters' science teacher, outlining my concerns about a project he assigned. I was worried that this was to be the first of many unreasonable, pedagogically questionable projects, and after last year's experience with project overload, I decided to see if I could nip the problem in the bud by detailing my concerns to the teacher. This is the letter (with minor deletions and changes to protect the innocent)I wrote:

Dear Mr. X:

We are the parents of J and E in your Grade 6 science class. J and E are enjoying science so far, but we do have a few concerns about the previous project and the one new one that has recently been assigned. While the girls were working on the habitat project, a number of issues and problems arose that we would like to share with you in the hope that these problems can be addressed, and possibly resolved in time to make a difference for the second project.

The scope of the habitat project: We found that the scope of the habitat project was a little too broad. We believe that 11-year-olds do not possess the developmental tools to take a large subject and circumscribe it so that it becomes a workable, doable project. Since our daughters seemed initially to be at a loss regarding how to limit their topic, we directed them to ask you for more details regarding what was expected. They told us that your response to this, and to most questions, was: “what do you think?” While we understand the pedagogical goal inherent in this type of response, it was not particularly helpful to our daughters, since what they were looking for was specific guidance on the amount and type of work expected. Like many of the students in your grade six class, our daughters are hard-working, high-achieving kids who have been taught to strive to meet expectations. When the expectations are not clear (and unfortunately, the Rubrics section for this assignment on your blog was blank), they feel disoriented. Since no specific guidance on the number of plants and animals to be covered was provided, we took the liberty of giving our daughters some suggestions. Both girls chose to cover more than 15 animals, and since they also felt (although, again, they were not sure) that they should write several sentences about each animal (along with the required classification), the project took them a very long time to complete at home. The girls spent the better part of two consecutive weekends and multiple evenings working on this project. This made it a very stressful endeavour both for them, and for all of us as a family, as very little non-project activities could be planned for those weekends/evenings.

Time in class: We do realize that you gave the class . . . time at the computers to work on this project, and we are thankful for that. However, you may not realize that many of your students—our girls included—are not proficient on computers, as they do not use them regularly, either at home or anywhere else. So, for instance, when they research topics at school, they know how to save the information, but they do not know how to print it, at least not in the manner you suggested: i.e., by first copying the information into a Word document. They would need step-by-step guidance on how to do this, in order to learn to do it efficiently, or at all, and they have not received such guidance.

There are two other reasons why the time given to work on the project in class was not particularly productive for J and E: they cannot type with any degree of speed or fluidity, and they have not been taught how to transfer their work to a memory stick, so that they can bring it home for final formatting, etc. So any actual written work done on the computers at school had to be repeated at home, which was not a productive use of time, and greatly added to the hours required to complete this project.

Bibliography: We believe that the requirement of a bibliography at this grade or age, should be accompanied not simply by a reference to [board] guidelines (which are clearly geared towards high school students, and are confusing and out of date, to boot), but by detailed instruction on why one includes a bibliography, how to put together a bibliography, where to find copyright information in a book, or an encyclopedia, etc. The [board] guide, for instance, does not include a single sample entry for a Wikipedia article, despite the fact that Wikipedia is the source children use most frequently for research projects. The girls told us that you commented that students should include authors in their bibliographies. Given this requirement, perhaps during the research phase, you could direct the children, not only to the computer, but also to books, where they will indeed find actual authors, and where the copyright information is more straightforward. In any case, we believe that, since classifications were requested for every plant and animal mentioned in this project, the required bibliography was beyond the ability of most 11-year-old children to complete independently.

I should add, that J and E enjoyed working on their projects, and they both learned a lot. They are also excited about the topics they have chosen for their next project, In general, they are enthusiastic about science class, and we don't want that enthusiasm to dampen because of problems they encountered while working on the first project. That is why we have decided—respectfully, and in the spirit of constructive dialogue—to bring these concerns to your attention.

We are available to discuss these issues further, either in person, via email or by telephone.

Sincerely,

J and E's parents

I delivered this letter (not without some trepidation) to Mr X's mailbox, and a few days later he called me. I was nervous about speaking to him because on past occasions, teachers with whom I've raised concerns or to whom I have written notes such as this one, have sometimes become defensive, which leads to an unproductive exchange. (I should note that I accept my share of responsibility for failed communications; it is quite possible that the way I spoke or worded my written messages rubbed the teachers the wrong way. This is something I'm continually working on.) But I needn't have been nervous. Mr. X was extremely gracious and receptive to my concerns. He tried to address them all individually, noting, for example, that he thought my daughters' class had been taught how to create proper bibliographies in grades 4 and 5 (which was not the case). He also admitted that he'd made some assumptions about the kids' knowledge of computers and research that he should probably not have made. We ended the conversation amicably, with him assuring me that he would try to do things differently for future projects.

The good news is, he did change things—a lot! Since I wrote that letter, for instance, there have been no more take-home projects. All work in science is now done in class, and it includes a balance of research and group experiments, such as designing a small electric car! Since I did not want to overload Mr X, I had not even mentioned in my letter another of my concerns: namely, the lack of experiments in what was, after all, a science class. But the letter seemed to propel him to re-think everything, and now the class is completely different. At the beginning of the year, the girls were complaining that in science class, they were either plopped in front of the computer (researching) or watching boring movies. They actually disliked the class intensely and, in fact, instructed me to change the second sentence of my letter from "J and E are enjoying science class so far" to "J and E are enjoying science so far." Now it is, hands-down, their favourite class. They especially enjoy the experiments, and one of them has even expressed a new interest in becoming a scientist or at least in continuing to find out "how things work."

And the bad news? Mr. X only teaches the girls science. Their core teacher, Mr. Y., is the one who assigned the social studies project that resulted in our recent journey to homework hell. The project displayed all of the problems I detailed in my letter to Mr. X, and then some (for instance, a completely useless "artistic" component). So what to do? Do I write a similar letter to the core teacher? Ask to meet with him? It's tricky because he is my daughters' main teacher, and I've already had to approach him concerning several other, non-project related issues (such as incompressible math questions!). I do not want to alienate him or stress him out, but I also do not want him to assign another project such as the one we just suffered through. The girls learned next to nothing from it, which is perhaps the most important reason I object to context-less, single-focus research projects for 11-yr-olds (and is itself the topic for another post!). Any ideas regarding what my next steps, should be would be greatly appreciated.

Semi-Private Schools

A long time ago—in another life, it seems—my husband and I found ourselves looking to buy a house in the greater Boston area. During this ultimately fruitless period of house-hunting, our real estate agent accompanied us on numerous expeditions to quaint urban neighbourhoods and not-so-quaint neighbouring suburbs. In her attempt to sell us on a particular house, the agent would invariably say something like, "The local school is wonderful—very high test scores." We were surprised by this, because we were quite obviously childless, and had never expressed the slightest interest in children or schools. We informed our agent that proximity to schools, good or bad, did not matter to us, that we were more concerned with proximity to decent restaurants and bookstores. She ignored us and continued to rattle off test scores of the schools close to the houses we viewed. It must be an American thing, we figured, something to do with the inequitable way schools are funded in the US. We were pretty certain school test scores were not of equal concern to house-hunters in Canada.

It took us many years—during which we became parents to twins, moved in a panic back to Canada, and slowly realized that babies grow up to be kids who eventually attend school—to realize how wrong we were.

Recently, the Toronto Star published the results of an investigation into fundraising disparities among public schools in certain boards within the province of Ontario. I was not surprised that our neighbourhood junior school was one of the highest-ranked schools in Toronto in terms of money raised through fundraising. I was, however, somewhat taken aback to discover that during the year being studied (2008-2009), our school raised—through a combination of school and parent fundraising—$252,072 more than the elementary school at the bottom of the Toronto School Board list. (See full report here.) What is a person who believes in public education to make of such an obscene discrepancy? How is it even possible?

Two explanations spring to mind: first, the government of Ontario no longer adequately funds public education, and has not done so since the Harris years, despite promises by the governing liberals to amend the flawed funding formula introduced by the conservatives; second, perhaps as a result of its decision to continue underfunding education, the government has chosen not to set limits on fundraising by, for instance, restricting the uses to which parent-raised money can be put. In my daughters' school, some of the money raised by the parent association goes to programs such as "Scientists in the School" and "Learning Through the Arts''—curriculum-related programs whose presence in a school should not be tied to the availability of parent-generated funds.

But the fundraising issue is also part of a larger picture of education in Ontario (and elsewhere in North America) that has emerged in the last few decades. Specifically, it is an integral part of a cycle of inequity in which (as my Boston real estate agent understood) standardized tests scores also figure prominently. Before the advent of standardized tests such as EQAO in Ontario, inequality among schools—including differences in parental involvement and fundraising—no doubt existed, but standardized testing has amplified existing differences through its direct effect on real estate values. A high-scoring school drives up surrounding property values, which leads to parents-of-means moving into the neighbourhood, contributing time, energy and money to the school, which in turn leads to even higher test scores . . . and on and on the cycle goes.

The result is the creation of a tripartite system of schooling in Ontario, consisting of public, private, and what people in my neighbourhood jokingly refer to as "semi-private" schools. In a semi-private school, private money, to the tune of more than a million dollars for some high schools in the province, is funnelled into the public school, making up for any deficiencies caused by inadequate government funding. Well-heeled parents who contribute the money are thrilled to save the $28,000 in private school fees. Indeed, for these parents it's a fantastic deal. For the parents of students attending the province's truly public schools, not so much.

The Gentleman's C

Last week, my daughters received their second term report cards. The changes in report card formats introduced in Ontario this school year (see here) meant that this was the first report they've received in Grade 6 to feature actual letter grades. In all subjects, both girls received grades of A-, A, or A+. This should be cause for praise and celebration, right? Well, yes and no.

Along with the report cards, a letter was sent home to parents of Grade 6 students detailing the awards their sons and daughters are eligible to win in their graduating year. The letter explains,

...students have much to look forward to in the last term of school as they begin to set goals for improvement in term 3. This is a perfect time to announce the graduation awards' criteria. Every grade 6 student upon completion of their grade 6 program will receive a graduation certificate. In addition to celebrating graduating classes, there will be special awards presented in the areas of Arts, Sports and Academics as follows[.]

The letter goes on to delineate the various awards, which include the catch-all Honour Roll ("Awarded to all students who have received all level 4 grades [A-, A, A+] in the following subjects: English, French and Math"), the traditional yet amorphously-defined "spirit" or "character" awards, and awards in specific subjects such as music and phys. ed. (but interestingly, not math or science).

If awards were based on this term's report cards, both my daughters would qualify for the Honour Roll. But frankly, I'd be happier if there were no Honour Roll; in fact, I'd be thrilled if the school scrapped the awards ceremony altogether. I believe kids—11-year-olds in this instance—are already under enough pressure to perform. They should not have to expend additional energy in their final term worrying about keeping their marks up, knowing that one slip-up on a test could prevent their name from being engraved on the 2011 honor roll plaque to be prominently displayed in the school's front hall for all to see, forever!* My daughters work hard enough, fret about their schoolwork enough. They shouldn't have to concern themselves with year-end awards too. Yet they know that many of their over-worked, over-scheduled, high-achieving friends will "make" Honour Roll. They would feel embarrassed and disappointed if they did not do the same.

But for me the issue is not merely personal: there are valid educational grounds to oppose awards ceremonies as well. For instance, whatever happened to the notion of intrinsic motivation? Hasn't a half-century's educational and pedagogical research shown that true learning does not spring from prodding kids with carrots and sticks, as if they were lab rats in some dubious behaviourist experiment? Hasn't more recent research demonstrated pretty convincingly that kids learn best in the absence of intense external pressure to perform? Why, then, is it considered so controversial when a school actually heeds this research and re-conceives the traditional awards ceremony so as to reward the individual efforts and achievements of all graduating students? (See an account of a BC school that has done just that, here, here and here.)

I don't know the answers to these questions. And clearly, it's too late for me to agitate for the abolition of the awards ceremony at our school. To be honest, I'm pretty certain most parents would object to such a change as strongly as the principal and teachers. So what can parents of soon-to-graduate 6th graders do to mitigate the pressure emanating from the school to "achieve"—in the narrowest definition of the term—at all cost?

My unorthodox solution was to introduce my kids to the concept of the "Gentleman's C." I sat the girls down and told them how, in the early part of the last century, at American (mostly Ivy League) universities, "gentlemen" believed that to work too hard or long at academics meant you didn't know how to enjoy life. I dutifully explained the classism (and sexism) inherent in such a notion—how the self-identified "gentlemen" who espoused such views were privileged enough not to have to worry about C's affecting their chances of finding gainful employment. Cutting to the chase, I told them, "For these "fun-loving" students, to achieve straight A's would have been almost unseemly. A grade of C was considered perfectly adequate for a "gentleman." I chose not to belabour the point, hoping merely to plant a seed of doubt in my daughters' minds as to the value of high marks. I concluded my "lecture lite" with a charming verse from a 1909 poem by Judge Robert Grant called "Extinct Harvard":

The able-bodied C man! He sails swimmingly along.
His philosophy is rosy as a skylark's matin song.
The light of his ambition is respectably to pass,
And to hold a firm position in the middle of his class.

I didn't bother to mention that the poem is satire. But the looks on my kids' faces told me they knew.


*Grade 6 students must also contend with the pressures of EQAO, the province's standardized tests. But that is a topic for another post.

Ontario's School Food and Beverage Policy—Update

In a previous post, I took a look at the new School Food and Beverage Policy slated to take effect in Ontario schools in September 2011. Although I came to the conclusion that the policy is well-intended and a good first step in the process of improving the nutritional quality of school food, one particular aspect puzzled me: the new guidelines allow entrees (examples given are frozen pizza, sandwiches, hot dogs) with sodium levels of (up to) 960 mg to be counted among the healthier "sell most" category of foods, which must comprise 80% of foods sold in schools. I found it hard to believe that government dietitians would consider food with such a high level of sodium to be "healthy," given that the "tolerable upper intake level" or UL for sodium for children ranges from 1500 mg to 2300 mg. Confused—and suspicious that permissible sodium levels for "healthier" entrees might have something to do with schools' dubious practice of fundraising through "Pizza Lunches"—I decided to send an email to ministry officials asking for clarification. A few days ago, I received a response from a representative of the Healthy Schools and Student Well-Being Unit at the Ministry of Education. With respect to the issue of allowable sodium levels in "healthy" entrees, she wrote:

The sodium criteria in the standards are based on the allowable sodium content for Disease Risk Reduction Claims with respect to saturated and trans fats outlined in the Canadian Food Inspection Agency’s Guide to Food Labelling and Advertising (2004). A Disease Risk Reduction Claims, one of the categories of health claims, is a statement that links the food or a part of a food to reducing the risk of developing a diet-related disease (e.g., cancer, hypertension) in the context of the total diet.

I responded to this (non-)explanation as follows:

This is a rather confusing answer to a straightforward question: should a child's entree containing 960 mg of sodium (per serving) be considered "healthy"? The new School Food and Beverage Policy says yes.

I'll let you know if and when I receive a reply to my second letter. I suspect, though, that the real explanation for the weak sodium standards is to be found in another part of the email I received from the ministry official. Describing the provenance of the new school food policy, the Healthy Schools representative wrote:

The School Food and Beverage Policy was developed by the Ministry of Education, in collaboration with the Ministries of Health Promotion and Sport, Children and Youth Services and Agriculture, Food and Rural Affairs and with the input from representatives of the education, health and the food industry sectors. [emphasis mine]

(See also, Ontario's new School Food and Beverage Policy.)

Camp and Play

Talk is cheap. Talk about the value of unstructured play for kids seems especially cheap these days. Cheap and abundant in the media and blogosphere, invaluable and scarce in the "real world."

An example: a few days ago, I received as an insert with my daily Globe and Mail, the glossy Our Kids Go To Camp summer camp guide (also available online). It seems a bit odd to receive such a guide in January, when the temperature is minus 24 with the wind chill. But I suppose it makes a certain sense: during the season of SAD we're more likely to pore over the beautiful pictures, fantasizing fondly about mosquito infested woods and heatwaves that make you actually want to take a dip in a freezing northern lake. Plus, from a practical perspective, the camp guide, which lists most overnight and day camps in Ontario (and some in Quebec), allows parents to plan in advance to ensure that they pick the right camp for their child, and that they enroll him or her early to avoid disappointment.

This year's guide, like those of past years, is full of articles extolling the benefits of camp for kids. There are, for example, a series of mini-interviews in which prominent people—ranging from reporter Jane Taber to entrepreneur Seth Godin—talk about their camp experience. There are also short informative articles about the various ways in which camp benefits kids. One short piece in particular by Lisa Van de Ven caught my eye. Entitled "The Value of Play," it begins with a statement about today's play-deprived kids:

Kids just want to have fun—and they need more of it, too. Many children today simply don’t get enough of unstructured playtime. “If you look at time in school, time at home, time watching TV, those things have either stayed consistent or gone up,” says Michelle Brownrigg, chief executive of Active Healthy Kids Canada. “But active playtime has decreased.”

No argument there. The article goes on to state:

Camp gives children the playtime they need while encouraging creativity and social engagement. “What’s really unique about the camp environment—whether it’s a day camp or an overnight camp—is the opportunity for kids to explore being active in creative ways that aren’t as adult-driven,” Brownrigg says.

Here's where I disagree. In a piece I posted last summer entitled Camp-Keep-Me-Busy, I argued the exact opposite: i.e., that the problem with many camps today is, they offer the same kind of overly-structured days filled with adult-directed activities as kids experience the rest of the year. The only difference is the type of structured activities offered and—in some instances—the natural backdrop.

If you have a minute, read the camp post and let me know what you think.

Ontario's new School Food and Beverage Policy

As I made clear in a previous post, I am no fan of the ubiquitous "Pizza Lunch" fundraiser in Ontario's public schools. My principal objection is that kids eat far too much commercial pizza as it is. When I was a kid, no one served pizza at birthday parties; many kids (me included) didn't even like it, mainly because industrial pizza, which is the kind served most often at schools and parties, is simply boring, blah food: salt dressed up in dough, stringy cheese substance and tomato sauce. Nowadays, kids' palates have been trained from a young age to like humdrum salty foods. (My children initially disliked pizza, but after the umpteenth birthday party, their palates succumbed to peer pressure, and now they like it.)

Given my feelings about Junk Lunch, as I dubbed it in my previous post, how could I not be pleased with the newly announced provincial School Food and Beverage Policy? This is how the policy works (from the ministry's press release):

The nutrition standards make it easy for schools to determine which foods they can and cannot sell. Candy, energy drinks and fried foods are among the items that will no longer be sold in schools. In addition, 80 per cent of the new school menu must include products with the highest levels of essential nutrients and lowest amounts of fat, sugar and sodium. This includes fresh fruit, vegetables and whole grain breads. As well, 20 per cent of the new menu may include products that have slightly higher amounts of fat, sugar, and sodium. These items include bagels and cheese.

So far so good. It's difficult to disagree with a policy whose goal is the improvement of the nutritional quality of food sold in schools. But will the new standards prove to be the death knell for the hated (by me) Pizza Lunch?

Probably not. For one thing, the policy allows for 10 "special event" days during which less healthy foods can be sold on school premises. I can't prove it, but I would bet that this exemption was granted in recognition of schools' deeply ingrained habit of fund raising via Pizza Lunches. My daughters' school, for instance, holds Pizza Lunches every other week which, given the school calendar and holiday schedule, amounts to around twenty Pizza Lunches per year. So, under the new rules, ten of these "special events" would be permitted. That would be ten too many in my view.

But the special events exemption is not the only aspect of the new policy that concerns me. When one looks closely at the actual standards being applied in the "healthier foods" (80%) category, it becomes clear that the bar for "healthy" has not been set particularly high. Consider the standard for sodium, for example. The new policy (as laid out in the ministry's "quick reference" guide) states that in order for "entrees" such as "frozen pizza, sandwiches, pasta or hot dogs" to qualify as part of the 80% category, they must contain less than or equal to 960 mg sodium per serving. That's a lot of sodium for a child's lunch entree (i.e., not including sides or beverage). After all, the total recommended sodium intake is 1,200 mg per day for children ages 4-8, and 1,500 mg for children 9 and up. (See here.)

Even more troubling is the fact that the new sodium limit is relatively easy for pizza lunch suppliers to comply with—or rather to claim that they are in compliance with. Pizza Pizza has already circulated press releases stating that their pizza complies with the new Ontario rules governing food sold in schools in terms of trans fat, sodium, protein content, etc. When it comes to sodium, however, this claim is misleading. According to the nutritional information on their website, a slice of Pizza Pizza plain cheese pizza contains 580-590 mg of sodium; thus, two slices contain 1160 mg sodium, an amount that clearly exceeds the new provincial standards. The question is, how many children who enroll in pizza lunch programs eat just one slice of pizza? Our school offers children (for different prices) a choice of one, two, or three slices of pizza. From what I gather, some of the youngest children—in Grades 1 or 2—opt for the one-slice option, but the vast majority of students participating in the program choose the two- or three-slice options. (And need I add that the "snack" offered with the pizza is a commercial cookie or chips, which piles on even more sodium?)

My point here is not really to quibble about how and why pizza—or the fundraisers that revolve around this particular junk food—does or does not fit into the new 80% (healthier) or 20% (less healthy) categories. There is a larger point to be made: instead of trying to tinker with existing practices to render them compliant with new (not very exacting) ministry standards, schools should consider using the opportunity of new standards to inaugurate completely different programs. Scrap the Pizza Lunch! End the questionable practice of partnering with fast food companies for fund raising. Instead of Pizza Lunches, why not hold Gourmet Lunches, in which schools expose children to healthy foods from a variety of cultures? The possibilities are endless, but they require that we—school boards, administrators, parents—kick the habit: that is, that we break, once and for all, our unhealthy addiction to fast, easy and cheap food for kids.

Keyboard vs. Cursive—Update

Almost a year ago I wrote a post in which I complained that from Grade 4 onwards, my daughters have been expected to hand in assignments typed—i.e., printed off the computer—without having been properly or thoroughly taught to keyboard. I also explained the curious, parallel decline in the teaching of cursive, a situation which has engendered a whole cohort of elementary students who can neither keyboard nor write (as opposed to print) with any degree of efficiency or competency. Near the end of the post I said: "I've sent an email to the [Ontario] Ministry asking when and why cursive was dropped from the curriculum and how and when formal instruction in keyboarding will replace it. I'll let you know if/when I receive a response."

Well, the ministry of education did respond. (It took them a while, but not as long as the timing of this update might suggest!) In the first emailed response, a ministry spokesperson said:

Students begin developing their keyboarding skills in elementary school where they are encouraged to use computers for a variety of purposes throughout the different subjects in their program. . . . In fact, a key component of the Grades 1-8: Language, 2006 (revised) and the English, Grades 9-12, 2007 (revised) curriculum documents is the inclusion of a Media Literacy strand for all grades starting in Grade 1 and continuing through to all Grade 9-12 core courses. One of the four overall expectations in this strand is “create a variety of media texts for different purposes and audiences, using appropriate forms, conventions, and techniques”. This offers students the opportunities to explore multi-media technologies.

The spokeperson (whose position is actually director of the Curriculum and Assessment Policy Branch) went on to detail the various expectations for the Media Literacy Strand for each grade. For example in Grade 5, she notes:

students are expected to: produce media texts for specific purposes and audiences, using a few simple media forms and appropriate conventions and techniques (e.g., an album of camera shots showing the different angles and distances and commenting on their uses; a poem, announcement, or flyer produced electronically by combining word-processed text with pictures and/or photographs; a mock television commercial for a favourite cereal, toy, or book; a newspaper article that includes a photograph and headline…).

What struck me in all of her descriptions and explanations of the curriculum, most of which are taken from ministry curriculum documents (available in their entirety here) were two words: "expected" and "or." Students in various grades are "expected," for example, to produce certain "media texts," but they can accomplish this by creating "a poem, an announcement or a "flyer produced electronically by combining word-processed text with pictures" (emphasis added). In other words, in elementary school at least, the "expectation" that kids learn keyboarding is so weak as to border on optional.

In secondary school, the spokesperson goes on to explain, the "expectations" continue. For example in Grade 10 English, "students are expected to: use a wide range of appropriate presentation features, including print and script, fonts, graphics, and layout" in their written work; one example given is "word-process[ing of] the final copy of a short narrative." In high school, there are also Business Studies courses offered that specifically teach keyboarding skills. But when I asked in a followup email if these courses are mandatory, the ministry spokesperson said they are not.

As for cursive, I was told that, contrary to what I implied in my original post, it had not been dropped from the curriculum; in fact, similar "expectations" obtain for this dying skill. In the Language curriculum for Grades 5 through 8, for example, "students are expected to: use a range of appropriate elements of effective presentation in the finished product, including print, script, different fonts, graphics, and layout (e.g., use legible printing and cursive writing…)."

In followup communications, it became clear why the curriculum documents use the language of expectations and options. The spokeswoman stated:

Curriculum expectations are mandated by the ministry of education. Teachers plan units of study, develop a variety of teaching approaches, and select appropriate resources to address the mandated curriculum expectations, taking into account the needs and abilities of the students in their classes.

OK, I understand this. I get that the ministry is trying to allow for locally-sensitive interpretations and implementations of the provincial curriculum. However, there are expectations that reading and math be taught, and there are whole mandated courses devoted to teaching them. I realize we are living in a time of transition, but on the whole issue of technology, it seems to me as if the ministry is trying to have it both ways: we expect that it will be taught, but we don't know or care too much how that might be accomplished.

I'm not advocating the introduction of entire technology courses for elementary kids. In fact, I'm of the (no-doubt) minority opinion that most technology—educational and otherwise—adds very little to elementary education. But if schools are going to ask that kids as young as 9 hand in printed assignments, then they should find better ways—with ministry support—to teach technology skills. At the moment, I believe that the ministry and individual school boards are relying on parents to teach basic keyboarding and computer skills. (All of my daughters' friends who can keyboard with any degree of efficiency have learned and perfected the skill at home.) But this reliance raises a whole set of problems, income-related access to technology being the most obvious of them.

On a more positive note, although my daughters' keyboarding skills have not improved much this year, their handwriting has taken off. Their grade 6 teacher re-introduced pen and pencil writing at the beginning of the school year—after a gap of two years—and has since insisted that all classwork be completed in cursive. I've heard the arguments that cursive is obsolete and should no longer be taught. But at least one study suggests otherwise (see here) and I, for one, am happy that my children—however technologically-challenged they may be—can now produce a signature of their own—in cursive!

(See also Keyboard vs. Cursive)