Read Primary School Confidential Online
Authors: Woog
Primary School Confidential (28 page)
âMum, what is the quotient of 7 and 63?'
Have you ever had your kid ask you a question like this? By which I mean: you have absolutely no idea what they're talking about? So you google
quotient
and Wikipedia hits you up with this:
In mathematics, a quotient (from Latin: quotiens âhow many times', pronounced
) is the result of division. [1] For example, when dividing 6 by 3, the quotient is 2, while 6 is called the dividend, and 3 the divisor. The quotient further is expressed as the number of times the divisor divides into the dividend, e.g. 3 divides 2 times into 6. A quotient can also mean just the integer part of the result of dividing two integers. For example, the quotient of 13 divided by 5 would be 2 while the remainder would be 3. For more, see the Euclidean division.
And then you're left standing there, absentmindedly scratching the inside of your ear, before saying something along the lines of â. . . Division? Or something related to dividing things?'
It is true that there are many occasions when my offspring have proven to be smarter than me, especially when it comes to using the Foxtel remote or certain social media apps. But it's a little disconcerting when I am unable to do Year 5 mathsâespecially considering that, at one stage, I was in charge of teaching it!
It seems that, with age, my brain has turned to ham-and-pea soup, and I now struggle with the basic elements of reading, writing and arithmetic.
I recall getting my first gold star in class. My heart almost burst such was my immense pride. I can even still remember why I got it: I was able to demonstrate, using my pointer finger, the hidden number 2, which was disguised as half of an angel. Miss Babos and I, we were such a great team. Finding hidden numbers, lining up our Cuisenaire rods, playing games with counters. Now
that
is my idea of maths, and I'm fairly sure I'd still be able to find that hidden number 2 today. But at some pointâand I think it's from about Year 3âmaths goes from Johnny having four apples and Beth having five and how many do they have altogether to âIs 70,173,454 divisible by 5?'. It's a bit like playing âChopsticks' on the piano and then, moments later, being asked to play Chopin's Piano Concerto no. 3 in A major in front of a packed concert hall. There is a huge gap that causes a disconnect. And it is at the precise moment when your child writes âyes' in answer to the question about 70,173,454 that you realise your kid is smarter than you.
Debate has raged over the decades as to whether homework is beneficial at all. When yours truly was at school, we had a list
of ten spelling words that we had to learn during the week. We were tested on these words each Friday, and if you got all ten correct, you were the lucky recipient of jelly snake. Wow! That was all the incentive I needed to ensure that, come Friday, I was down with that list.
The hours after school were spent exploring the neighbourhood on our bikes, playing cricket on the road, or trying to avoid being pummelled by that evil Benny Brown who lived on the next street.
So, when did homework creep in? Why are we now faced with
more
things to do after school? How do we fit it in around footy practice, ballet, Mandarin, tennis lessons, judo, organic smoothie-making masterclasses, touch-typing lessons, maths tutoring and crafternoons? Do we expect our kids to do their maths homework while in the waiting room of the dentist/dermatologist/allergist/podiatrist/physiotherapist/kinesiologist?
And why do I have to be the big mean mummy overseeing all of these extra activities?
âHave you done your homework?' I ask each day, and each day comes the reply: âYes.'
On further investigation, it is revealed that the homework is actually still in the school bag, untouched, and the whole lot is due tomorrow.
And just what are these fucking complex sentences of which you speak? What the hell is an independent clause? A subordinating conjunction? Surely these terms belong in a courtroom, not on page 40 of Lauren O'Brien and John Walters'
Grammar Conventions: National Grammar and Language Activities for Grade 6
, 2nd edition.
This book will also familiarise your child with modality, adverbials, cohesive devices and an anxiety disorder. Now, I am
far from being on the invitation list for Mensa, but I have racked my brain recalling my own school days, and all I can remember is the spelling list. And times tables. That's about it. (Apart from sport and library, which of course were my favourite part of the school curriculum, other than big lunch and little lunch.)
But education is different these days, and schools are expected to develop homework policies that cater to the particular needs of their children. When teachers give homework, it's not because they're sadists; it's because, generally speaking, teachers are good people who want to see your lovely kids succeed. Homework is important to establish good study habits, to extend the learning done in the classroom and to enforce self-discipline. (Which I think is a lot to ask of a five-year-old who just wants to pick his nose, roll it up into a ball and flick it at his brother.) Teachers rejoice in seeing their students overcome learning obstacles, develop problem-solving skills and reach academic milestones. But don't forget, homework is a pain in the arse for them too, because they have to mark every page and write some sort of encouraging comment for every kid. And mostly they have to do it on the weekend.
Thanks to all this homework, we are producing a new breed of super-smart kids, but I for one am bloody useless when it comes to helping them out. And I believe there does come a point when your personal pride should be placed above grammar conventions and obtuse angles, so I am happy to provide you with a template that you can print off and send to your school should all this homework palaver get too much:
Dear Sir or Madam,
This CEASE AND DESIST ORDER is to inform you that your harassing and intimidating actions are completely
unacceptable and will not be tolerated in any way, shape or form. Should you continue to pursue these brain-zapping activities in violation of this CEASE AND DESIST ORDER, I will not hesitate to pursue further legal action against you, including, but not limited to, civil action and/or criminal complaints.
I have had to pull a very comprehensive report about the Daintree Rainforest out of my arse in less than twenty-four hours.
I still don't know how to spell conscieous/conscience/conchous without having to resort to spellcheck, yet it seems to be on the kids' spelling list every week. Ditto definantly/defenently.
I keep confusing Modality with some sort of feminine hygiene product.
Fridays roll around far too quickly and I find it very taxing to finish the homework on time. I can never seem to find a blue pen, so my kid does his homework in black pen, and then you write a comment on the homework stressing that he is required to use blue pen, yet you write it in RED!
The advanced nature of the work required of my eleven-year-old makes me question my own mental capacities, which in turn causes my self-confidence to suffer. I do not enjoy it when my kids soundly demonstrate superior mental computation strategies by adding up complex numbers just by using their brain, while I have to write down sums and carry numbers and all that crap. When doing or discussing homework with my kids, I feel a mix of shame and stupidity.
Please note that I have the right to remain free from your intimidating homework tactics, and I intend to protect that right. Note that a copy of this letter and a record of its delivery will be stored. Note too that it is admissible as evidence in a court of law and will be used should the need arise in the future.
This CEASE AND DESIST ORDER demands that you immediately discontinue and do not at any point henceforth do the following to me: highlight my lack of basic skills in numeracy and literacy; put red frowny faces on my work; put red question marks on my work; or send me a note saying that my work is not up to the class standard.
Failure to comply with my demands will send me to the nearest bottle of gin, whereupon I will be forced to remove the lid and have a big swig. And because the gin is almost 100% definantly going to make me cry, you will have that on your conscence as well.
Given that homework seems to be a necessary evil, let us now take a look at some of the excuses one might use to get out of submitting one's homework, and common teacher responses.
I forgot my homework.
No shit? You just haven't done it.
I didn't know it was due today
. Of course you knew it was due today, because it is Friday and that's the day that you wear your sports uniform and it is also the day that you get a lunch order because your useless mother has run out of bread. And fruit. And anything else that could be identified as sustenance. You just haven't done your homework.
Start crying.
This one has its advantages. Depending on the type of teacher you have, this can be a very effective way of getting out of your homework. It's particularly good if you can manage to get yourself worked up into an advanced state of hysteria, with uncontrollable snot issues and perhaps a cheeky stint of hyperventilation. Chances are you will be sent to the sick bay to calm the fuck down.
I accidentally threw it out.
What? You threw out two large textbooks, your iPad and an additional green plastic portfolio? Don't take me for a fool, young lady.
Mum was too busy watching YouTube clips of Tatum Channing with his shirt off and couldn't help me.
Embarrassing, but credible.
The dog ate my homework.
Everyone has used this excuse in some point in their life, even if they have never owned a dog. Because it cannot be proven, you may get away with this once. But keep it up your sleeve. Don't go in too hard with this one too early in the year.
And even if coming up with excuses is the only way you can help your children with their homework, as ever, try to ensure that the excuses sound like the kids' own work.