Live Love Laugh Learn … Create the possibilities

Category: Flash fiction

  • Are you game?

    This week at the Carrot Ranch Charli Mills is talking about childhood games and has challenged writers to In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that involves a children’s game or rhyme. I think she chose this topic just for me. Thank you, Charli.

    I love games and am a strong believer in the use of games to enhance learning. I have memories of playing games that span my lifetime, from early childhood until the present, and have visions of playing games far into the future.

    Johnny Automatic, cartoon of a girl and boy playing with a ball https://openclipart.org/detail/721/playing-ball
    Johnny Automatic, cartoon of a girl and boy playing with a ball https://openclipart.org/detail/721/playing-ball

    One of my earliest memories of an organised game was of “Drop the hanky” played at a birthday party. I was about five years old at the time. I think that perhaps, until this event, I had only ever played imaginative games with my brothers and sisters. I was obviously not familiar with the rules or the ethos of the game. I’ll let my flash (non-) fiction explain.

    Plum pudding

    We sat in the circle chanting,

    “I wrote a letter to my love and on the way I dropped it.”

    “It” skipped around the outside, waving a handkerchief.

    “One of you has picked it up and put it in your pocket.

    Not you. Not you. Not y-o-u!”

    Suddenly “It” was running and children were scrabbling behind them.

    “Run,” they called.

    Then “It” was beside me.

    “Plum pudding!” they all screamed hysterically.

    The adult pointed to the centre of the circle. “We’ll have you for dessert,” he grinned.

    I cried, wondering what it would be like to be eaten alive!

    © Norah Colvin 2015
    © Norah Colvin 2015

    Obviously I was traumatised for the memory to be so vivid and almost nightmare-like since the memory ends abruptly with the fear. Obviously I wasn’t eaten for dessert, I survived the trauma and, to complete the fictional narrative, I guess you could say “I lived happily ever after.”

    But games don’t need to be traumatic. Games are better when they are fun; and I have many more memories of having fun with games than I do of being traumatised by them. Some of my “best” memories are of the laughs shared playing games like “Balderdash” and “Billionaire” when we (hub, son, daughter and partners) set aside traditional holidays for playing games together as a family. My house may have shelves laden with books, but they also have cupboards bursting with games.

    © Norah Colvin
    © Norah Colvin

    We didn’t always play purchased games. Sometimes we made up our own. It takes some skill in problem solving to think up a new game that will be fun to play with just the right amounts of challenge and competition, and an equal chance of “winning”, if there is a winner. Games without a winner, played for the fun of playing, are just as enjoyable.

    I have always included games in my class program. As well as being fun, if carefully chosen they can also progress learning. Games can be played at the beginning and conclusion of sessions; at transition times to reenergise, refocus and refresh; and as part of the teaching/learning program with whole class, small group or individual participation for targeting practice of particular concepts.

    One obvious benefit of playing games is the development of social skills such as:

    • Sharing
    • Taking turns
    • Cooperation
    • Dealing with competition
    • Accepting a loss
    • Accepting a win graciously

    In their book “A New Culture of Learning: Cultivating the Imagination for a World of Constant Change”, Douglas Thomas and John Seely Brown talk about ““arc of life” learning, which comprises the activities in our daily lives that keep us learning, growing and exploring.” They say, “Play, questioning, and — perhaps most important — imagination lie at the very heart of arc-of-life learning.”

    Throughout the book they talk about the importance of collaboration in engaging online in multi-player games and say that When understood properly . . . games may in fact be one of the best models for learning and knowing in the twenty-first century . . . Because if a game is good, you never play the same way twice.

    monopoly

    Robert Kiyosaki in his book “Why “A” Students Work for “C” Students and Why “B” Students Work for the Government” talks about the importance of learning through games and explains how he learned, and was inspired to learn more, about finance from playing “Monopoly”. He says that Games are better teachers than teachers.” While I prefer to not agree with that statement in its entirety (I don’t even like playing Monopoly), I could understand his reasons for making it.

    Rarely a day would go by that at least one game wasn’t played in my classroom. We would play games in literacy groups that required children to read and think critically. We would play games in maths groups to practice skills in fun ways or to solve problems cooperatively. We would play games in science to try out ideas or research information. Some of the games involved physical as well as mental activity. Some were played with the entire class, and some on their own.

    One game we used in maths groups as well as an activity in the last few minutes of the day was a problem solving game that I was involved with from its inception, The Land of Um or, as it is known in the UK, Scally’s World of Problems. (Also available as an app.)

    http://www.greygum.com.au/nebula/index.php/the-land-of-um

    Scally

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

    When I was asked for an idea for a program, I suggested something that required children to explore to find out “what happens if” and “how things work”, much as they learn from their exploration of the “real world”. I also suggested that what they learn be consistent and apply at the next level. From that small seed and through the collaboration and synergy of a small group of creative people the “Land of Um” was born.

    Because, in my recollections anyway, it was “my” idea, I am very proud of “Um” and enthusiastic about its potential to encourage children to develop the thinking skills involved in solving problems.

    Um app

    In my class the children worked enthusiastically and collaboratively in small groups on an interactive whiteboard, taking turns to control the “Um” while working together to find the solution to each puzzle. As the level of difficulty increased the children needed to plan ahead, to visualise steps and predict what would happen and the effects of different actions. At each new level and in each new world, while the basics remained consistent, there was always something different to learn and explore. The children never tired of the using the program and were always eager to be the one to suggest the solution to the next problem. It was/is a joy to know that I had a part to play in the design of this program that has so many benefits to learners, not least of which is the fun of working together to solve problems.

    How significant are games in your life? What special memories do you have?

    If you are interested, there are many more stories about games to read on Charli’s blog.

    Thank you

    Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts on any aspect of this post or flash fiction.

     

     

     

  • Five Photos Five Stories — Day three

    Back to Day one (books) and introduction to the challenge

    Back to Day two (writing)

    Break out!

    With this post I am going to “kill two birds with one stone” (though why I would want to kill any birds is beyond me).

    I am posting a Day three photo and story in response to the challenge set by Geoff Le Pard, and responding to the flash fiction prompt set by Charli Mills at the Carrot Ranch to In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about an animal rescue.

     

    My children had pet-deprived childhoods. It could hardly have been any other way. Both their parents also had pet-deprived childhoods. I know all the theory about pets helping to develop responsibility, caring for others and compassion and I’m all for it. But with that responsibility comes restriction, and I’m not all for that. For me, a pet-free childhood led to a pet-free adulthood. I’m not certain that I am any less responsible, caring or compassionate as a result.

    While Rob may have had the occasional goldfish or Siamese fighting fish and Bec may have had guinea pigs, mice and rats at different times they never got over the deprivation of not having a real pet, of not having a puppy. As soon as the opportunity arose, they each adopted their own puppy. This is a photo of Bec’s puppy.

    My flash fiction deals with a situation in which a rescue is required. I realise that once again I have gone dark rather than light. Apologies. I hope you enjoy it.

    Break out

    Your wide-open eyes fix on me through bars, imploring and accusing at the same time.

    Why am I here? Don’t leave me! I don’t – want – to be here! I want – to go – home!

    My heart tightens in a vice-like squeeze. My palms sweat and hands tremble.

    I meet your stare with overwhelming hopelessness and helplessness.

    I didn’t know . . . I thought . . . I never meant . . . I thought it would help. 

    They close the door, turn the key and lead you away.

    “Damn those rules!” I scream silently, futilely planning your rescue.

    ***

    Today I nominate the lovely compassionate Bec who blogs intermittently at There’s No Food and engages in discussions with challenging suggestions and new ideas in comments on my blog while working diligently towards completing a PhD in Environmental Management.

    ! also nominate the wonderful awe-inspiring multi-tasking Charli Mills to take up the challenge if she so wishes. As well as being a very talented writer and generous supporter of my blog, she also posts beautiful photo stories on a second blog Elmira Pond Spotter.

    The rules of the Five Photos, Five Stories Challenge are:

    1) Post a photo each day for five consecutive days.
    2) Attach a story to the photo. It can be fiction, non-fiction, poetry, or a short paragraph. It’s entirely up to the individual.
    3) Nominate another blogger to carry on the challenge. Your nominee is free to accept or decline the invitation. This is fun, not a command performance!

    Thank you

    Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts about any aspect of this post or flash fiction.

     

     

  • Playing with possibilities

    127

    Creating an environment which nurtures children’s learning and development is as important as creating an environment that nourishes and encourages the growth of plants in a garden. The link between the two was first recognised by Froebel in the early 19th century when he coined the term “kindergarten” which translates to “garden for children” (kinder meaning child and garten meaning garden), and created the first educational toys.

    Froebel “devoted his life to educating children and developing methods to maximize human potential”. He was the first to recognise the importance of a child’s early years (birth to three) and considered creativity to be something in all of us.

    Froebel’s kindergartens were the first “formal” education for young children and his work greatly influenced that of other educators such as Maria Montessori and Rudolf Steiner. His beliefs, for example that children have both unique needs and capabilities are still influential today. He believed in the importance of play and some of his toys were favourites of people such as Buckminster Fuller and Albert Einstein.

    I have touched on the topics of play, creativity and children’s uniqueness in previous posts. A respectful, encouraging, nurturing and stimulating environment underpins all that I value in education; as does a belief in the power of play to develop understandings of self, of others and relationships, of the world and how things work, and to inspire thoughts of what could be, to imagine possibilities never before imagined.

    The poem Education is expresses my beliefs about education and has informed my decision making every step of the way.

    In documents prepared for introducing myself to other educators or potential employers I explained it this way:

    Statement of values:

    I value individuality over group consensus

    I value creativity over conformity

    I value self-discipline over imposed order

    I value ingenuity over “one right way”

    I value choice over restriction

    I value questioning over silence

    I value independence over dependence

    I value self-confidence over submission

    I respect children as people in and with their own rights. I provide an environment which is rich, stimulating, open and caring, and in which the characteristics I value can flourish.

    At the time of writing it I believed it to be a true reflection of my values and the environment I provided in my “Create-A-Way” sessions, and would provide in the independent/alternative school I was working towards establishing.

    The values of the “school” I was setting up were stated this way:

    Colo Values

    Just as it is important for gardeners to learn from the wisdom collected by other gardeners, it is important for teachers to learn from the wisdom collected by other educators.

    56

     

    Without a set of guiding principles it is easy to be blown off-course by the winds prevailing at the time. While I acknowledge that I may have fallen far short of the values espoused, that they guided my direction, decisions and choices could not be questioned. The current climate makes it difficult, but I am yet to read of a time that could be considered a golden age of education.

    36

    This week at the Carrot Ranch Charli Mills is talking about roses; roses that grow in gardens and roses as symbols of life’s pleasures and joys. She challenged writers to In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes a rose.

    Because my blog has an educational focus, I always like to give Charli’s prompt an educational twist. Over recent months I have enjoyed the additional challenge of finding a way of applying the prompt to the life of Marnie, a character whose story I have been developing.

    Marnie is from a dysfunctional family and suffers many disadvantages. Fortunately she has found an ally in an art teacher who helps her develop self-respect and hope for a better future. A few weeks ago (in response to a different prompt) we learned that she had lived under a different name after leaving home. Could it perhaps be Rose, a name inspired by this interaction with her adored teacher?

    99

    Still life

    Marnie observed the roses Miss R. had arranged for class, carefully assessing the colours and studying the lines while sketching them on the canvas, striving to match their perfection. Oblivious to all but Miss R. and the roses, for one hour nothing else mattered.

    As other students streamed out Marnie hung back to chat with Miss R.

    Miss R. handed her a rose from the vase saying, “You are that rose. You may be surrounded by thorns, but the beauty of the rose is inside you. Remember that always. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

    Thank you

    Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts about any aspect of this post or flash fiction.

  • Understanding family relationships

    At the Carrot Ranch this week Charli Mills is talking about cold cases and challenges writers to, In 99 words (no more, no less) write about an old mystery in the current time. Is it a discovery? Is it solved? Does it no longer matter, or does it impact innocent generations in between?

    My thoughts immediately turned to a mystery that occurred in my family over one hundred years ago when the two-year old brother of my grandfather disappeared and was never seen again.

    http://www.clker.com/clipart-10083.html
    http://www.clker.com/clipart-10083.html

    Most families do have a skeleton or two in the closet. Not all families like it to be known. Many Australian families who can trace the arrival of ancestors back to before the end of convict transportation in 1868 can find a convict in their ancestry. I have two; one on each side of the family. Generally the reasons for transportation were rather minor so I am not too concerned about sharing that information. In fact, many Australians are delighted to find a convict in the past as it adds a little interest and colour to their family tree.

    Children generally love to hear stories of their own lives and families. I have written about that before here. However young children probably have no need for or interest in delving as far back into family history as the three stories I have mentioned above. An interest in ancestors further back than living relatives (grandparents and great-grandparents) usually develops later, if at all.

    A great place to start thinking about history in early childhood classrooms is sharing stories about the families of children in the class. Most classes in Australia are comprised of children from variety of backgrounds so sharing those stories helps to develop an appreciation for each other as well as knowledge of the world. I developed a unit called Getting to know you for use in early childhood classroom which aims to develop discussion about family histories.

    But children can start learning about family relationships even earlier than that by discussions of who’s who in the family and explanations of the words and relationships; for example father/daughter; brother/sister; aunt/niece; grandmother/granddaughter. Here is a picture of some pages of a book I made for Bec when she was just a little tot, just to give you the idea.

    family book

    Photo books of family members are much easier to make these days with digital photos and programs such as PowerPoint, as well as glossy books you can make and order online.

    I am very proud of my two grandchildren, as any grandparent would be, and am pleased to say that they have a good understanding of who is in their family and their relationships to each other. It is a frequent topic of discussion. However I was very tickled when my three year old granddaughter proceeded to tell me, with some excitement, that her Daddy and her Aunty Bec were brother and sister in real life; in REAL life, she emphasized.

    Regular readers of my blog may be familiar with a character I have been developing in response to Charli’s flash fiction challenges: Marnie. Her story is not real life but, sadly, aspects of it could be, for others. There was a period of about twenty years when, after escaping her dysfunctional family, Marnie was untraceable, living without any connection to her family and past, a mystery. It took authorities five years after both parents had passed to track her down with the ‘news’. This episode takes up there.

    Found

    The officers looked friendly enough but still she tried to hide the tremble in her soul and tremor in her voice behind the blankness of her stare.

    She’d opened the door just a crack, as far as the chain would allow.

    “Marnie Dobson?” they asked. She shook her head. She’d not . . . ; not since . . . ; no longer. She shook again.

    They asked her to step outside. With no other option she reluctantly unlocked and emerged into the glare of daylight.

    “Marnie Dobson,” one said, “We are here to inform you . . .”

    Thank you

    Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts about any aspect of this post or flash fiction.

     

     

  • Who wouldn’t be excited with high test scores?

    Regular readers of my blog are aware of my attitude to didactic top-down, content and assessment driven methods of schooling students to become machines regurgitating meaningless facts on command. A bit of push and shove it in and belch it out.  For those of you who weren’t aware – now you are!

    I probably should apologise for my indecorous description as I’m usually a little more temperate in the way I express my views, but I won’t as that is how I am feeling about it at the moment. The authorities who have the power to make the changes necessary are so caught up in their own murky visions that they fail to see either effects or solutions. Every time I read another report of test scores or hear of another child damaged by a faulty system my frustration grows.  It becomes one of those hysteria blossoming days.

    bag

    A few moments ago I read a post titled “Vietnam Wallops US on PISA. Vietnamese educators belittle value of PISA” on Diane Ravitch’s blog. Ravitch is an education historian.

    As the title suggests, Vietnamese fifteen year old students did better than their US, UK and most other EU counterparts in the 2012 PISA tests, ranking 12th out of 76. What I found interesting about the article was not the results but the attitude of Vietnam’s Deputy Minister of Education and Training. His view that the tests don’t reflect students’ overall competence, reminded me of a letter, shared in my previous post, written by teachers to students sitting the national tests last week in Australia. (PISA are international tests).

    In the article referred to by Ravitch, Dr Giap Van Duong was reported as making reference to UNESCO’s four pillars of learning: Learning to know, Learning to do, Learning to be and Learning to live together. His opined that PISA addresses only the first pillar, and in only a limited way. He said that while Vietnamese students did well on the tests, “many … students fail to land a job after graduation. (and that when) they study overseas, many have difficulties in meeting the requirements of advanced education systems like team-work, problem solving and creativity”. Perhaps they are not “out of basement ready” as described by Yong Zhao.

    Duong said that the reason Vietnamese students do well on the tests is because the “The whole system operates to serve only one purpose: exams.”

    Duong’s admission that Vietnamese students lack the ability to work in teams, to problem solve and to think creatively reiterates the fears of many teachers who are  ruled by expectations of high test results and provided little opportunity to inspire learning, which surely remains the real (if neglected) purpose of education. Counterbalancing one’s philosophy with an employer’s expectations sometimes seems like being caught between a rock and a hard place.

    This week at the Carrot Ranch Charli Mills is talking about rocks and hard places. But Charli knows that good can often spring from those seemingly hard places through making connections. She has challenged writers to In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that shows a hard place and a connection.

    It is connections that are most important in my two main roles in life: parent and teacher. Neither is easy and neither will result in much good without making connections. I often worry about things I have said and the affect they may have had on others. To be truthful, occasionally it even keeps me awake at night. While I would rather think of my words and actions creating a positive ripple, there is no guarantee that, even when delivered with my best intentions, they won’t do harm.

    Trevor Pilgrim shared a quote which puts it this way:

    What-a-teacher-writes-on

    In his article Pilgrim says,

    “teachers have (the power) to develop their students and shape their future lives.  The power to turn them on or off academically, stimulate or dampen their minds and heighten or destroy their engagement and intellectual curiosity.”

    Scary stuff!

    At about the same time I read an article that said that the influence of teachers is not as great as one might think; that socio-economic status, amongst other things, is more important. While I am happy with the thought of having a positive effect, I definitely do not wish to ruin anyone’s life so am happy to know that my influence is not be the most important to the lives of my students.

    https://openclipart.org/image/800px/svg_to_png/59389/happy_sun_gm.png
    https://openclipart.org/image/800px/svg_to_png/59389/happy_sun_gm.png

    For this challenge of Charli’s I am back thinking about Marnie’s art teacher and the hard place she found herself in when she saw the brown muddy mess that Marnie seemed to have made of her paints. That she must respond is a given; but how? Whatever she says will probably have a lasting impact so she must ensure that her response is appropriate. While her initial instinct is to express disappointment, she maintains her professional composure and delays commenting until she has thought it through.

    Here is my response:

    Brown.

    She glanced at the child, usually so eager to please, and knew this was no ordinary day.

    Downcast and avoiding eye contact, the child trembled. Her instinct was to reach out with comfort to soothe the hurt; but stopped. Any touch could end her career. What to say? Brown earth/brown rocks? would ignore and trivialise the pain. Any talk now would be insensitive with other ears listening. Any word could unravel the relationship built up over time. Nothing would harm more than doing nothing. Her steps moved her body away but her heart and mind stayed; feeling, thinking.

     Thank you

    Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts about any aspect of this post or flash fiction

  • My time, your time, springtime!

    This week at the Carrot Ranch Charli Mills has challenged writers to In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that is a snapshot of spring.

     

    At the moment approximately 90% of the world’s population are experiencing the season of spring. The rest of us, the 10% who live in the Southern Hemisphere are entering the cooler months. How those seasons are experienced varies from place to place. I have never experienced an autumn that would fit the description of ‘fall’; nor have I experienced a winter with snow. Those concepts are foreign to me. That is not to say that some living in the southern states of Australia haven’t experienced them. It all depends where one lives.

    The Australian Government describes Australia as having two main seasonal patterns in six different climatic zones. The Indigenous Peoples of Australia describe the changes as holistic changes in nature and life. In Australia, attitudes to and understanding of the seasons are as diverse as the experiences. While the weather doesn’t always know it, spring is marked on the Australian calendar from September to November. It doesn’t matter to which part of the country you travel, there is always something to see and do in spring.

    Springtime in Tasmania 2014
    Springtime in Tasmania 2014

    Part of the daily routine in an early childhood classroom is observing and discussing the daily and seasonal changes in the weather. Each day the children observe the weather and discuss how it may influence their clothing and activities and the impact that changes may have to their local environment and other things including animals.

    Many classrooms have a calendar prominently displayed on which the children’s observations can be recorded and compared. Children are often invited to draw symbols and write words such as those shown here.

    weather symbols

    Discussions about how warm or how cool it is may also occur, though in some parts there is never really what could be called ‘cold’, just ‘cooler’.

    temperature chart

     

    Reading stories was always an integral part of my classroom practice and I needed little excuse to read another. When the seasons changed I was always looking for suitable books to read and the first I thought of at springtime was Wake Up Bear by Lynley Dodd, a New Zealander.

    Wake up bear

    While we don’t have bears in Australia, just these cute koalas often incorrectly called bears;

    or hibernating animals, except for this cute little mountain pygmy-possum;

    Wake Up Bear is a delightful story to herald spring. In the story, bear has slept all through winter, but when spring arrives he is not quite ready to wake up. The animals each try to wake him up and finally they succeed.

    While it was not Dodd’s intention with the story, it made me think about children learning in their own time, “waking up” when they are ready. Sometimes they need to be shown something just once. Sometimes they need a great deal of exposure and support to “get” it. Sometimes it’s better to leave them alone until the time is right. There have been previous discussions about this here my blog, including In their own time and Not Yet.

    I thought Charli’s spring challenge was perhaps another opportunity for talking about individual differences and the need to respect a learner’s journey. I’ve gone back to my early childhood roots. I hope you enjoy it.

     

    Springtime in Tasmania 2014
    Springtime in Tasmania 2014

     Spring

    Bees buzz

    Wildflowers bloom

    Cockatoos squawk

    “Gone is the gloom!”

     

    Mother duck waits

    For her babies to hatch.

    Here they come now

    The first of the batch

     

    So cute and cuddly

    All covered in fluff

    Eager and ready

    To show off their stuff

     

    “Patience!“ quacks mother

    “There’s no need to rush.”

    “One more is coming.

    Stand back. Please don’t crush.”

     

    With one final crack

    Last one’s out of his shell

    “I’m proud of you babies.

    You’ve all done so well.”

     

    Mother duck smiles

    As they waddle in line

    She knows that each duckling’s

    Own time will be fine.

    Thank you

    Thank you for reading.

    Springtime in Tasmania 2014

    Springtime in Tasmania 2014

    Happy spring to most of you! For the others: enjoy the cooler respite from the relentless heat!

     

    I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thought about any aspect of this post or flash fiction.

  • Colour my world a rainbow!

    This week at the Carrot Ranch, through her thought- and idea/l-provoking post, Charli Mills invites writers to respond to her challenge to In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that tackles racism.

    Charli describes racism as a social earthquake that divides our common ground. She says that Our first step is to recognise our one race: human (with a) colourful kaleidoscope of culture.”

    Charli suggests that writers Think about common ground, about the things that rip us apart as humans. How we can recover our identities in a way that honors the identities of all individuals? What breaks the barrier of other-ness? Imagine a better tomorrow that doesn’t need expression in riots or taking sides on social media. As writers, think about genres, characters, tension and twists. We can rebuild.

    https://openclipart.org/image/800px/svg_to_png/192642/Children_holding_hands.png
    https://openclipart.org/image/800px/svg_to_png/192642/Children_holding_hands.png

    In my comment on Charli’s post I admitted that I am not qualified to write on this issue. I am fortunate to have never experienced the negativity of racism, the cloak that can at the same time judge one to be invisible and without value or singled out in the spotlight of blame. The responses of those who have, from the moment of their birth, needed to prove the value of their existence are often judged without understanding or sympathy by those who have experienced no such discrimination and whose attitudes are so ingrained as to go unnoticed.

    Consider this exchange between work correspondents who decided to meet up at a conference. “How will we know each other?” she asked. He responded, “I’m black.” In recounting this episode to friends, she said, “I’ve never thought of myself as white.” Perhaps until all feel their skin colour is not an issue, any more than eye or hair colour, it will remain so.

    I am not participating in the flash challenge this week, feeling unable to write something that would give sufficient recognition to the gravity of the divide that is racism. However I do not want my silence to be seen as lack of concern, or negation of the importance of the issue. Instead I will use my post to amplify the voices of others.

    Dr Enyimba Maduka from the Department of Philosophy, University of Calabar in a paper entitled “Racism and Philosophy: An examination of Human and Kantian Racial Thoughts” considers the history of racism and the effects it has had on the mindsets of African peoples and cultures as well as Western philosophies. Maduk specifically targets and explores writings by Hume and Kant.

    He says that racism can be understood “as a functional rationalization and symbol for oppression; (that it is) an attitude always directed at the vanquished not the powerful; it is the colonized who are the victims of racism and not the colonizers.”

    He also says that “when human persons refuse to recognize the authentic humanity of their neighbours and fellow human beings, they cease or fail to be human persons themselves”. Strong words, definitely requiring reflection.

    Listen to Clint Smith explain everyday limitations imposed by, and reminders of, skin colour; and ponder their humanity:

    Or read the letter to his future son, expressing his hopes and dreams and fears. His message reiterates Charli’s call to rebuild.

    He says,

    “do not for one moment think you cannot change what exists. This world is a social construction; it can be reconstructed. This world was built; it can be rebuilt. Use everything that you accrue to reimagine the world.”

    Or listen to James A. White Sr. describe the difficulties he had in renting a house, and consider how patient and resilient you may be in similar circumstances. Some of these situations I find difficult to imagine. White Sr. aims to share his experiences of racism in order to stress the message that all races, genders and backgrounds must come together to challenge the status quo.

    Or perhaps Nina Jablonksi, an anthropologist, who says that skin colour is an illusion.

    While many people deny it, or deny it affects them or their communities, racism is also an issue in Australia.

    According to the All Together Now Erasing Racism project, acknowledgement of racism is essential to start preventing it in our communities.

    We must all make an effort to ensure that racism stops with me.

    I think education and understanding is a good place to start.

    Thank you

    Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts.

  • The power of words

    writing

    The ability to learn language always amazes me. Given a supportive environment most young children will learn the language of the home effortlessly; forming their own hypotheses about its use and very quickly understanding the complexities of language structures and nuances of meaning.

    I am also impressed by the fluency and comprehension of many for whom English is not their first language. I briefly touched on some of the difficulties experienced even by users of English as a first language in a previous post about spelling.  Sometimes I wonder that communication is possible at all, especially when considering local idioms and sayings that make little sense out of context, but largely go unnoticed. What must a new speaker of English  think when encountering “Bite the bullet, break the ice, butter someone up, or even bring a plate”.

    How difficult it must be too, when words, like vice for example, have multiple meanings.

    This week at the Carrot Ranch Charli Mills has been talking about vice. Her article is about the not-so-pleasant type of vices. As usual, I like to be the contrarian and consider alternative viewpoints. That might be considered one of my vices. Sometimes I laugh when a thought takes me to a context far away from a speaker’s intended message. Other times I fail to see the intended humour, reading beneath the surface intent to hidden messages.

    To illustrate this I will use two recent examples:

    bicycle

    The cyclist and the flight attendant

    He: a cyclist, just entering the last third of his life (about 60, give or take 5 years)

    As his bike was being loaded onto the plane he explained that he had ridden from Alice Springs to Uluru, the long way. (I’m not sure of the distance of the long way, but the direct way would be more than long enough for me!)

    Alice Springs to Uluru

    She: a flight attendant still in the first third of her life (about 25, give or take 5 years)

    “That’s so awesome! I hope I continue to exercise all my life.”

    I didn’t hear his response; I was laughing too hard: the innocence and blindness of youth. How well I remember thinking anyone over about thirty was at death’s door. What amuses me now is the number of people my age who think we are much younger than those of the previous generation at the same age. I think the blindness and selective sight continues throughout life.

    Of course I interpreted her words to mean: “You’re so old. I can’t believe you could do that. I hope I can still exercise when I am as old as you!”

    OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

    The joy of fatherhood?

    Waiting for the same flight was a father and his daughter, approximately two and a half years of age. The daughter was doing what any child of that age would do: looking around, exploring a short distance away from dad before returning to his side. From what I could see she was doing no harm and was perfectly safe. It was a small airport, she could not wander far.

    Each time she moved away he barked a short command at her. Although his words were not familiar to me, I had no difficulty interpreting them. As with most children, sometimes she heeded them, sometimes she didn’t. Sometimes he repeated the command, or retrieved the child. Sometimes he didn’t.

    Then I saw his t-shirt and read the word emblazoned on the front. I am a reader. Sometimes I wish I were not. The words read, “Guns don’t kill people, Dads of daughters do”.

    I have never “got” the need for messages on apparel, and definitely not a message as negative as this. I assume it was meant to be amusing, but I could see no humour in it. Maybe he didn’t understand the message underlying the words (he was speaking in a language other than English). Maybe I read too much into it. Apparently though, according to this Google search, there is a sizable market for shirts and products extolling these sentiments, some even with the inclusion of the word “pretty”.

    My interpretation of the subliminal message is one of acceptance of a number of vices, and my belief is that until we can obliterate the insidiousness of messages such as these from the common psyche, our society won’t much improve. To me the message commends: disrespect for others, sexism, murder, violence, antagonistic relationships between parent and child/father and daughter, an absence of nurturing, an acceptance that children are difficult and a burden . . .

    Perhaps I should stop there. I think this father and daughter team would be prime candidates for the early learning caravan project I wrote about recently. I would love to help this father see, not only the power in his words, but the treasure his daughter is and the importance of their relationship.

    As I’ve explained, I sometimes see humour in words where it’s not intended, and fail to see it where it is. I’ve attempted to include humour in my flash response to Charli’s challenge to In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story that includes a vice, by using three different meanings of the word. I’ll be interested to know if my “humour” matches yours, but won’t be surprised if it doesn’t!

    This one is definitely not about Marnie!

     

    Vice-captain

    She almost danced along the verandah. What would it be: medal, certificate, special recommendation?

    The door was open but she knocked anyway.

    “Come in.” The command was cold. A finger jabbed towards a spot centre-floor.

    Confused, her eyes sought the kindness of the steel blue pair, but found a vice-like stare.

    She obeyed.

    “In one week you have led the team on a rampage:

    Smashing windows

    Uprooting vegetables

    Leaving taps running

    Graffiting  the lunch area . . .

    We thought you were responsible. What do you have to say for yourself?”

    “But sir,” she stammered, “You made me vice-captain!”

     

    Thank you

    Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts about any aspect of this post or flash fiction.

  • The story behind brown paint

    muddy brown

    Over the past few months in response to flash fiction challenges set by Charli Mills at the Carrot Ranch, I have been writing snippets from the life a character, Marnie, whose story is beginning to emerge as I respond to the prompts.

    A couple of recent prompts had me writing about a particular situation which involved mixing paints in an art class.  While all flash fiction stories relevant to Marnie’s story can be found on her own page, the two specific to this post can be read here and here (scroll to the bottom of each post for the flash fiction).

    I was appreciative of the comments on both posts, with those specific to Marnie’s story encouraging me to reflect and think more deeply about the art class situation in relation to both Marnie and the teacher. While I am still mulling over the appropriate response the teacher may make, I thought I would write a longer piece to explore one possibility from Marnie’s point of view. This episode also relates to other flash fiction pieces, but hopefully the longer episode will be strong enough to stand on its own.

    Art class

    Marnie looked at the paints. The bright colours reminded her of a rainbow, and her unicorn. Her gaze dropped. She needed her unicorn now, but it was up in the office, drying out on Mrs Tomkin’s desk.

    “It will be here waiting for you at home time,” Mrs Tomkin had said, smiling. “Okay?”

    Marnie nodded, reluctantly, knowing there was no other choice. At least there was only the afternoon session left, and that was art with lovely Miss R.

    Miss R. always wore beautiful dresses with colourful patterns. She had long wavy red hair, the colour of Marnie’s and her nails were always painted brightly, sometimes decorated with stars, sometimes with hearts, and sometimes with other patterns. She smelled of paint, and chalk and crayon and other scents Marnie found delightful. She noticed everything about Miss R.; because Miss R. noticed her. Miss R. always had a kind word to say:

    “I like the way you used this shade of blue for the sky. I can see a storm is brewing.”

    “Tell me about this picture. What’s it all about?”

    “I can see you worked hard to get that looking just right.”

    Marnie liked it best when she said, as she often did, “I like your choice of colour, Marnie. Your pictures are always bright. They make me happy when I look at them.”

    But not today.

    Miss R. stopped and looked at Marnie’s work. Her paper was covered in paint the colour of brown mud.  Marnie felt Miss R.’s eyes on her work, then on her. She didn’t look up. She didn’t want Miss R. to see the tears that were threatening to fall, that would fall whatever was said. Her lip quivered.

    Miss R. moved on.

    “I am not crying. I am not, not, not . . .” but it took all her strength when her insides felt as muddy as the paint on her paper. She felt like mud. Maybe she should look like mud too. She smeared her paint-covered hands on her shirt, and wiped the strand of hair away from her eyes. She wanted to tell Miss R. She wanted to tell her about Bruce and what he had done. But she dare not. Bruce had threatened her and she knew he meant it.

    Bruce had tripped her at lunch time and she’d fallen into the puddle. The mud had covered her from head to toe. She’d tried to hold her unicorn high; tried to keep it out of the mud. But it had fallen as she hit the ground. It was all muddy too. Everyone had laughed. Everyone except Jasmine, that is. Jasmine had taken her to Mrs. Tomkin, who had helped her clean herself up and gave her some clean clothes to wear. Mrs Tomkin had said she’d call her Mum, so that was another problem looming. At least things would be okay in art with Miss R.

    But not today.

    Bruce had pulled faces at her and made threatening arm movements as they lined up. He made fun of the oversized shirt Mrs Tomkins had found for her. Everyone was sniggering at it; at her.

    Marnie looked straight ahead, trying to ignore the stares. “I am not crying!”

    Then Miss R. was there and she suddenly felt protected, like everything was going to be alright; for a little while at least.

    But not today. Today was a bad day, a very bad day. It had been bad in the beginning, and it was going to be bad at the end too. Nothing she could do.

    Miss R. handed out the papers and paints. Everyone had their own brush but a small pot of water was shared by four.

    Marnie couldn’t wait to get started. She knew what she was going to paint: a rainbow and a unicorn! Maybe a tree and some green grass, with some flowers. She couldn’t have her own unicorn but she could paint it. Miss R. would like her bright happy colours, and her pleasure would make her feel better, for a little while at least.

    But not today.

    While Marnie was contemplating which colours to mix for her unicorn’s mane, Brucie reached over and snatched Marnie’s brush. With one flourish he had dragged the brush through the middle of each of her colours leaving a dirty brown trail. Marnie had opened her mouth to speak, but Bruce silenced her with a threatening motion of a finger across his neck, as it to slit it open. He stashed her brush on the shelf out of reach, and turned back to his paper, innocent-like. Marnie’s eyes searched for Miss R.’s hoping she had seen and would come to her rescue. But Miss R. was talking to Jasmine and some others at the front, and didn’t see.

    Marnie looked at her palette. “I am not crying,” she thought as she tried to still her quivering lip and stop the tears that would give Brucie so much pleasure.

    She looked at him and poked her tongue. He held up a fist.

    Marnie rubbed first one hand, and then the other into the coolness of the paint, blending all the colours. It felt soothing somehow, the way her hands slid easily through the paints. She watched each colour disappear into the muddy brown she was creating, wishing she too could slide away and disappear where no one would notice her anymore; where no one would taunt or bully or harm. If they couldn’t see her, if she was invisible, maybe she’d be safe.

    She looked at her palms – covered in brown, just like the mud that had covered them earlier. She smeared the paint on her paper, covering it from edge to edge so nothing of it remained. She wiped what was left on her shirt. What did it matter? She couldn’t be in more trouble than she already was. They were already going to kill her. Sometimes she wished they would. Sometimes she wished she’d never been born. Sometimes . . .

    Miss R. stood beside her desk. Marnie could hear her breathing; could still smell her marvellous scents above that of the muddy brown paint that was now her camouflage. She longed for Miss R. to paint her life away, to ask her about her work and what it meant. But she willed her not; and it must have worked because she walked away. How could she tell her? Her life was as muddy as the paint and she could see no way out.

    Thank you

     

    Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. I’d love to know what you think of this as a possibility of Marnie’s thinking.

     

     

     

     

  • All aboard the early learning caravan!

    school cropped

    This week at the Carrot Ranch Charli Mills described a century old schoolhouse which adjoins her property. She is hoping that someone will buy it and make it a meeting place for the community, recognising the role it had to play in the education of generations past as well as its contribution to the history of the area. Her thoughts about the schoolhouse led her to thinking of community engagement and neighbourly relationships which, in turn, inspired her flash fiction challenge for this week, to In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about nurturing a neighborly relationship.

    I would have loved the little schoolhouse at Elmira Pond as the base for the alternative school I hoped to establish at the end of last century. The schoolhouse has a nice community feel to it, unlike many of the large brick, concrete jungle-type schools into which one can almost dissolve in a sea of sameness. Charli’s schoolhouse/community centre would also be a great meeting place for parents with their young children; a friendly early learning centre for both.

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    Based on my beliefs that:

    • parents are a child’s first and most important teachers;
    • the most important years of a child’s development are the years before school;
    • children who enter school with rich vocabularies, an interest in the world around them, and a love of books are primed to succeed;
    • children without those experiences are disadvantaged in their learning right from the start and face an enormous challenge in catching up;
    • waiting until children enter school is too late;
    • the best way to minimise or eliminate the disadvantage is by educating parents through programs that model effective parenting behaviours and support them in their interactions with their children;
    • parenting programs offering those types of support would be most effective if begun before birth of the children and continued at least until the child enters school, maybe beyond;
    • most parents want to do the best for their children, many just don’t know how to go about it.

    There are any number of birthing classes, but not many that aim to support parents in nurturing their child’s development. In my opinion, investing time and money into developing programs such as these would have enormous benefit, not only to individual children and their parents, but to society as a whole.

    I am not talking about programs that place children of increasingly (or should that be decreasingly) younger years into structured and formal “teaching and learning” situations. I am not talking about one-off talks or series of lectures to parents.

    Many of the parents of children who begin school with the types of disadvantage I have mentioned are themselves products of similar disadvantage. In a previous post I discussed the roles of “nature” and “nurture” in a child’s development. In these cases especially, it can be difficult to tease out the differences. Many of these parents would not have positive feelings towards schools or any other public institution and may feel threatened, or reluctant for other reasons, to attend sessions in public halls or government offices.

    What I am talking about is a program that:

    • goes to the parents and children in their neighbourhoods, meeting in a local park or community greenspace, on regular weekly occasions;
    • invites parents to talk with, read to and play with their children using provided books, games and toys;
    • models positive parenting behaviour, explaining to parents the benefits to their children of engaging with them in activities and discussions;
    • provides suggestions for inexpensive and easy activities to do at home;
    • encourages borrowing from a book and toy library.
    Guiding parents in play sessions for parents and children.
    Guiding parents in play sessions for parents and children.

    I envision the program being delivered by an early children trained educator who is sympathetic to the situations and demands of people from diverse backgrounds, who is warm and supportive with good interpersonal skills with both adults and children, who drives a mobile early learning centre fully-equipped with books, toys, games, paper, pens and craft materials, including items for borrowing and distribution for activities to be done at home.

    I see the centre as a brightly painted caravan with doors that open wide to display a colourful and engaging assortment of resources to delight the interests and eyes of young children and their parents.  As the caravan travels into each neighbourhood it would play music to signal its arrival (think of the old icecream vans!) inviting parents and children to come, investigate, and join in.

    caravan

    Thinking about the excitement that such a program may stimulate in a neighbourhood, and the sense of community and belonging it may encourage, led me to write about it for my response to Charli’s prompt.

    I hope you enjoy it.

    www.openclipart.com
    http://www.openclipart.com

    The caravan

    Children waited anxiously at windows and front garden fences.

    Mothers and fathers hurried to complete the last of their chores.

    Others, already at the park, were unable to wait.

    Ears strained, listening for music signalling, “It’s time!

    Suddenly “Girls and boys come out to play!” announced the arrival of the brightly painted caravan.

    “Come on!” urged children, tugging at skirts, trousers and hairy legs.

    “Come on!” chimed parents, downing cloths and brooms. Clasping small hands they whisked them out.

    Everyone watched as the doors of the caravan opened; ready for fun: stories, games and much to explore!

    Thank you

    Thank you for reading. I appreciate your feedback. Please share your thoughts about any aspect of this post or flash fiction.