Learning Has Nothing to Do with Age

Evan started swimming lessons last week. He has taken lessons before and has some basic skills but is behind where most kids are by this age. This is largely due to the fact that we are not a big swimming family. Nor are we a big soccer family, a big baseball family, or a big [fill in the blank with the physical activity of your choice] family. We have always tried to have our kids do something physical, but jocks we are not and never will be.

For lessons we are going to a local swim school that offers classes during the day all year long. Evan is taking class twice per week. One of the classes is made up of him and three adorable, tiny little girls that barely come up to his belly button. When Evan and his classmates climb out of the pool to walk to the diving board it looks like a scene out of Gulliver's Travels. The other class has several boys that are a tiny bit bigger, but not much. In fact, Evan is by far the oldest child in the entire place both days that we go to class.

Evan has not uttered a single word of concern about being in a class with younger children. I don't think it has occurred to him that some kids might be bothered or embarrassed about the situation. I attribute this to homeschooling. He simply does not equate learning with age but understands that people learn at different paces and different times according to their readiness and their circumstances. This comes of growing up in a house where different-aged people learn together all the time and where it is not unusual for someone younger to be "ahead" of someone older. (Exhibit A: his mother, who is still trying to learn the Small Catechism that his brother and sister mastered years ago.)

Let's hear it (again) for homeschooling.

Who Needs Textbooks?

Yesterday at lunch Evan suddenly piped up:

"Mommy, Kitty Galore is the anty-gonist in Cats and Dogs 2."

We scratched our heads a little at that one--"Anty-Gonist? What's an anty-gonist?"--and then realized he was trying to say "antagonist." But even then we continued to scratch our heads. Where'd my 8-year-old learn about antagonists?

"Evan, you are right. Kitty Galore is definitely the antagonist. But where did you learn about antagonists?"

"From reading about the Zelda characters."

Oh. From there we had an approximately 15-minute discussion about the protagonists and antagonists in various stories Evan knows. My trusty literary sidekick (a.k.a. my daughter Caitlin) assisted greatly in defining and applying terms, and Evan learned something that I don't think most children learn formally until middle school.

Who knew those Zelda strategy guides would be so educational?

P.S. I am not knocking textbooks. We use some textbooks, and they can be a great tool. But I love it when learning happens in this way, naturally, as an outgrowth of the child's life and interests. It is one of the very best things about homeschooling.

Animals, Animals, Animals

A few weeks ago Evan and I started an animal "unit." (I put the word "unit" in quotation marks because it suggests organization and planning, neither of which are in play here.) We started reading The Story of Dr. Dolittle, and I pulled an armload of animal books off the shelf. A few of them are old favorites from the circa 1960 Random House "Step-Up" series (here's an example): Animals Do the Strangest Things, Reptiles Do the Strangest Things, Insects Do the Strangest Things, Birds Do the Strangest Things, and Fish Do the Strangest Things. As a child, I devoured these books. (There are other books in the series--mostly biographical and historical--and I credit the reading of those books with much of the basic historical knowledge that has remained with me. Somewhere along the way we got rid of my set of books, but a few years ago I had the opportunity to buy a vintage set online for a very reasonable price, and I grabbed it.)

Another book that came down from the shelf was one that has been there a year or two but that we had not yet investigated: Eric Carle's Animals, Animals.

You know how there are books you enjoy but then pass on and books you keep and treasure? This one is in the second category--it will always have a place in our home. Within a few minutes of opening it Evan was hooked. The book combines Eric Carle's illustrations with various poems and literary passages about animals. Authors included are Shakespeare, Emily Dickinson, Kipling, Lewis Carroll, Jack Prelutsky, Ogden Nash, and Benjamin Franklin, as well as passages from the Bible, Talmud, and folk sayings and poems from a variety of cultures. Evan on his own has repeatedly revisited this book even though some of the selections are not typical first grade fare:

"I will not change my horse with any that treads . . .
When I bestride him I soar. I am a hawk.
He trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it."
--William Shakespeare

I dare you to tell my kid that passage is beyond his reading/comprehension level.

The third group of books we have been enjoying is from Usborne: the "Beginner" series. I believe several of these books are included in Sonlight's primary science curriculum. Evan has enjoyed Eggs and Chicks and Tadpoles and Frogs but halfway through his reading of Caterpillars and Butterflies he brought me the book and instructed me to put it where he could no longer see it. He's a sensitive one, this child. The illustration of a puss mouth caterpillar rising up to frighten its enemies was too much for him. This book will be stored for the time being.

What book(s) have you and your child been enjoying lately?

The Value of a College Degree

I've been thinking about this article, linked by one of my Faceboook friends. It was published in The Atlantic a couple of years ago under the byline of "Professor X." While reading it, I came across sentence after sentence that I could have easily written myself:

"I work part-time in the evenings as an adjunct instructor of English."

Yep. Although when I was teaching college English I also worked days.

"I teach two courses, Introduction to College Writing (English 101) and Introduction to College Literature (English 102), at a small private college and at a community college."

Yep again. I've taught both those courses at both types of institutions.

"For many of my students, college was not a goal they spent years preparing for, but a place they landed in. . . . They chose their college based not on the U.S. News & World Report rankings but on MapQuest; in their ideal academic geometry, college is located at a convenient spot between work and home. I can relate, for it was exactly this line of thinking that dictated where I sent my teaching résumé."

Mmm-hmm.

"Remarkably few of my students can do well in these classes. Students routinely fail; some fail multiple times, and some will never pass, because they cannot write a coherent sentence."

Yes. Sigh.

"In each of my courses, we discuss thesis statements and topic sentences, the need for precision in vocabulary, why economy of language is desirable, what constitutes a compelling subject. I explain, I give examples, I cheerlead, I cajole, but each evening, when the class is over and I come down from my teaching high, I inevitably lose faith in the task, as I’m sure my students do. I envision the lot of us driving home, solitary scholars in our cars, growing sadder by the mile.

"Our textbook boils effective writing down to a series of steps. It devotes pages and pages to the composition of a compare-and-contrast essay, with lots of examples and tips and checklists. 'Develop a plan of organization and stick to it,' the text chirrups not so helpfully. Of course any student who can, does, and does so automatically, without the textbook’s directive. For others, this seems an impossible task. Over the course of 15 weeks, some of my best writers improve a little. Sometimes my worst writers improve too, though they rarely, if ever, approach base-level competence."

All of this is painfully familiar. I have not taught classroom English for several years, but I spent about 10 years doing exactly what Professor X so vividly describes. And while all of the institutions at which I taught required placement tests in reading, writing, and math as prerequisites to students' registering for college-level coursework, I nevertheless had countless students who were in way over their heads in my classes. The typical writing placement tool is a multiple choice test covering the basics of capitalization, punctuation, and grammar. But being able to squeak out a passing grade on that kind of test does not automatically equate to having the ability to conceive of and write a reasoned and meaningful essay. Professor X relates the story of "Ms. L," a female in her forties that he gamely tried to shepherd through writing a research paper. It was a fruitless effort. He would advise and direct; she would nod vaguely and then proceed to disregard his suggestions and default to her comfort zone of recycled high school topics. Her response when her paper was returned with an "F": "I can't believe it. I was so proud of myself for having written a college paper."

But as Professor X points out, "She most certainly hadn’t written a college paper, and she was a long way from doing so." He continues:

"Yet there she was in college, paying lots of tuition for the privilege of pursuing a degree, which she very likely needed to advance at work. Her deficits don’t make her a bad person or even unintelligent or unusual. Many people cannot write a research paper, and few have to do so in their workaday life. But let’s be frank: she wasn’t working at anything resembling a college level.
"I gave Ms. L. the F and slept poorly that night. Some of the failing grades I issue gnaw at me more than others. In my ears rang her plaintive words, so emblematic of the tough spot in which we both now found ourselves. Ms. L. had done everything that American culture asked of her. She had gone back to school to better herself, and she expected to be rewarded for it, not slapped down. She had failed not, as some students do, by being absent too often or by blowing off assignments. She simply was not qualified for college."

The emphasis in that last sentence is mine. Here is the crux of the matter. Some people just do not need to be in college, at least not pursuing the kind of studies that we associate with college-level work. The fact that college catalogs these days brim with remedial courses attests to that fact. And yet the common wisdom is that everyone should go to college and that everyone can succeed there if only given enough time and support.

But the fact is that not everyone can and not everyone should try. And why is that not okay? Why do we shrink from acknowledging that some people are more suited to the "ivory tower" than others, or that some disciplines have more need of it than others? I know all sorts of people who do all manner of cool things in the areas of gardening, cooking, sewing, knitting, building, drawing, mechanics, electronics, finance, music, chess, writing and more. I am awed by their talent and skill and level of accomplishment. And you know what? Most of what they do did not require a college education. It was taught to them by parents and grandparents and other mentors and learned through reading and self-study and practice. So why in our culture do we worship a college education the way we do?

I think part of it has to do with the concreteness of it. We live in a society that values learning. And a high school or college diploma is a tangible sign of that. Putting all sorts of money and effort and time into a systematized educational process "proves" that we care about education. At least it looks good, whether or not education is truly happening.

We have also managed in this country to turn education into an industry upon which many people depend for their livelihoods. And as with any industry, self-preservation and growth are paramount. And what is required for survival and growth? Food, of course. In the case of the educational system, the food is students. There is no educational bureaucracy if there are no students for it to feed upon--the more, the better. So we encourage anyone and everyone to go to college.

Now I am not saying that college is of no use. But the more I think about it, the more I think that its greatest usefulness is in the teaching of a skill that requires a high degree of specialized knowledge and expertise as well as the providing of some external measure of proficiency in that skill. If you want to be a doctor, you should have a medical degree. If you want to be a lawyer, you should have a law degree. The lay person cannot easily tell, himself, whether someone is qualified to perform those services. So it is good to have the appropriate degree or certification. I think it can also be argued that if you want to market yourself as a teacher or expert in an academic area that is content rather than skill-based, a degree in that area would be a plus. But I think we put far too much emphasis on a college degree as an end in itself, as something desirable for its own sake. Today, as more and more people go to college to acquire the most basic of competencies, the college degree is becoming increasingly overrated. It is quite possible to become highly learned and skilled in any number of fields by simply availing oneself of books and practice and private instruction.

I wish the powers that be realized that. Unfortunately, it seems these days that employers put more value on the piece of paper--the thing they can see and touch and that has someone else's stamp of approval on it--than they do on personal characteristics and achievement and work ethic and skill. Easier for an employer to give the colleges and universities the responsibility of sorting out the wheat from the chaff than to have it yourself, and easier, too, to be able to blame a third party for a disappointing hire than to take responsibility for it yourself. Still, as the true worth of a college degree continues to decline (and everyone knows that it is doing so, whether or not people want to admit it), I can't help but wonder if we're about to come full circle. When governments print dollars, the value of the dollar goes down, and people turn to other means of measuring worth. When colleges indiscriminately churn out graduates, lowering the value of the college degree, it is only a matter of time until the marketplace realizes that the current educational "dollar" is falling and likewise starts looking for other ways to measure the commodity that we call learning. In the meantime, sadly, it is "Ms. L." (and others like her) who suffers, as she wastes time and money trying to jump through educational hoops that, even if she clears them, will probably not make her any better of a worker and will certainly not make her a better person.

Reassessing

Please don't hate me, but I'm one of THOSE. Yes, one of those. My favorite class in school was English. I loved it all: the grammar, the writing, the reading . . . . Ah, but not just the reading. The analyzing. The picking apart and breaking down and obsessing over and interpreting and discussing and scrutinizing and evaluating and all the rest. Raft symbolism in Huckleberry Finn? Bring it on. Rocking chair imagery in Sister Carrie? No problem. Irony in "Richard Cory"? How obvious can you get?

I loved English class so much in high school that when I got to college and needed something fun to balance the stress of being a piano performance major, I signed up for a literature course. Then another. And another. I did it enough times that after I completed my music degree I realized I might as well press on another semester or two and get the English degree as well. Before I knew it I had a teaching certificate and 150 bright, waiting, upturned faces eager to be enlightened by my collected literary insights and to join me in further textual excavations.

Ummm, no. Would you believe that not all of them shared my passion? That there were other things they would rather do than catalogue all the foreshadowing clues in "A Rose for Emily"? That it was enough for them to merely read "The Fall of the House of Usher" as a scary story, giving no thought to the allegorical implications? What was wrong with these kids?

To answer the question, they weren't interested. A lot of them weren't interested in reading, period, at least not reading the stuff I assigned. But I had my list of required state objectives and I did my dutiful best to shove them down the throats of my captives. And over my years of classroom teaching there were a few like-minded sorts--okay, weirdos--who joined hands with me and willingly, even enthusiastically, went along for whatever literary journey we were on at the time. But I must admit the majority of my students were just watching the clock until it was time for lunch or cheerleading squad or football practice.

It's been quite a while since I did any classroom teaching. I only lasted three years at the secondary level. Then it was back to school for my master's degree in, what else, literature. Two more years of quibbling over minutiae no one else in his right mind cares about. But I enjoyed it, and it enabled me to get adjunct teaching work at the college level. Phew. Much better hours and no discipline issues.

The only teaching I am doing these days is of my own children. When my son entered his freshman year, we started following the typical four year high school literature sequence:

1) Ninth grade - Introduction to Literature (emphasis on genres and literary techniques)
2) Tenth grade - World Literature
3) Eleventh grade - American Literature
4) Twelfth grade - British Literature

My daughter, although she is three years younger, is herself quite the wordsmith so has gone right along with us and, truth be told, enjoyed it a lot more than her brother.

But here's the thing. All that stuff I learned how to do in college and grad school--all that bookish fussiness--I just can't seem to get motivated to do it with my own kids. Somehow with my own kids it seems enough to just tell them to read something and then to sit down for a little while and talk about it. Our conversations go something like this:

"So, what did you think of (fill in the blank)?"

"Oh, you didn't like that? Why not?"

"It sort of reminded me of (fill in the blank)."

"Boy, what a stupid world view. Do we have to read any more of his stuff?"

And so on.

I'm not saying we never talk about things like imagery, symbolism, irony, metaphor, and the like. They come up when the discussion leads to them. But when I think back to all that close reading I made my classroom students do, I have to wonder why? What was the point, if they weren't going to be writers or literature majors?

More and more, I think the way we teach literature in school is an impediment to true appreciation. We make kids hate it because we suck all the life out of it. The problem is, the way it should be taught--"Go and read this, and when you come back, we'll discuss it"--doesn't fit the paradigm. Number one, most of them won't read it. Number two, there's no way to quantify the teaching and measure the results in a way that would please the educational establishment. "We read thus-and-so and talked about it" does not lead to darkening in any of the little holes on the state list of required learning outcomes.

I don't think I will ever go back into the classroom. I suppose I should not say never. But after the experience of having students who actually read what has been assigned without the constant threat of a pop quiz, I don't know if I could stomach the classroom experience. In truth, my children have spoiled me irreparably. I used to spend hours reading and rereading and coming up with discussion questions and activities and assignments. If I didn't, there would be nothing to fill the class time. But more and more I think the class time IS the reading, and everything else is gravy.

On the other hand, maybe I'm lazy no-good excuse of a homeschooling mom and I need to get off my duff and go write some vocabulary lists. What do you think?

Convention Purchases

The older I get, the better I understand the fixed pie that is our household budget. Money spent on one thing means money not spent on something else. So every purchase is carefully weighed against the things that will have to wait should I buy the thing of the moment.

It wasn't always this way. It's not that we had more money in the past . . . well, okay, maybe relatively speaking we did have a little more . . . but really, we just thought we had more and spent accordingly. The same is true for homeschooling materials. In the early days I spent much more than I do now, in part because I was building a library, but also due to my more careless spending habits. No more.

I didn't intend to buy anything at the convention, just to browse. The vendor hall is a once-a-year opportunity to put my hands on books and materials that I can usually only try to imagine from the descriptions in the curriculum catalogs. Some of them I am already familiar with, such as the math and science texts that we use. With those it's just a matter of buying the next book in the series. But with several other subjects there are decisions to be made about which text we will be using next year. And getting to actually see and hold and smell those books is an invaluable aid to making those decisions. So my plan was to browse and take notes so that come August I would be able to place a more informed order for the coming school year.

I mostly kept to that plan. But I did make a couple of purchases. One was a book that I have been wanting to read for years now but have never gotten around to: How Should We Then Live by Francis Schaeffer. It was on a sale table, priced at only $11.99 ($1.50 less than Amazon's price). It has been added to my summer reading list (along with The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd, the first chapter of which I read in the bookstore while accompanying my daughter to an author book signing and which sucked me in so completely that I think I will actually read a novel for the first time in several years).

The second purchase required a day of reflecting/sleeping on it before I decided to buy. I have been looking for a text for my next homeschool literature class, in which I plan to focus on masterpieces of world literature. I want to take a chronological approach and have been seeking an anthology or guide that does so, but all of the big name homeschool publishers (A Beka, BJU, etc.) seem to organize their world literature texts thematically rather than historically. But at the same table where I bought the Schaeffer book I stumbled upon this series by James Stobaugh. I think I have heard of it before but don't recall ever seeing it. The approach is chronological and the world view Christian. And the price for the student text was $10 below list! Upon coming to the conclusion that the TE (teacher edition) didn't contain much more than the SE (student edition) beyond scheduling (which I can never follow even if I try) and a DVD with additional author commentary (something I know we would never get around to watching, even if we wanted to), I decided to simply buy the student text (and the price was so low I bought the American and British lit ones, too). I will use it for reference and background information and then in typical fashion will put together my own lessons using not only it but whatever else I can find lying around my house. So now I have a plan for literature! (For anyone who might be interested, you should know that this book is not an anthology but a guide to reading--while there are some excerpts, the actual texts will have to be purchased separately or checked out from the library. Because I like for my students to have their own texts to underline and take marginal notes in, I will encourage the purchase of inexpensive Dover editions for the reading assignments.)

So, literature, science and math are taken care of. Now, what to do for
history. . . .

Summer Vacation

Yesterday was the final meeting of our homeschool literature class. We had a great year, studying elements of fiction, drama and poetry and reading a broad range of works from authors as varied as William Shakespeare, George Orwell, O Henry, William Golding, e.e. cummings, and Robert Frost. I enjoyed my time with these students immensely--teaching them was what I had always envisioned teaching to be but what my classroom experience never bore out. They actually read the material, completed their assignments, and exhibited an interest in carrying on meaningful discussions, all while treating their instructor and one another with kindness and respect. And they did all of this without the need for carrots or sticks! Such a great year called for a celebration, so yesterday we left the books on the dining room table and enjoyed some outdoor time, officially kicking off the beginning of summer vacation (even though you wouldn't know if from the nighttime temperatures here in Chicagoland).

Next year we will take up a chronological survery of "Masterpieces of World Literature." I'm already looking forward to it and hope they are, too. Until then, here is a peek at the best literature class I have ever had the honor of teaching:

Spring

I have been too busy to blog the past few days, having spent most of yesterday in rehearsals for a choir concert last night (with another concert to play for tonight). In addition, I have taken on a new editing project--more on that to come--and my awesome literature class (one of my favorite 90-minute blocks of the week) is coming this morning! So in the tradition of writers through the ages when time or inspiration is lacking, I commend to you the words of another. The aforementioned literature class dug into this poem a few weeks ago and found much to love as well as some etymological hidden treasure. If you like the poem as much as we did, feel free to leave your thoughts. And if you have a little time to spend, look up the word "cloy" and see what you can find. In a day or two I'll post our class discovery in the comments.

Spring - Gerard Manley Hopkins (1844-1889)

Nothing is so beautiful as spring --
When weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush;
Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush
Through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring
The ear, it strikes like lightnings to hear him sing;
The glassy peartree leaves and blooms, they brush
The descending blue; that blue is all in a rush
With richness; the racing lambs too have fair their fling.

What is all this juice and all this joy?
A strain of the earth's sweet being in the beginning
In Eden garden. -- Have, get, before it cloy,
Before it cloud, Christ, lord, and sour with sinning,
Innocent mind and Mayday in girl and boy,
Most, O maid's child, thy choice and worthy the winning.

Music to My Ears

Since September, I have been teaching a literature class to a small group of home educated students (my two oldest children plus three others). The students, two boys and three girls ranging in age from 12 to 15 years, read and work independently during the week and gather at my house each Wednesday morning for group instruction and discussion. They are a delight to teach, and my time with them marks one of the more relaxing and enjoyable parts of my weekly routine.

Recently we began a study of Shakespeare's Julius Caesar. We are using the Barron's Shakespeare Made Easy edition, which includes a side-by-side layout that pairs Shakespeare's original text with a paraphrased modern English "translation." I chose this edition knowing that several of the students in the class had not read Shakespearean English and would in their independent study need the assistance provided by such a format. However, I have recommended that the best approach would be to read the paraphrased version first so as to gain an understanding of the characters and plot but then to follow up with a reading of the original text with as little reliance as possible on the paraphrase. I think that reading the play this way on an act by act basis is a better strategy than constantly switching back and forth between the two, interrupting the experience of being immersed in Shakespearean English.

Several days ago as my 12-year-old daughter was reading, she looked up at me and spoke this beautiful sentence: "Mom, I think Shakespeare's actual words are a lot better than the paraphrased version." I could have hugged her. I asked her to provide an example of what she was talking about, and she referred me to Act I, scene ii, in which Cassius is planting the seeds of treachery in the mind of Brutus. Brutus has agreed to meet with Cassius at a later time to further hear his concerns about Caesar and to consider what might be done, to which Cassius replies, "I am glad / That my weak words have struck but thus much show / Of fire from Brutus" (I.ii.173-75). The paraphrase reads, "I'm glad that my little speech has sparked off such a show of spirit in you, Brutus."

Better indeed. And my sixth grade daughter sees it and gets it. It's moments like these that I think we're doing something right.

Pet Peeve

One of my fellow Lutheran homeschooling blogger moms (boy, that's a mouthful) recently wrote a post on what she called "grammar Nazis." Okay, I admit it--I tend to be one of those. I blame it on too many years of teaching English. And maybe just a wee bit of obsessive compulsiveness. But please understand--I don't pick on people's casual conversation (when it comes to speaking extemporaneously I can hardly string five words together without using a verbal crutch or saying something incomprehensible) and I don't pick on everyday communication (there are different rules for that). It just seems to me that when someone is writing for publication or spending huge sums to buy advertising space or getting paid big bucks to make sense on television, he or she ought to be able to use the language correctly (or be smart enough to pay a good proofreader or copywriter).

Anyway, I was watching one of the talking heads on Fox News yesterday (at least as much as I can watch when I'm trying to get dressed and groomed for the day and there's a three-year-old running around the bedroom) when I heard yet again a phrase that I have noticed getting misused a lot these days: "begging the question." In classical rhetoric, to "beg the question" means to assume without proof the truth of the very conclusion one is trying to argue. It is a logical fallacy and is similar to circular reasoning because what it essentially does is to take the argument in circles, relying on synonyms and re-assertions rather than actual proof. Here are a few examples:

"You can believe me because I don't tell lies."
"Capital punishment is wrong because it's murder."
"All respected scientists believe in global warming."

In each of these sentences the desired conclusion is presented as its own premise. This is fairly obvious in the first two examples, especially if we restate them as follows:

"You can believe me because you can believe me."
"Capital punishment is wrong because it's wrong." (Murder is by definition wrong, so to say that capital punishment is wrong because it's murder is equivalent to saying it's wrong because it's wrong. The real question, which is being avoided, is whether capital punishment fits the definition of murder.)

The trick in the third example is more subtle, but careful consideration reveals a form of circularity because the definition of "respected scientist" is assumed to be one who believes in the very thing that is being promoted.

The problem with all of these is that premises of arguments need to be supported by evidence unless they are assumptions that everyone can accept as truth. So to use a conclusion as its own premise "begs the question" by taking that conclusion (the question that is being debated but that has not yet been proven) for granted--assigning it truth that it has not earned (thus the word "begging"). (This is a difficult concept, but it helps me to imagine a plaintive little premise begging a confident-looking conclusion for acceptance into the proven conclusion club. If I had an ounce of artistic talent I think I could make the picture in my head into a great cartoon!)

"Begging the question," then, really has nothing to do with asking a question. Yet that's what everyone on television these days seems to think. I constantly--well, perhaps that's a bit of an overstatement--I frequently hear people use the phrase "begs the question" to mean "asks the question" or "makes one ask" or "makes one wonder." The particular exchange I heard on Fox News was a discussion of the poor parenting skills of Britney Spears and Rosie O'Donnell. (In case you missed out on this breathtakingly consequential story, Britney got in trouble some time ago for driving her car with her baby in her lap; Rosie is getting grief right now for putting a video on her blog of her 4-year-old dressed up like a terrorist.) The commentator or anchor (I don't remember which) was comparing Rosie and Britney and said something along the lines of, "We know Britney was negligent in driving a car with a baby in her lap, but that begs the question of whether her behavior rises to the level of intentional exploitation that we are seeing with Rosie." The phrase "begs the question" simply makes no sense in that sentence if you try to apply the correct definition of the term.

So this is the sort of thing that keeps me up past midnight blogging. Hmmm, maybe I need to expand my horizons a bit. On the other hand, if this post resonated with you or if you simply enjoyed it, let me know and I might consider making it a regular feature, complete with submissions from readers (thanks, elephantschild, for the idea).

Update, June 28, 2010: The Wikipedia article on begging the question identifies the incorrect usage of the phrase outlined here as a "modern usage" that many now accept as correct. I guess I'm more of a prescriptive than a descriptive grammarian, because I disagree. "Begging the question" is a rhetorical term with a precise definition that ought to be respected.

The Best Job in the World

My friend and fellow homeschooling blogger Susan recently linked to a website that calculates whether it is worth having a second income in the family after taking into account all of the expenses generated by that second income. After reviewing the list of costs typically incurred by the second wage-earner, I have concluded that I have one of the best part-time jobs in the world. I am a self-employed musician who teaches piano lessons in the home. Not only do I enjoy it, but there are almost no associated costs.

Transportation? The piano students come to me. Professional wardrobe & make-up? Try jeans & the "natural" look. Child care? It's called "Big Brother & Sister Free Babysitting Extraordinaire." Stress relievers? Frankly, there is very little stress associated with having nice young people who appreciate music show up at my house to play the piano. Okay, maybe it's a bit stressful when the house is a disaster and the three-year-old is running around without any pants on! But my preferred stress relievers--specialty coffee, dark chocolate and an occasional glass of wine--are things I would indulge in anyway, and the second income helps pay for them.

The website identifies several job-related costs that are perhaps less obvious, such as "guilt" expenses (things you buy for your children or spouse to compensate for not spending time with them), and lack of economizing (the inability to comparison shop due to lack of time). I think my family would attest to the fact that working part-time has not had the least effect on my tightwad sensibilities--I am as cheap as ever. Finally, the website raises the question of whether second-income families find themselves paying more for home costs (cleaning, maintenance & repair) than they otherwise would, again due to lack of time. Homeschool family that we are, I have a built-in cleaning service. As for the home repairs and maintenance, my husband and I find ourselves hiring out a lot of that stuff anyway because of our woeful lack of talent in such things, so again, the second income only helps.

In addition to teaching piano, I also work as the staff accompanist at our church. So I get paid to attend several choir practices per week--adults and children--and play for them when they sing for worship. This is a job? Gathering with people I like, listening to their beautiful voices as they sing God's word, and attending church--which I would do anyway--to facilitate their music?

Like I said, the best job in the world.