Thursday, 2 December 2010

Letting go.

At what point do I finally say that I Home Educate three of my four sons?
At what point do I change our description in the sidebar of our family?
At what point do I not feel the responsilbilty of David's 'education'?
At what point will I feel reassured that this is the right thing for him?

He gets up just after eight, gets dressed, eats breakfast, brushes his teeth, feeds the rabbit and goes to school.
I pick him up from school at half past three and we drive home. I usually attempt to ask him what he has been doing that day, but I am greeted with a blank, tired look and he says, I don't know, I can't remember. I resist the urge to say, but you must!!!!, and instead prompt him with the little infomation I know about his day. In numeracy? What did you you do for maths today? What about Literacy? Did you do any reading or writing today? And after lunch? Did you practice the play today?
Then, once home (it takes only 5 minutes in the car but virtually impossible to walk) he slopes off to play on the computer or watch something on iPlayer, or goes out to play or round his friends house.
And thats about it. I feed him and read before bed but the contact that I have with him now is minimal. I take him to swimming club and we talk in the car, but essentially I have less than 2 hours contact with him a day.
He seems ok. He seems happy enough. Except on the mornings when he doesn't really want to go, or on the days when I pick him up and he is more deflated than usual. Reasons for the exceptionally low mood is usually one of five options.
1. It is too hot in the classroom.
2. He has a headache.
3. He's fed up of the other boys messing around and not doing as they are told.
4. It's boring.
5. He hates not being able to read and going in to another class for maths.

And then I have the day when he came out and said that he wished he hadn't asked to go back, and didn't want to go tomorrow.
Or the morning that he got knocked over by the dogs and got all muddy and his mood dropped to the floor.
Or the morning when his friend's mum forgot to pick him up, and he was going to be late, and he stood there an ddefiantly said he wasn't going.
Deja vue.
But so far, it hasn't taken much for me to turn it around and remind him that it was his choice to go, and some days he does enjoy it, and he has been given an amazing opportunity by the head teacher in a lovely little school and she really does have his best interests at heart, and it is unlikely that he will get this opportunity again. I tell him that he has to give it his best shot, otherwise he will always be left wondering.
But inside I am in turmoil. Inside I am screaming. Inside I want to tell him what I really think.
But I don't.
He has to work this out for himself.