The Distractible Child

There is a chapter in The Well-Trained Mind (our revered guide to education) entitled "The Argumentative Child," referring to the child who is entering the logic stage of classical education. At this stage, which begins around 5th grade, the child's natural tendency to question everything and everyone coincides with their graduation, in a manner of speaking, to a more inquisitive and structured style of learning. Or something like that. At any rate, it is a good-natured joke around here that this chapter was named for Aimee - it describes her rather perfectly. It's true that she has certain character traits and skills that are well-suited to a style of learning that asks her to debate ideas, as well as to ask "Why?" on a regular basis.

That introduction really served little purpose except to say that while that chapter suits one of my children nicely, there is no corresponding chapter for Drew, who could be dubbed, "The Distractable Child." Actually, now that I've just said that, I should probably look through the book again and see what Susan Wise-Bauer or her esteemed mother might have to say about a child who can't sit still for five seconds and who has an attention span a couple seconds shorter. (I say this all in love, of course, and it's another open topic in our house. Drew doesn't seem to be offended by our pointing out his distractability.) My strategy so far, in this the grammar stage of his education, in which exposure to ideas and the grasp of basic foundational concepts is the goal, has been to let him tell me what he knows in whatever way I can and in whatever snatches of time I can hold his attention. Translated, that means that I've read him his math lesson while he's played in the backyard (back in the days when playing outside was something he could do - I hear it does warm up here and he may be able to do that again), or read him a chapter from our science book while he - don't laugh - jumped on the trampoline. In fact, the time I read him the science chapter, he was filling in information that wasn't included in the chapter, from library books we had on the subject, so about halfway through the chapter I just stopped. And because he has a mind for numbers, he's almost always been able to answer math questions without hardly thinking about it, and definitely without sitting down to look at the page. He's also a good reader, so if I can provide books on any given subject, he will probably soak in some information that way.

This is all great, but what we have great difficulty with is anything that requires sitting down with paper and pencil. His math is among the subjects that are requiring more of this as he progresses, and this is how it usually goes, after I manage to get him downstairs from his room or up from the basement, and that usually takes 10-15 minutes:

Me: Ok, Drew, we're going to look at a number line. First, hand over the gun. No weapons at the table.

Drew: Why can't have my gun? I can do my math with it, and besides, I already know what a number line is. [As he's talking, he moves over the window, where he begins to mangle the blinds, for no apparent reason.]

Me: No gun, we're looking the number line, and please stop playing with the blinds. PLEASE SIT DOWN.

(Which he does, for about two seconds, so I continue.) Now, what number is the arrow pointing to on this line?

Drew: 55.

Me: Did you even look? Because I don't think that's the...Ok, never mind, you're right. PLEASE put the candle down, and PLEASE sit back down. Let's skip to negative numbers on a number line...

Drew: You know you really can't have negative of anything. Do you want to know something interesting?

Me: Is it about math?

Drew: Well, sort of. In the last episiode of The Clone Wars...

Me: PAUSE. Tell me later. [which I must repeat several times before he actually complies.] Just tell me the negative numbers on the number line. And put down the candle, for the last time. No, don't touch the blinds!

He tells me one or two, then asks if he can play the Wii, which I - rather incredulously - answer by reminding him that we're right in the middle of school. He then asks if he can go get some water, and in order to have a moment to gather my now-scattered thoughts before we actually have to do some math work on paper, I agree. I hear him go to the kitchen and putter around, but about five minutes later, I have to get up and go look for him...and find him in the basement riding his scooter. He insists he just got distracted, and I really do believe him, because he's not sneaky or deceptive by nature, just distractible!

Now the incident above seems to describe not only an easily-distracted child, but a bored one. He needs more challenging work than the review we're currently doing, but if given a page of more difficult math problems, he becomes easily overwhelmed. He understands the principles and concepts, and can explain them to me if prompted step-by-step, but if given an entire page of math problems, he can't even seem to start on the first one. The same is true of things like spelling. He can spell just fine, but bless him, he can barely get started on an excercise in his spelling book on his own, much less finish it without a great deal of help. As a result, we're behind in spelling in one sense, although in another, it seems unfair to label him "behind, " when if I ask him to spell words in a given lesson, he can do so with few mistakes, if any.

So part of me wants to continue to go at his own pace and in his own style. Another part of me stresses a little over the fact that eventually he will need to be able to do an assignment without practically (but not actually!) being duct-taped to a chair. At some point he'll have to take tests (I shudder to think!). As it is now, I have to have papers to put in his school binder, because if someone wanted to look over our required portfolios, they would want more than my word for it that he knows how to spell and is actually quite talented a math mind. (And, rest assured, he does have examples of his own work in his portfolio - it's just challenging to get them there.)

All parts of me know that this will work out somehow. (And it would have been more useful to my readers if I had used this post to offer wonderfully creative ideas toward that end...) I'm sure I'm losing months off my life-span in the process, but it will all work out!