My daughter had a reunion recently with a Currambena friend, who moved on to one of the other local schools at the end of last year. It was a beautiful sunny day and ever fearful of any juvenile disturbance to my pristine domestic environment (you know what it is like with three young
children in the house – all vaccumed carpets, well-made beds and healthy snacks lined up along the kitchen bench) we decided to make this an outside play and took the dog for a long walk around Blackman Park. I followed the two girls as they walked, half listening to their chatter as they renewed their acquaintance. I was fascinated as they began to compare their respective school days. Like any normal parent, I am always looking for clues that my decisions for my children are the right ones. Like any realistic parent, I kind of secretly know that I won’t get an answer until they are about 40 years old and have finished their therapy.
In the meantime, I piece together what scraps I can find. The girls compared notes on friends, on start times, on pick up routines, then moved on to the nitty gritty of the eternal education debate: school uniforms versus wear-what-you-like; school meetings as opposed to school assemblies, merit badges and point systems, compared to – ummm, well – no merit badges or points systems.
At the end of our second circling of the park, the dog was done in, but they were still chatting away, debating in a friendly and exploratory manner, until that is, they reached an enormous, incredibly muddy puddle.
Both girls knew what to do. They removed their shoes and socks and waded into the dark, murky water that even the Labrador had turned his nose up at. It was cold and wet, but helped settled the matter at least in my daughter’s mind. ‘Do you know?’ asked her friend, ‘at my school you have to wear socks all day’. ‘Wow’ said Chloe, ‘that must be exhausting!’. ‘Yes’, came the reply, ‘Yes, it is.’
The matter was settled. Chloe is happy where she is and she won’t move for anyone, not if it means wearing socks all day.
Posted May 28th, 2008
in Currambena Chatter
by Kirsten
The other morning in Fran’s class, I was having one of those over-enthusiastic, extra-friendly, welcome-to-our-community chats with one of this term’s new children, who quite frankly wanted to ditch me to build a cubby/play football/do some handwriting practice but who was clearly too well brought up to make his break for freedom.
Luke has lived most of his life in San Francisco and was telling me how his parents have decided that it’s time to settle back in their native Australia. ‘Oh how lovely, Luke’, I cooed welcomingly, ‘does this mean that you’ll live forever in Australia?’
His frustration was palpable. What kind of sheltered life had this woman been living? Was he going to have to teach her everything?
‘Well,’ he said with as much patience as a six-year-old can muster ‘I don’t think I can live forever. There are things that I can’t control.’ He paused. ‘I hope we will be living in Sydney for a long time, though, yes.’
Never patronise a six year old.
When I mentioned to Luke that I was going to quote him in this week’s blog, he wanted to share two pieces of information about himself that he says are actually more interesting. ‘I like kumquat. I really like it. I have lots and lots of it for treats. And chlorine doesn’t hurt my bruises when I put my legs in the water.
Thank you Luke. And welcome to Currambena.
Posted March 12th, 2008
in Currambena Chatter
by Kirsten
I love the fact that Currambena is democratic. I love the fact that this means the children the teachers and the parents get together to tussle over the nitty gritty of school life. From what to learn, where to learn it and whether to learn it while eating lunch on top of the monkey bars with balloons up their jumpers – all issues get a good airing.
But there is an elephant in the schoolyard. A big issue that remains untackled, barely mentioned, but that reveals itself in the tired and haunted eyes of parents and teachers at preschool and primary alike when it comes to home time.
Shoes.
Like many Currambena children, my girls wear shoes to school everyday. They wear one on each foot. Often matching. They sometimes wear socks, not necessarily a pair, but I make sure the holes aren’t showing and that they occasionally get to see the inside of a washing machine.
But when it comes to home time, their feet are bare, and their shoes are nowhere to be seen. Somehow as they travel the winding road that is their educational journey they toss aside their footwear. No problem, whatever it takes to get them where they need to be, I say. But that is without the afternoon ritual searching sandpits and school rooms for disguarded sandals.
Sometimes we leave without. Sometimes we improvise with bits of string and craft room cast offs, often we find shoes so long lost that the children who wore them have long since moved on. Occasionally we find the shoes we are looking for – or come across a pair we had given up ever seeing again.
So if you see my children leaving school in the afternoon, with grins on their faces but nothing on their feet – its not the late seventies free-love and no-footwear philosophy of democratic education, nor is it because we have sacrificed shoes to pay school fees, it is simply that they have taken so much on board during the day about life, about friends about all that they get in school, that they have had to put down their shoes to carry it all.
I desperately hope.
If you want to blog about anything that is going on at school – let me know – Kirsten
Posted February 27th, 2008
in Currambena Chatter
by Kirsten
