For many parents and most kids, homework is about as welcome as a spinal tap, and not nearly as much fun. And while I know almost nothing of spinal taps, I know a lot about homework. As a kid, I did it, as a teacher, I assigned it, and as a foster parent, I had to help with it.
I did none of those things happily, and as a parent, this was particularly true.
As a kid, however, I just didn’t have much homework in those days. I remember a project I did on dogs involving a lot of writing and pictures cut from magazines, but I recall it as being fun. In some ways it related to what we were learning in the classroom, but it was not a repetition of the daily language arts activities being carried on.
As a high school senior, I was able to complete all my homework in an hour a night — most of it for my Spanish II class. The year previously, most of my homework was in solid geometry, but it didn’t cut significantly into my leisure time. So homework just wasn’t a big part of my life. It got done, and my parents didn’t have to help.
As a foster parent, the story was vastly different. Homework in our family became the tail that wagged the dog, four dreadful afternoons a week. In most instances, we found ourselves struggling to fit it in among the myriad of other obligations and activities on their respective plates.
Doug comes to mind. Doug had twice-weekly meetings with his social worker, visits with his birth mom, doctor appointments, horse therapy, weekly sessions with his psychologist, drum lessons and the daily practice it required, and his responsibilities around the house. Doug was an active kid who needed physical outlets to expend his ever-present energy. He wanted to play sports, and he was particularly excited at the prospect of a karate class.
Sadly, these last two were not to happen. We had to salvage what was left of our diminishing family time. Drum lessons and Mom-visits were moved to Saturdays, freeing two hours during the school week in Doug’s agenda. This reduced our opportunities for fun-filled weekends to one day.
Doug had not done well in the genetic lottery where academics were concerned. School was difficult for him, and he struggled.
Now factor in homework.
Many teachers at that time assigned homework on Tuesdays, to be turned in the following Friday. I applauded this practice because it provided a measure of flexibility. Doug’s teacher was not among them. Homework came home Monday through Thursday, and there was a lot of it. There is some kind of unwritten code that suggests 10 minutes of homework each night for every grade level. By this theory, as a fourth grader, Doug should have had forty minutes worth. That was doable.
However, I had two other kids, each with different teachers, different subjects on other grade levels and various scheduling practices. This meant that if I were to help them, even if their own time were reasonable and constant, mine was tripled. Something had to give.
I resorted to a letter to their teachers that I wished to be supportive … that I was appreciative of the time, effort and caring that each of them expended … that as a former teacher I was aware of the teacher’s need for parental support, I found myself unable to provide it … that I had two other kids and there were not enough hours a day for me to help each one with his struggle … and that I was profoundly sorry. If my child was enjoying school, I was sure to say so; unfortunately it was seldom the case — in which instance, I said nothing.
Four nights a week, I would look over each one’s (more or less) completed homework, note briefly what was wrong with it, and attach a photocopied note that I had seen it. Although this threw the ball back into the teacher’s court, it at least satisfied her that due attention had been paid, and it got the kid off the hook.
There are instances when homework — if it can be called that — can be enjoyable. Next week I’ll introduce you to a kid named Buzzy, and describe his experiences (and mine) with an assignment which meant a lot to us both.
Robin C. Harris, an 18-year resident of Lake County, is the author of “Journeys out of Darkness, Adventures in Foster Care.” A retired educator, he is a substitute teacher for Lake County schools and has recently completed two works of fiction for children and teens. He is available for tutoring in first through eighth grades. Harris can be contacted at harris.tke@att.net.
