In the early 1990’s the older President Bush invested 3 billion dollars on the national Headstart program. He was sold on the idea that teaching early literacy to pre-school kids would give them a headstart in primary school, and in that process, move the United States of America to the forefront of global education.
During that same period we pulled our own kids out of the state schooling system, and home-schooled them ourselves. We began by going in the opposite direction to the national Headstart program by abandoning structured learning inside a classroom. We threw out all the prescribed text books and concentrated on a purely oral-based educational program. We instilled a work ethic by making them help with household chores each morning, then left them to run free and engage in their own pursuits for the rest of each day. We encouraged arts and crafts and hiking and camping. Television viewing had to include time spent watching documentaries and current events. They were only introduced to reading and writing at puberty.
Below is a composition written by our youngest daughter. She is 13 years old. Exactly one year ago she was entirely illiterate and had to start with a first grade primer. ie The cat sat on the mat. Three months later she, just like her older siblings had done, was reading Harry Potter.
Her latest of many compositions was penned recently. I did not edit a single comma. It recounts a dream she had. It is way ahead of the best work I ever did in my final year in high school, after twelve years of professional instruction.
Her erudition, as with all m my kids in the Heartstart program, flies in the face of conventional child education wisdom, and begs the question on what is the best methodology to awaken the creative potential of script-based communication. It cost the state almost zero dollars.
[size=150]WINTER DREAM[/size]
By Zarina Pringle
A bleak time it is… winter, all plant life deserts its summer lushness for a harsh but equal beauty
I walk through a forest of the slender naked limbs of tall trees draped in the white silk vale of powdery snow which so reminds me of a deserted home covered in dust sheets until summer’s sun shines again
My long draped cloak swirls and whips in the frigid silver wind that is winter’s howl
It is the chirp of birds the scurrying of mice the goodbye song to summers warmth
Suddenly the prowl of a wolf takes command of the atmosphere
And in a shuffle of feet and a spray of snow, the blood of a stag stains the stark snow
I crouch in a thicket and watch fearfully as the event unravels
The white stag has given himself up to nature’s wrath, his neck clutched tightly in the wolf’s vice-like jaw
His dead black eyes stare into mine through the thicket as the wolf proclaims his victory by taking the first bite
The pack moves in to taste the meat of victory
They do not smell me yet, but still fear bites into me sharper than any fang as I watch the gory spectacle. I find myself both repulsed and yet strangely envious of their power over the wood.
I try to remain calm but I realize that I’m holding my breath, I bite down on my lip and clutch my fists to keep from trembling, and I assure myself that the smell of the stag over powers my own, and that they will take what is remaining of the carcass and leave.
Soon enough they do leave, back the way they had come, like a harsh grey wind with fur and fangs, all but one. It is a female by the looks of it, she seamed reluctant to follow the others. Her icy blue eyes scanned the area sending chills up my spine; they passed over the thicket in witch I remained hidden amongst the rotted leaves and soft snow. My heart pounded so hard I was half afraid she would hear it. Panic surged through my entire body; I knew that if she found me she would signal her pack, I would not stand a chance, I would be torn from limb to limb and end up in the stomach of a pack of the notoriously vicious grey wolves.
After a minute of waiting there, scarcely breathing for fear of being heard, I tilted my head slightly upward to see if she had gone, but to my utter horror she remained, and worse still her eyes locked with mine, in that one instant in witch a looked up, at that moment I knew she had discovered me.
I knew I could not stay there and wait for her to come to me like a paralyzed rabbit, if my life was destined to end this way, I would not wait for my end to come to me but rather go to it instead. Against my rational judgment and with my fists clutched in determination and my mind clear in resolve, I rushed out of my hiding place, brambles scratching my face and arms, and there I stood, out in the open, the rest of the world seamed to evaporate around me, all that existed was myself the wood and that wolf.
I forced myself to look her dead in the eye, well aware that this is the opposite of what one should normally do when faced with a wolf as this is a sign that you are challenging them, but I looked on in defiance, pouring into her with all my might all the strength and will that I had collected throughout every hardship in my life willing her to leave. She did not move at first, nor did I, we only gazed at one another, both of use waiting for the other to falter. I had been taught that wolves were of a lesser race than humans, but I knew then that in reality it was quite the contrary, I could see in her sapphire eyes that she was a wise soul, and that she was testing me as her equal. And I refused to bend.
Finely she bore her teeth, ivory and as sharp as blades. Her face twisted in a snarl, wrinkling her blood stained muzzle. It was without a doubt an intimidating form, but still I would not flinch.
And all at once the fierceness faded from her face, and I could have sworn on my mother’s life that I saw her give a curt nod of respect and recognition just before she turned and disappeared into the snow clad forest.
