Julie Wilkinson

Tag: Education

  • Dear Mr Gove…

    Dear Mr Gove,

    I see that you are marketing your ‘longer school days, shorter holidays’ idea as ‘family-friendly’, but I’m not sure you’ve really thought that through…

    As a working mother, I structure my working hours around my daughter’s schooling and holiday times – and I’m glad to do it. My daughter is not an inconvenience whose care gets in the way of those longer working hours I’d like to be doing – I love her and I love spending time with her.

    Dear Mr Gove...Speaking of my daughter, let me tell you about her. She’s six. She’s funny, creative, imaginative, soaking up the world and the experiences it offers her like a sponge. She’s also the most stubborn person I know, fiercely independent and surprisingly vulnerable.

    She loves school but, being six, she gets tired before the end of the school day. Over the term, her tiredness accumulates and by the time the holidays come, it has begun to make life hard for her. Holidays are a welcome break from the work/school routine – for me as well as for her.

     

    Sometimes in the holidays, we stay in our pyjamas till lunchtime and tell each other stories, or build chocolate factories for princesses out of cardboard boxes. We visit museums and stately homes, go swimming, meet all kinds of interesting people, and have the time to consider more fully why we can sometimes see the moon during the day or why the children on the adverts on TV don’t have enough food to eat. (I should have mentioned earlier that she loves swimming. She has a weekly swimming lesson at 3.30pm – I wonder where we would fit that in if she has to stay at school till 4.30pm?)

    I am able to structure my working life around my daughter’s schooling and give her these experiences because I work for an incredibly family-friendly, understanding and supportive organisation with wonderful people. I work on flexi-time – my hours are my own to plan so I can fit them round the school day. Sometimes I have to work in the evening or at weekends, but I can take the time back during school holidays. I can work from home whenever I need to. I work for an organisation which values people as people, not as commodities.

    Might it not be more ‘family-friendly’ to look at measures encouraging other businesses and employers to be more understanding of the needs of working parents? And, for those times when parents can’t be off work while their children are off school, might it not be more ‘family-friendly’ to invest in the charitable and third sector who can give children experiences beyond the school gates? Or to bring the cost of childcare down?

    I may be wrong, but I have an inkling that this ‘longer school days, shorter holidays’ idea might be more ‘business-friendly’ than ‘family-friendly’…

    I have never looked at my daughter and thought, “I wish she would work harder. Why can’t she be more like those children in Hong Kong and Singapore and East Asia? Why doesn’t she have to work more, learn more, why can’t we put more pressure on her to achieve and succeed?”

    Instead, I admire her curiosity, her exploring questioning mind, her interest in everything, her recent development of the ability to count in tens, and her imaginative ability to see elephants, mushrooms, and people dancing in the clouds.

    Please don’t spoil her. Please don’t take any more of her childhood away from her. Because we love her, just as she is.

    Yours sincerely,

    A Working Mother

  • Small but significant…

    Nine years ago, I left university. With an English degree under my belt and an unknownc future stretching ahead of me, I embarked on a Gap Year working for my church. My work co-ordinator was a hairy gentleman by the name of John.

    It wouldn’t be over-stating things to say that that year changed my life. I found a husband (David, not John, although they do share a commitment to beards). I became a storyteller. And I discovered what it was that I needed to be doing.

    As part of my work, John arranged for me to go into a local primary school for one afternoon a week, supporting the teacher with their year two class. It was a typical class of children; from the timid girl who played with her hair whenever she spoke, to the giggling gaggle of girlies who were inseparable, from the boy who always had a smile on his face and a piece of Lego in his hand, to the lively pocket of lads who never quite managed to do what they were supposed to be doing. It was a place that was full of life.

    After several weeks, the teacher discovered that I was a fledgling storyteller and asked me to tell a story to the children at the end of the afternoon. This quickly became part of the weekly routine. I loved it – and so did the kids.

    But it was one boy in particular that I’ll never forget. He was one of the naughty boys, the ones who couldn’t settle to their work, who were always in trouble after playtime, who had a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But he had a glint in his eye and a cheeky little smile and I know that he had a good heart.

    One week, he sidled up to me during ‘Golden Time’, the magic half hour at the end of the day when the children were allowed to choose what they wanted to do. This was one of those rare occasions when he had managed to not get into so much trouble that he had his golden time taken away.

    “Miss,” he said, leaning towards me.

    “Yes?”

    “What story are you telling today?”

    “Well…” I said. “I can’t tell you the story, cos it would spoil it…”

    His face fell a little.

    “But… I could give you a hint or two, just to give you a taste for it…”

    He looked up at me.

    “There’s a frog in it,” I said. “And a princess. And a talking tree.”

    He pondered this information briefly, then announced, “I’m going to draw the tree!”

    And off he went. When he returned a few minutes later, he brought with him a sheet of paper with a pen drawing of a tree in the middle of it, orange and green with a face carved into the trunk. And it was beautiful. He had a real talent.

    “Would you like to stand and hold your picture up when we get to the bit with the tree?” I asked.

    He nodded.

    So that’s what we did. When I got to the bit with the tree and he stood up, there was  a moment when his teacher wasn’t sure, when she assumed that he was doing something he shouldn’t, because that’s what he always did. But the moment passed, and he stood there, proudly holding his picture, for the rest of the story.

    It was a small moment, just a brief passing of time in one hour of one day of his whole life. But that moment made a difference. Because in that moment he knew what it was to be proud of himself, to feel like he’d achieved something. It was a good moment that he could share with his mum as they left school together.

    And from that moment, I knew that this was what I wanted to do.

    I love the charity I work for. It shines light and spreads hope wherever it goes. Those moments of light and hope may be small ones, but I believe that they really do make a difference.

    The schools we visit are wonderful places, full of life, where God’s image can be seen reflected in so many different people. But they are also places that need to see God’s light shining. In every school, there are adults and children who carry burdens, who need to know that God is there and God is real. They need us to keep our light shining.

    I still have the tree picture…