I was enjoying a leisurely solo stroll through Target when I spotted an "ABC Workbook" in the dollar section. My thoughts went straight to my almost-five-year-old E, who will be entering her second year of pre-k this fall. I thought of her immature pencil grasp; her general lack of interest in academics; her challenges in fine motor activities.
The flimsy workbook was only a dollar. "What's the harm?" I asked myself.
Flipping through it, I saw page after page of tracing and copying drills. "A. Alligator. Trace the A. Copy the A." Next page. "B. Bear. Trace the B." On and on. Page after page. Lines and curves connecting to each other, but in isolation. Repeatedly.
I imagined, for a moment, what it really would look like for E to be using this book. How would I try to make it seem "fun?" What would I say to guide her towards a proper grip? What would I tell her is the reason we needed to do it, even only for five minutes?
As those uneasy questions sat heavy in my belly, other images arose, too. I recalled a recent game of tic-tac-toe she'd played with her father. How I watched her grip change three times, eventually settling on a mature - and the most comfortable for her - grasp. Her eagerness at making marks in a confined space because, I can only guess, it meant something within the context of the game. In the context of connecting with someone she loves. I remembered her sitting curled up next to my mother just yesterday, showing her grandmother one of her favorite books. How she used the picture cues and her own memory to retell the story in sequence. How she asked many times during that exchange, "MomMom, what's the word? What does that say?" I pictured the new sign she'd made for her bedroom door, with her name printed in large, shaky letters. "This is so everyone knows it's my room," she'd proudly announced to me.
What's the harm?
Would the Target workbook have long-term, damaging effects on my child's education? I seriously doubt it. But what benefit would it have? Especially when, given the time, the materials, and the relationships, E is developing literacy skills all on her own. And in a way that doesn't ever include the implication that she's not capable of figuring it out herself. Ones that are meaningful to her. Ones that makes sense. That are joyful.
I took a breath. I put the book down.
The flimsy workbook was only a dollar. "What's the harm?" I asked myself.
Flipping through it, I saw page after page of tracing and copying drills. "A. Alligator. Trace the A. Copy the A." Next page. "B. Bear. Trace the B." On and on. Page after page. Lines and curves connecting to each other, but in isolation. Repeatedly.
I imagined, for a moment, what it really would look like for E to be using this book. How would I try to make it seem "fun?" What would I say to guide her towards a proper grip? What would I tell her is the reason we needed to do it, even only for five minutes?
As those uneasy questions sat heavy in my belly, other images arose, too. I recalled a recent game of tic-tac-toe she'd played with her father. How I watched her grip change three times, eventually settling on a mature - and the most comfortable for her - grasp. Her eagerness at making marks in a confined space because, I can only guess, it meant something within the context of the game. In the context of connecting with someone she loves. I remembered her sitting curled up next to my mother just yesterday, showing her grandmother one of her favorite books. How she used the picture cues and her own memory to retell the story in sequence. How she asked many times during that exchange, "MomMom, what's the word? What does that say?" I pictured the new sign she'd made for her bedroom door, with her name printed in large, shaky letters. "This is so everyone knows it's my room," she'd proudly announced to me.
What's the harm?
Would the Target workbook have long-term, damaging effects on my child's education? I seriously doubt it. But what benefit would it have? Especially when, given the time, the materials, and the relationships, E is developing literacy skills all on her own. And in a way that doesn't ever include the implication that she's not capable of figuring it out herself. Ones that are meaningful to her. Ones that makes sense. That are joyful.
I took a breath. I put the book down.
