Date: Jan 13, 2011 11:27 AM
Author: Bishop, Wayne
Subject: Shades of Summerhill
August 30, 1976
Confessions of a Misspent Youth
The idea of permissive education apprealed to my mother in 1956 when
she was a Bohemian and I as four. In Greenwich Village, she found a
small private school whose beliefs were hers and happily enrolled me.
I know it was an act of motherly love but it might have been the
worst thing she ever did to me. This school - I will call it Sand and
Sea - attracted other such parents, upper-middle class professionals
who were determined not to have their children pressured the way they
had been. Sand and Sea was teh school without pain. And it was the
kind of school that the back-to-basics people rightly fear most. At
Sand and Sea, I soon became an exemplar of educational freedom - the
freedom not to learn.
Sand and sea was run by fifteen women and one man who taught
"science". They were decent people, some old, some young, and all
devoted to cultivating the innate creativity they were convinced we
had. There was a tremendous emphasis on the arts. We weren't taught
techniques, however, because any kinds of orgnaiztion stunted creativity.
Happiness and Hieroglyphics. We had certian hours allotted to various
subjects but we were free to dismiss anything that bored us. In fact,
it was school policy that we were forbidden to be bored or miserable
or made to compete with one another. There were no tests and no hard
times. When I was bored with math, I was excused and allowed to write
short stories in the library. The way we learned history was by
trying to re-create its least important elements. One year, we
pounded corn, made tepees, ate buffalo meat, and learned two Indian
words. That was early American history. Another year we made
elaborate costumes, clay pots, and papier mache gods. That was Greek
culture. Another year we were all maidens and knights in armor
becuase it was time to learn about the Middle Ages. We drank our
orange juice from tin-foil goblets but never found out what the
Middle Ages were. They were just "The Middle Ages."
I knew that the Huns pegged their horses and drank a quart of blood
before going to war, but no one ever told us who the Huns were or why
we should know who they were. And one year, the year of ancient
Egypt, when we were building our pyramids, I did a thirty-foot-long
mural for which I labouriously copied hieroglyphics onto the sheet of
brown paper. But no one ever told me what they stood for. They were
just there and beautiful.
Ignorance Is Not Bliss. We spent great amounts of time being creative
because we had been told by our incurably optimistic mentors that the
way to be hapy in life was to create. Thus, we didn't learn to read
until we were in the third grade, because early reading was thought
to discourage creative spontaneity. The one thing they taught us very
well was to hate intellectuality and anything connected wit it.
Accordingly, we were forced to be creative for nine years. And yet
Sand and Sea has failed to turn out a good artist. What we did do was
to continually form and re-form interpersonal relationships, and
that's what we thought learning was all about, and we were happy. At
ten, for example, most of us were functionally illiterate, but we
could tell that Raymond was "acting out' when, in the middle of what
passed for English, he did the twist on top of his desk. Or that Nina
was "introverted"because she always cowered in the corner.
When we finally were graduated, however, all the happy little
children fell down the hill. We felt a profound sense of abandonment.
So did our parents. After all that tuituion money, let alone the
loving freedom, their children faced high school with all the
glorious propspects of the poorest slum-school kids. And so it came
to be. no matter what school we went to, we were the underachievers
and the culturally disadvantaged.
For some of us, real life was too much -- one of my oldest friends
from Sand and Sea killed himself two years ago after flunking out of
the worst high school in new York at twenty. Various others have put
in time in mental institutions where they were free, once again, to
create during occupational therapy.
During my own high-school years, the school psychologist was baffled
by my lack of substantive knowledge. He suggested to my mother that I
be given a battery of psychological tests to find out why I was
blocking out information. The thing was, I wasn't blocking because I
had no information to block. Most of my Sand and Sea classmates were
also enduring the same kinds of hardships that accompany severe
handicaps. My own reading comprehension was in the lowest eighth
percentile, not suprisingly. I was often asked by teachers how I had
gotten into high school, however, I did managed to stumble not only
through high school but also through college (first junior college -
rejected by all four-year colleges, and then New York University),
hating it all the way as I had been taught to. I am still amazed that
I have a B.A, but think of it as a B.S.
The Lure of Learning. The parents of my former classmates can't
figure out what went wrong. They had sent in bright, curious children
and gotten back, nine years later, helpless adolescents. Some might
say that those of us who freaked out would have freaked out anywhere,
but when you see the same bizarre behavior pattern in succeeding
graduating classes, you can draw certain terrifying conclusions.
Now I see my twelve-year-old brother (who is in a traditional school)
doing college-level math and I know that he knows more about many
other things besides math than I do. And I also see traditional
education working in the case of my fifteen-year-old brother (who was
summarily yanked from Sand and Sea, by my reformed mother, when he
was eight, so that he wouldn't become like me). Now, after seven
years of real education, he is making impressive film documentaires
for a project on the Bicentennial. A better learning experience than
playing Pilgrim for four and a half months, and Indian for four and a
half months, which is how I imagine they spent this year and Sand and Sea.
And now I've come to see that the real job of school is to entice the
student into the web of knowledge and then, if he's not enticed, to
drag him in. I wish I had been.