A wise teacher once told me that when you become a parent, your view on teaching changes. And, in truth, it does subtly. I feel I understand some parents better. I feel I understand children better. My experiences as a parent has put me in the situations that many students and parents deal with daily and weekly. I have seen bullying, friendship fallouts, a lack of confidence and many more things from the perspective of a parent. That’s not to say that a teacher must have a child to be a better teacher. My goodness, no - I don’t want to spark a quick increase in the national birth rate. Some teachers are naturally astute and empathic and can understand things far better than I could ever do. Having a child just jumped started those dormant empathic tendencies.
I am a dad and as a dad I was put in a situation that made me think.
I have twins. This week, one twin got her pen licence.
A pen licence is a privilege for students. It allows them to write with a pen, if their handwriting is good enough. Students, in some primary schools, have to demonstrate a certain level of proficiency in their handwriting before they get their licence. The purpose of it is to raise the standard of handwriting with a dash of healthy competition.
Being married to a primary teacher, I knew of the pen
licence and thought nothing of it. I assumed it was a good idea. As a secondary
teacher, I thought it okay and acceptable as it promoted legible handwriting. It
must work if lots of teachers do it.
Then, only one twin got her pen licence. And then my
thoughts and feelings changed. One child was happy. The other child was in
absolute tears. I was faced with a situation I had never been through before. A
child crying over a pen. Yep, a silly stupid pen. We have hundreds of the
bleeding things at home. I have loads at work too. A pen. But, for a nine year
old this pen meant so much more. To her, it was a badge of acceptance. To her,
it was badge of her friendship group. To her, it was her social standing in the
class. The absence of a lump of plastic had transformed her view of the
classroom. She cried and cried over this piece of plastic. My attempts, as a father, failed to console her. It is only a stupid pen? I just hadn’t got it. All her friends had one except her. She had worked so hard for one.
The use of a dunce hat had been rejected in society a long time ago, but the lack of pen is just another form of that hat for my daughter. She felt stupid, less and different. But, here is the rub. She had a visual cue to show that she was different. Her friends had pens; she had a pencil. For in the eyes of a nine year old, pencils are for babies and pens are for grownups. One simple handing out of a pen changed the social make-up of the class. People on the same level before are now on different levels. She felt stupid, less and different.
I am a dad and a father to twins. One twin got a pen licence. One twin did not. The twin that got the licence was able bodied. The twin that didn’t get the licence was not able bodied.
The daughter, who struggles mentally and emotionally to see herself
as equal to her peers because she has a disability called Cerebral Palsy, felt
stupid, less and different. My daughter walks and runs differently. She wears
different clothes and different shoes to her peers. Now, added to those
differences she has another visual sign of being different to others. It is
just a stupid pen!
At times, I think is it just me. Am I just sensitive because
I have a daughter with a disability? These are some of the following things
people have shared with me.
A boy was teased in his class because all his friends had a
pen licence and he was the only one in the friendship group that didn’t have
one.
A girl would never get a pen licence because she had Cerebral Palsy and she used a laptop.
Dyslexic children never getting a pen licence. A girl would never get a pen licence because she had Cerebral Palsy and she used a laptop.
A boy never getting his pen licence throughout his whole time in primary school.
The more I talked about it, the more it alarmed me as a
parent. I keep thinking there must be another way to make students write
better. My daughter’s world crumbled. Thankfully, she is better now, but it
will have an impact on her time in school. But, she will return to the
classroom and write with a pencil while her friends and her sister write with a
pen. Students are not always of the same ability, but we don’t stick a badge on
students that can’t read or write. Only when you look at a student’s work do we
see that they struggle to spell, yet a pencil is a badge. A badge that says you
are not grow up enough to hold a pen. So if the pen licence is such a good
thing, let’s have other licences. For each one, give students a badge.
A badge for reading. A badge for spelling.
A badge for counting up to ten.
A badge for writing in sentences.
A badge for using commas.
My daughter might not be ready for the pen licence. That I can
handle. However, I can’t handle the impact it has had on our lives. It has upset my
daughter, my wife and me as a result of this lump of plastic. Becoming a
parents makes you see the tiny ripples and the big waves they make. A pen
licence is a tiny ripple but it makes huge waves, emotionally and mentally.
I love primary teachers (I have a ring on my finger to prove
it), but I am asking a question as a dad now and not as a teacher: is a pen
licence an effective way of improving handwriting?
Convince me, a parent, that a pen licence is worth it. I
have only really seen the demoralising impact of it.
Thanks for reading,
Xris
Note: I am not questioning or judging any teacher using it
in their lessons; I am questioning and challenging the idea and its use.