High school it stupid and a waste of time. It’s so dumb, you can skip it every day and still get A’s. The only reason W (community college, Running Start program) is better, is because you don’t have to go to classes eight hours a day. It’s crazy that some people don’t go there, because school is a dumb system, with dumb classes, and dumb administration. There are some gem teachers, but not enough to make it worthwhile. That’s enough and I’m going back to my lair.
Tag Archives: schooling
Do we really believe Bill Gates’s main objective with this is better education? And what’s his definition of better, anyway?
I’ve been trying to make sense of the so-called Common Core State Standards Initiative, wading through the rhetoric, promotional material, vehement objections, sometimes muddled and paranoid rants (though “Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they’re not out to get you.”–Kurt Cobain). I want to know if it’s ethical or advisable to have my children taught and tested under this system. The school district is set to implement high school testing, for example, next year, and I got a notice from our high school that a non-scored practice test is scheduled for next week. I plan to find out how much instructional time will be lost and what other resources will be funneled away from academics into this, and make a decision whether to send my daughter those days and/or request further services to compensate for this intrusion that doesn’t serve the interests of the students being tested. To that extent I’m already not going with the flow. But it’s a pretty powerful flow, and some of headwaters seem to come from underground..
Among the first things I noticed is that the CCSSI is a misnomer, because it is not initiated by states at all. Maybe should be called the Federal-Corporate Partnership on National Educational Standardization or something (but that would make it look unconstitutional, so the word “state” was inserted. It’s driven by folks we shouldn’t trust with our children’s education and personal data, because their vested interests are not lined up with the best ideals of parents and communities for children’s education, and because voters have no say in what they are doing. Many of these CCSSI proponents are powerful and/or rich folks (not that that necessarily means unethical, but it means they don’t have to wait for the people’s consent if they don’t want to) pursuing what they see as worthy goals but who have a skewed and merely pragmatic vision, and a true-believer enthusiasm that blocks out people’s concerns and objections and even ridicules them for it. Bill Gates and other corporate sponsors who in their main line of business sell computer systems and software and educational curriculum and testing materials (think access to data on school children, marketing, monopoly…) are bankrolling much of this.
Bill Gates explains his reasoning for supporting the Common Core in the first video below. It it he says, “[the Common Core and aligned curriculum and tests]… will unleash a powerful market of people providing services for better teaching. For the first time there will be a large, uniform base of customers looking at using products that can help every kid learn and every teacher get better.” [my emphasis]
Developing customized products state departments of education, districts, schools, and even parents will buy depends on obtaining and analyzing data on children, as Jane Robbins explains in the second video.
As I said, the Smarter Balanced practice tests were scheduled for next week according to an email from the principal’s office, but guess what: My daughter was sick this morning, and when she went in late, she found out that the first test had already been administered during English class.
Mother Tutor
Several evenings a week now I help my three teens with their homework. I get to see how smart and thoughtful and hardworking they are, and they get to have me help them focus, plan, lay out, think through and support their ideas, or recall and get their mind around science and math concepts. I’m thankful that my evening schedule is unencumbered and I can let the dirty dishes wait so I can be available. I love being involved, making myself useful, and enjoying a new sense of being respected for my experience and knowledge.
My fifteen-year-old daughter had spent a day at home sick and was stressing about a creative English assignment and an essay on Lord of the Flies that were due the next day. Instead of hitting the books and family computer, she was distracting herself by listening to music, texting, checking friends’ social media posts, and periodically panicking at how much work she had to do. I literally had to take her smart phone away (she had not yet developed cyborgian links with it, but oh, what squeals!), send the younger ones to their rooms, sit her down and have her show me the assignments. We worked out a plan for the first one that she was satisfied with, though I was inwardly shaking my head at what more could have been attempted had she started it the week before. She sprang into action and had it ready for completion in study class within an hour. She had reinserted her earbuds, but her older brother backed me up on the no music approach, which surprised me, as he’d balked on that in the past, despite my assuring him my views were research-based. He now told her in no uncertain terms that it was bad for concentration. He also went on to offer help with writing her essay, and sympathized with her plight as a mere high school student plodding through the generic and shallow world of 10th grade English. He offered her a hopeful vision of deep and meaningful English studies next year at community college (through Washington State’s Running Start program). He’d learned so much about writing, he said, and could help her. But she said Mom’s help was enough, so we went to the computer and I had her read aloud her chosen essay prompt. After getting some help sketching out ideas on paper, she got started writing. I slipped out to clean up the kitchen and do a load of laundry, but she kept calling me back,wanting me to sit by her the whole time so she wouldn’t get distracted–a mood she was in, she said. I read over what she had written, suggested some rearrangements, asked some questions, and showed her how to keep moving but make working notes about missing elements along the way. I told her more about the Cold War, discussed aspects of human nature, reminded her to keep connecting with the book’s content, even presented her with some phrases and ideas which she couldn’t articulate on her own, but understood and agreed with. Fortunately the essay prompt was interesting, well thought out, and flexible. And on she went, gaining momentum, and even coming to see the value of this analytical process–the beginning of digging deeper into literature. This is a daughter who had been reacting a bit to all the lively philosophical, theological, political and other conversations overheard at home and when we were out with friends. She decided it was pleasanter to focus on simpler things, I think, and avoid too much stating and discussing of viewpoints. Now she’s moving into that realm, and I can see the development of good values she can own. This sort of writing facilitates that process.
Too much helping? I don’t think so any more. Andrew Pudewa helped me see the light on that. He’s a writing teacher and teacher trainer, and insists that if a student needs help expressing something or with spelling or grammar, offer as much help is needed, and they will eventually say, okay, that’s enough help–I can do this. I see that’s true. The tutoring process is about helping the student get the work done, but with the proper help in the beginning, modelling the process, supplying ideas and so on, the student will be able to become independent. I’m just glad they are asking–that’s smart learning strategy.
Helping my daughter write under pressure was good for me too. I had hated language arts and English classes in school, but loved to write and read, so somehow muddled through essays and report writing without internalizing the formal process of brainstorming, outlining, paragraph layout and structure, and the series of drafts. I never had anyone review and comment on my work, either, besides the teacher-grader. I would just write, and rewrite, and eventually the finished piece would emerge, but because I had such a roundabout approach, sometimes I ran out of time and a good finished piece eluded me. I often procrastinated, waiting for the feeling, the sense of urgency. Then I’d hand it in to the system and later read the grade and comments, then it was on to the next paper. Helping my daughter and son with the process has taught me the value of these steps of the writing process in a way I did not, or would not, see though writing my school essays. Not that I’m using it, still. Here I am just writing sentence after sentence, hoping some sort of meaning will emerge. Hence the Forster quote on the sidebar. A reaction against my four years of immersion in the scientific method, where the format was prescribed?
The other aspect of the evening was hearing that my oldest son is finding his groove at community college. He’s the same busy, tired young man as he was in high school his first two years, struggling to fit everything in and do his best, but he’s got the basics down and is now excited about developing his mind in new ways, exploring interests, seeing how they connect, working out a long term plan. The informal way he was homeschooled, with plenty of reading and discussion but little formal curriculum, then his being immersed in Hebrew in middle school (and therefore going easy on the actual content) left gaps in the scope and sequence, to be sure, but it’s turning out to have been a good grounding for his future, I think. As other homeschool parents have assured us, he’ll fill in any truly essential learning on a need-to-know basis, using his independent thinking, relational and study skills, and the values we instilled in him along the way. He’s happy about what he’s doing, and that’s so much of what we as parents want for him. And being happy makes you smarter.
My youngest daughter is in middle school, and though she occasionally pushes back at me being involved in her affairs or even too physically near her when among peers, she loves to have me sit beside her as she does math in case she gets stuck, or read through her science and social studies notebooks (and sign off–part of the prescribed parent engagement initiated by the school, a nudge some young teens need to share their work with family). I’m impressed at how she’s taken to the organization schemes of several of her teachers. Also refreshing that her social studies teacher is helping them learn about Islam and universal cultural themes, instead of the usual American history overemphasis. She’s making connections with her experiences from living in Israel and putting lots of thought into her assignments, not just breezing through. Still, some of her classes, she says, would be better done independently at home, and she’s discussing the possibility of homeschooling part time next year. She loves to write, but her language arts teacher, she says, is really nice, but overteaches and moves too slow.
My older daughter is thinking homeschooling part time, too, even as early as second semester–says her high school English teacher overemphasizes dark lit, and is too lazy to do much meaningful work with the class (he actually admitted to us parents at open house night that he is lazy–been at it too long?). She’s only written one essay so far, and it’s already almost Christmas break. She actually wishes she was in the tougher but better teacher’s class. I’m proud of her for that.
When these three first started formal school (at various ages), I sort of lost touch with them for a while. From managing all their subject learning I went to lunch maker and paper signer. It’s taken a year in each case for us to get a good groove going, a balance between their being independent and getting extra help from me for greater success. It looks a bit different for each kid, not just in the type of content they’re dealing with, but also in the kind of help they need. Eventually, I suppose, once the college application and travel plans are arranged and finances figured out, I’ll mainly just be cheering them on and praying for them from afar, and taking on a more mentoring and friendship role. I look forward to that, too.
“If he sees us, he’ll want to come home”
A mother stops by the school office with her two young children to drop something off. The little toddler on her hip asks about his brother—“Can we go see him?”
“ No, we don’t want him to see us,” the mom explains.
“Why don’t we want him to see us? The little sister pipes in.
“Because if he sees us, he’ll want to come home.” Striding quickly to the front door, she smiles at me on the way past.
Running Start: early college at no cost
Running Start (explanation for those unfamiliar) has so far been great for my son, and he’s expressed to me several times how glad he’s part of it instead of in high school. He’s almost eighteen now, officially in his junior year of high school, due to an early birthday and a year’s delay to catch up on courses missed during for our time overseas. He likes the way the responsibility for success is assumed to be solely his (though there is plenty of support also), the intellectual challenge of more advanced assignments and classroom discussions, the freedom from high school silliness, and being able to take fewer, more intensive classes. In his college English composition class he’s really learning the process of writing in a way he wasn’t in high school–getting feedback, being allowed to draft and redraft rather than just pull papers together on his own (with me as last minute proofreader). He’s still stays up late doing homework, is tired all the time, and looks forward to sleeping in on weekends, but it’s worth it, we agree, even without the bonus of being able to earn college credits for free as well as high school, saving a bundle on college tuition.
All this thinking about college prep came on suddenly for me, for us. This son was twelve years old when we took him and his three siblings off to the Middle East, and he was already sixteen when we returned, and a few months later he started school–his first time in public school ever. I had had my own challenges and had lost track of my fellow homeschool moms’ progress on all the PSAT, SAT, GPA, career fair, transcript recording game, which had anyway not been a part of my own college prep in Canada. I wondered if I’d failed my son because I hadn’t had him tested for anything, researched any colleges, formalized any records, nothing. And how would he do in high school? Were there too many gaps in his homeschool education, and due to his year and a half attending school in another language? Had we instilled in him the importance of a college education, a good GPA, resume, IRA? Would he have sufficient drive, feel sufficient pressure, be able to get an edge in the global economy? He’d always been a good learner, but, well, he is a calm, collected person, and he had not grown up with any sort of academic peer competition.
I’d known about Running Start through the homeschool community, but knew it isn’t for everyone. But my son was all for getting out of the high school atmosphere and mentality, so off he went, biking and bussing across town five days a week. Now he’s planning his next two years so he can complete high school requirements (which is optional, however–just a preference) and an Associate’s Degree in Arts and Sciences. He’ll get to take classes in numerous disciplines, be able to get a good grounding in liberal arts as well as math and computer science, as well as take classes in ceramics, guitar, and we’ll see what else. Our CC also has a lovely campus and facilities, and is known for the quality of its programs.
My daughter, next oldest, said at first that she thought she’d want to do all four years of high school. I said there’s time, we’ll see. She loves her swim team and the high school social scene, I think partly because it was so much better than her middle school year (fresh from the Middle East into middle school, where she hardly knew anyone, was tough). Now daughter is moving more toward the idea of Running Start, says even though she might think high school would be fun, Running Start would be better for her in the long run. She knows some people from her classes who are going the community college route, which makes it more attractive. And she’s mindful of the financial savings, too, which we appreciate. Plus she can still swim with her high school team after class.
I’m also reading up on and bringing up with my high schoolers the idea of a year or semester abroad studying or working while learning another language. They’re interested–comfortable with the idea, thanks to their international experience. My son wants to learn Arabic, and my daughter improve her Spanish. From what I’m reading (The New Global Student by Maya Frost), sounds like there are substantial savings to be had on college tuition there, too. With Running Start, they’ll gain a year or two to play with and still be able to enter college with their age-mates.
It’s all pretty exciting. I’ve lost the anxiety (the Maya Frost book helped a lot with that too) and now can just encourage, help with research and planning, add to their education IRAs, and see how things unfold for each child. Even my second daughter, now only thirteen, is thinking ahead–along independent lines, as usual. She’s considering some combination of culinary arts and veterinary school. Plus, she says, she plans to marry rich, have two children, and not homeschool them. Meanwhile, I work with my ten-year old, and by the time he’s thinking about college, we’ll both be a whole lot smarter..
Week One at the public school
First day at the public school for my son, who is taking only fifth grade P.E. this year. We arrive early to get situated and possibly do paperwork. I make an effort to get acquainted with protocol—where should Joshua go when the bell rings, and could I work on my laptop in the library or somewhere else during class? Secretary goes back into an adjoining room and checks with the principal, the one who, when I was here to see her before for a tour, shuffled by without a word and communicated only with said secretary until she was good and ready to make an Appearance.
Principal gives permission, unseen and through the secretary, for me to stay around and work on my laptop—not in the library, but in the hallway by the front door, where there’s a bench conveniently located. Joshua is to line up with Ms. K—-‘s class outside, where they are now on recess, and walk into the gym with the P.E. teacher.
There are still fifteen minutes, so we walk up to the library so Joshua can check out the limit of two books. But the librarian isn’t there, expecting no classes at the time, so I tell Joshua he could choose one and leave it with a note requesting checkout, and come back after class. It’s lovely having the whole place to ourselves. Joshua checks for an item on the computer, but has no account set up yet. Here comes the secretary, huffing in after apparently running (no doubt at the principal’s command) to fetch us. “The librarian isn’t here,” she explains. “Yes, I suppose she’s not expecting anyone,” I reply, mindful of class scheduling. I explain about choosing a book, leaving a note. “I need to get back to my desk, and the library is unsupervised,” Okay, so no one knows me here yet, and the Visitor Pass apparently means only past the front door. Secretary seems apologetic, but trying to obey a set of rules imposed on her, and I don’t want to get her in trouble. “Can I sign up as a volunteer so I can be trusted?” I’m unable to keep a slight note of sarcasm out of my voice. She smiles slightly, and escorts us downstairs. On the way I summarize for my son the explanation. We wait dutifully outside to await the bell.
Have you ever met someone who, before they ever mention it, you know must work with young children every day? It’s the pronunciation–slow, deliberate, emphasis on consonants, and the use of simple words, with an attempt at that combination of kindness and authority that comes across instead as artificial. As if children can’t handle the individual and personality and style of the teacher. It’s always refreshing to meet one who has not imposed such restraints on his or her true self.
Ms. K— has heard we are here, and has come to introduce herself and welcome my boy to come any time to her class. She is warm, welcoming, herself. I explain that Joshua is homeschooling and only taking P.E., but by that time Joshua is expressing second thoughts and says he might want to join her class full-time. I tell him we’ll talk, feeling both pleased that there’s such a teacher, and regretful that he might want to be at school all day instead of homeschooling with me.
We go outside so my son can check out the play structures. By the fence is a woman with a school vest and loudspeaker. Is she the P.E. teacher, I ask? No, that would be the woman across the lot (not to say “field”, as it’s covered in asphalt). The bell rings (an alarming sound for those not accustomed), and I see she’s part of the control structure; the children are starting to move to the field from the play structures, but she directs them to FREEZE, and then WALK (someone might get hurt) down and line up with their classes.
Up I go to my bench with my laptop. I write impressions, commentary about the school experience, the staff, what I see and hear so far. Right under the nose of the administrative office. Feels empowering. Shall I have to make my blog private after this, to preserve my future job prospects in the system? But no one has the right to look over my shoulder, with a “Hmm—Gillian, would is there anything you would like to share with the class?” Indeed, I have the right to look over theirs.
Near the end of the P.E. period, I ask where would be the best rendezvous with my son, and whether I may to go down and meet him by the stairs. She is so appreciative that I have asked, and graciously permits me to go down, this time without asking the principal.
I am the only parent watching the class. The P.E. teacher manner is different from that of the homeroom teacher—a commanding voice that carries, assertive carriage, she moves masses and groups from one activity to another, watching for safety issues and off-task behavior. Yet this manner is also optional–the P.E. teacher my children had two years ago managed to be engaging, organized, quietspoken and kind, even when balls had to fly, races be run, skills be practiced.
On the way home my son says he has decided not to go to school full time after all. And although I turned the idea over in my mind as possibly a good thing for me—time to complete money-saving home projects, update my teacher training and credentials, work as a substitute teacher, by the time Joshua has come to the homeschooling conclusion, so have I. One wonderful teacher does not a great school experience make.
Coming next: Week Two
A new generation cuts teeth on the old, with plenty of drool
I have three teens now, and here we are, skating away. Feel like I’ve been catapulted here on some kind of time warp. One day I was reading The Little Me and the Great Me to my boy, helping with cooking and wood carving projects, letting him pick up reading at his own pace, now I’m introducing him to caffeine so he can stay awake long enough to keep up on assignments. His second year in public school, high school, smart, reflective, a thinker, but now he goes around tired all the time, trying to keep up with homework without quitting competitive swimming, and doesn’t read anything any more unless it’s assigned. By a teacher, that is (not including me). In delegating academics to public school, I have apparently given up all authority in that realm. Never formally–it just happened. How quickly institutionalization can take place. Still, I’m confident it’s not permanent. I leave around a copy of The Teenage Liberation Handbook by Grace Llewellyn, just in case.
Eldest son used to like to discuss ideas, share experiences, see what Mom and Dad think, now there’s no time. He’s overwhelmed–everything is so fast and shallow. Same with daughter #1, except she’s a faster reader, which helps. With her apparent success comes a greater obsession for checking her grades online. It will take a summer vacation to bring these two back to themselves, and their home community. Will that even be enough, especially for my son, who has to figure out his Running Start classes and post secondary options already? Look at that–I said “has to.” I’m not part of the solution, not much, really. I’m still scrambling to keep up with what’s happening, offering perspectives and suggestions that might be useful, helping them keep their hand in somewhat on running the home (life skills 101), doing the driving, for a while longer.
I had so much more to instill–beyond automatic please & thank you, personal hygiene and saying good night before turning in. I was too disorganized, too inconsistent. Not enough time on the most meaningful aspects of learning. I wish I’d been able to sustain that sense of proactive parenting I had in the earlier seasons. Now they need those resources–all three are in a season of individuation. You know, when their biological clock tells them their parents are irritating and overly oppressive, and the parental biological clock says the kids are ungrateful and wanting to have their dependence, so why don’t they get on with it already, instead of leaving their laundry and dishes about and hoping someone made supper. Sometimes I feel like I’ve been fired from my job, but have to stay on anyway, only to get fired again, and so on. And they’re not cute any more. Just glimpses of glory now and then. My youngest tries to compensate by being extra lovable.
That questioning, that testing and trying things out at home, I accept as a necessary part of growing up–I really do. But my hope is that they will come to know what battles are truly worth fighting, where to stand their ground and on what principles, and also when to humble themselves, be patient, gracious and teachable, and submit to legitimate authority. And, of course, clean up after themselves.
I keep thinking about how pre-modern societies readied their young much earlier to take on the responsibilities of adulthood. How difficult that seems to be now when there’s so much complexity to work through. In those very old days, critical thinking sufficient to the day was achieved through observing and working alongside parents and community members to acquire food, shelter, and clothing, mate and raise young, and navigate relationships in the larger community as well as in the spiritual realm. Now we are expected to prepare our children for multiple, evolving, sometimes unprecedented and as yet theoretical futures. How can there be any time for instruction in those same old basic skills of obtaining food, shelter, clothing, fruitful relationships and religious traditions? As a society many of us are still foisting off menial tasks on the servant class, production on Asian factory workers, socialization on “multicultural” (values all over the board) groups of age peers led by a few overtaxed adults, and religious instruction (also in age groups) on professional clergy with access to packaged curriculum. And of course, we are not encouraged to handle any of the academic side on our children’s behalf. It’s down to “Know where your kids are,” (with a wide array of handy GPS tracking apps). I don’t accept that children should be turned into adults that are merely a product of the general state of society.
Yet I remember my teenage years, and what my parents must have gone through with me, and my siblings two years on either side and beyond. Things were changing rapidly then, too. They wanted to shop at the local grocery store, I was all for the cheaper new superstore. They were living off the land, making bread and growing leafy greens, I wished I could move into town, asked for iceberg lettuce and white bread. And how snotty I was about it! How they must have despaired! Like my Dad wrote in a recent piece, we balked at weeding the garden, and quit, but we did learn a lot along the way, and we returned to the values that seemed most enduring, and became avid gardeners and enlightened shoppers and voters. So I figure, parents have to keep telling, keep inviting, keep teaching, and keep with their most deeply-held values despite the friction it may create. We must keep learning from our kids, love them a lot, and wait.
Schooling versus education
Within minutes of telling my son JP to go ahead and get some fresh air before starting his math speed drill, I switch the plan and let him record some spontaneous rhythmic poetry he’s making up. Then at his reaction to being interrupted during his recording, I’m disciplining him for insubordination. It won’t work if he isn’t respectful to parents, I tell him, as he frowns and sets his jaw, and I know it’s not just for me I’m trying to help him master this one–he will need this skill to succeed. I give him some time to consider; likewise myself. Yes, I believe it, but I think the timing was poor, and the job of enforcer fits me ill.
I started homeschooling partly because I don’t believe in a coercive education system. Yes, my first year teaching was largely a struggle to take up my authority as a teacher, and probably nothing else would have worked under the circumstances. An inexperienced teacher with thirty students at a time, students conditioned for ten years to expect a boss–what chance did we have? I dream of something different, to be an empowering teacher, a facilitator, a midwife of student self-education and self-government. Like a homeschool parent ought to be.
My parents weren’t authoritarian–why would they be? I went to school, and they knew I was made to do things I didn’t want to all day by the authorities there, and peer pressure, and needed some freedom at home to pursue my own interests, projects and friendships, in my own timing. There was discipline, though. I remember a few times my dad spanked me, for example–it was for willful dishonesty, I think, or extreme sass, and I do believe I deserved it. But, knowing him, he must have been thinking, “Shit, why do I have to resort to this? This is stupid–can’t we just all be reasonable?” It was so uncomfortable for us both–nothing to do with physical pain, either, because when I have my back up, I can take it. Just humiliating enough, awkward enough, to try to avoid in the future.
Coercion had no part in my parents’ approach to learning. That was a school thing, though I hope that all the same, my best teachers were also thinking, “Shit–why do I have to make them do this for grades, and not let them learn what they want to? Can’t we just all be reasonable?” Fortunately, at home, in those days, there was time at home to run and play, make stuff, catch frogs, read lots of books and do crafts. At least for me there was, but that might have been because I tended to leave my “homework” to the last minute so I could do something more interesting. And as I said, my parents never asked if my homework was done. Should they have? Or might that have given me the impression that it was more important than it really was?
My two homeschooling kids, the younger of four, have little in the way of externally imposed deadlines, grades, and peer competition. Up to about age nine, all four children had lots of freedom, with frequent library visits, no television, little access to computers, and opportunities to serve and work in and out of the house. I was bolstered in that approach by research that showed that for children from non-deprived families, there was no discernible advantage to formal schooling before age nine, and some disadvantages. But now the younger two are expected to be ready for school at any moment (can’t make long term plans these days), and so I try to keep up with the state curriculum, which has a set scope and sequence and is more testable. I try to be structured, try to make things more like school, while my mind is muttering, “Shit, I can’t do it this way–can’t we just all be reasonable? No, I’d better be tougher–it’s for their own good.” No time for Latin anymore, or long days hanging out in the woods or at the beach.
My two public high schooling children get their homework done, with some urging at times, and are quickly learning to make the grade despite no formal schooling until ages thirteen and eleven–and that was in a second language, with few academic expectations. But I grieve that they hardly ever read outside their lists, hardly have time to do anything but school stuff, and their one sport a season, with careful organization and weekends to catch up. The only free and personal stuff they can wedge in is staring at their web-enabled personal devices, and I’m even trying to limit that. What can I expect? Thank God for summer vacation, but of course they have to earn some money for college, get volunteer experience, do leadership training, fill our their resumes, so not much time to find their own flow, reclaim their love for reading again, let alone writing. Meanwhile, I bought a copy of The Teenage Liberation Handbook by Grace Llewellyn and leave it lying around…
Star in the Wind 