Homeschooling

I’m sure this blog is going to ruffle some feathers. It won’t be the first time, nor the last. But those that have the stomach to read all the way to the end of this blog may actually forgive me. We’ll see.

Here it goes. In general, I’m not a big fan of homeschooling. Right now, I’m sure several peoples’ blood pressures just rose. Before you start to type a reply on all the values of homeschooling or the negative aspects of public schools, hear me out.

Although I was born in Wyoming, I grew up in Utah. My family moved to Orem when I was six. I lived in Utah until I was nineteen. I attended public school.

After graduating from BYU (which is in Utah), I started my TV production career. I worked my way up until I got a job in the NYC market. We lived in Connecticut.

Within a very short period of time, I realized that I had to work with people from all sorts of backgrounds and belief systems. It was a struggle. My experience with such a diverse cultural base was limited, and it caused a lot of problems.

What does this have to do with homeschooling?

It is my opinion that school experiences consist of more than academic learning. There is also social education involved.

While studying at BYU to become a TV director, we had a producer who couldn’t get along with anyone. One day, this producer and fellow director of mine got into an argument. What the disagreement was about isn’t important. What I do remember vividly is something the director told the producer. He said, “You know what your problem is? Because you were homeschooled, you missed out on a four year program that teaches you social skills. It’s called high school!”

“But! But! But!” People maybe saying right now. “YOU went to public school and still you had problems when you moved to the east coast.”

My response: Yup. You see, where I grew up in Utah, there was a very dominant culture influenced by my religion. That’s not unique to Utah. It’s true of many places over the world. Because I associated with only people who generally shared my same beliefs, I never learned how to deal (and work) with people who had radically different lifestyles.

Please understand, I’m not saying that public schools are perfect. In some ways, homeschooling has several advantages. In theory, homeschool students get better one-on-one attention. They are able to work at a pace that is suited for them—one not dictated by the whole class. There is a lot more flexibility in schedules for things like doctor appointments or field trips. Like I stated, good stuff.

My biggest concern for homeschooling is those parents who elect to keep their children home to protect them from the evils of the world. I think that’s great in theory but doesn’t work in practice.

I love my four daughters, and I do all I can to keep them safe. I never would intentionally harm them. At the same time, I understand that there is only so much I, as a parent, can do to teach them. There is no substitute for experience and learning from those experiences.

Yes, high school can be a rough place. There is a lot of bad language. There are drugs. There are teachers who don’t care. There are students that don’t care. In a lot of ways, it’s like the world in general. And that’s my point.

Sooner or later, children grow up and have to move on. Much of the time, they go out into the world for any number of reasons. If a person has never had any exposure to the “evil” elements of the world, it has been my observation that these folks missed out on gaining coping skills and they are then given a crash course whether they want it or not.

Warning: religious belief paragraph ahead!

I believe that our Heavenly Father sent us to Earth to get experiences because that was really the only way we could progress as individuals. He knew it would be hard. He knew there were bad things that could happen. But He also sent us help, and He is there for us. We can talk to Him at any time.

For those who choose to homeschool your children: that’s your choice. Just as it is my choice to send my kids to public school.

Still, I implore homeschool parents: please include social interaction as part of the curriculum, especially with those individuals who may be different than you. 

NOTE: these are my opinions, and you are free to disagree. However, to keep trolls off my blog, I monitor all comments before they show up below. Thanks! 

My Own Time

One of my daughters “graduated” from eight grade this year. It’s considered a graduation because she’ll be starting high school in the fall. This was the third time we’ve had a daughter go through these graduation proceedings. It’s held in the gym at the first part of June—a gym that is like five-hundred years old with air conditioning that is about as effective as thinking cool thoughts.

Each year, the chorus sings. And each year, they sing the same song—one that drives me nuts. It’s called “Seasons of Love” from a musical called Rent. The opening lyric starts out as, “Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes.” (I guess that’s appropriate because that’s how long the graduation ceremony seems to last.)

That number, 525, 600, is the number of minutes in a year. Well, a standard year, not a leap year. Hmmm. Now that I’m thinking about it, maybe during a leap year, they won’t sing that song. Oh, who am I kidding? Of course they will.

Anyway, it’s a cliché that everyone is given the same amount of time each day, or each year. How we choose to spend it is up to us. Kind of.

Let me elaborate.

Last year, I was able to help our church with supplying food for those in need. It’s actually a really neat program. For those in the LDS faith, there are food warehouses filled with various types of food. If a family is in need—health issues, job loss, things like that—they can get food from the church twice a month.

It’s a little more involved than that, and needs some clarification to make my point. In order for someone to get food, it needs to be approved by the congregational leader (known as a Bishop) and the leader of the woman’s organization (called the Relief Society President). The Relief Society President works with the family to find their needs and then orders the food ahead of time.

When the food arrives at the church twice a month, the people from the warehouse only bring what has been ordered for the various families. There aren’t any extras.

One time I was helping a lady pick up her order. She was one of the first people to come in that morning. I had a sheet of what had been ordered for her. As we filled her order, she kept saying things like, “I want two of these instead of one” or “My kids really like those. Give me a few more.”

I kindly, as I could, told her we could only give her what was on the order sheet. If she needed more for her next order, the time to decide that was when she next met with her Relief Society President.

At one point, she became frustrated with me and said, “I don’t understand why I can’t have more. There is plenty here.”

I stopped, looked directly into her eyes, and as nicely as I could explained, “There isn’t any extra. They only deliver what is on the order sheets. If I give you extra, then I’m taking away from someone else who ordered it, and therefore needs it.”

It took her a moment to process this concept. Here she was, surrounded by food, yet she struggled with the idea that she couldn’t take all she wanted; the rest of it belonged to someone else.

What does this have to do with the “time” story earlier in the blog? It’s this: I have had to attend a lot of meetings for various reasons during my life. Each of them usually has a start and end time. Sometimes the person in charge of the meeting decides they are going to use more time than scheduled—to them, it’s important, and there is plenty of time left in the day.

But, you see, that time doesn’t belong to them. Sometimes the meetings are back-to-back. So if one presenter goes long, they are taking time away from the next presenter, a presenter who was told they were given a certain amount of time, but now won’t have it because someone else took it.

Re-Living The Dream

I have this reoccurring dream (nightmare?) where I’m at a school and I’m close to graduating. And then I remember: I have one more class I need to pass in order to be truly finished. In a panic, I realize I haven’t been to this class all semester. I’m not sure where it meets or when. I think that maybe, just maybe, if I take the final and do well on it, I can pass the class.

For giggles, I looked up possible meanings of this dream. The results varied from “The dream often occurs in approximation with having forgotten or being concerned about forgetting to do something important in waking life” to “The dream is a reminder not to miss an opportunity or take a more active role in one's destiny” and even, “A change involving the end of something is imminent and there is low confidence about the future.”

As I thought about it some more, my dreams could mean any of those things. Or perhaps, it is based on reality.

In high school, I was less than a stellar student. I failed some classes—not from being smart enough—but rather from just not attending class. (Those were different days back then.) I had to take several “study-at-home” courses in order to graduate.

In college, I walked through the graduation ceremonies before I actually had finished my degree. True story! You see, I was allowed to do that if the only class I had left was my internship. So, even though I put on my cap and gown in April, I didn’t finish my degree until August.

And now, there is my Master’s degree. I’m done. I’ve earned it. Nothing else has to be completed for me to receive my degree. But wait. As I started looking for possible teaching positions, many of the colleges require me to have 18 credit hours in English. My degree is in Creative Writing. I realized as I finished my MFA I was one class short of having 18 credit hours with the letters ENG before it.

And so, here I am in June 2014 taking one last English class, even though I’m officially done with my degree.

Maybe it’s just me, but I think my real life experiences could have more to do with my reoccurring dreams than my mind trying to remind me to pay the electric bill.

Creative solution to the paper airplane crisis

Tonight was a father / daughter activity at church. I have four daughters, and this one was just for my youngest, who is eleven. I’ve gone on a number of these activities over the years, and it is wonderful to have some one-on-one time with a single daughter.

Each of these father / daughter activities has a theme or an event. Years ago, it was around Valentine’s Day so they had a dance. At that time, three of my daughters were in the accepted age group. It was fun to have them stand on my feet while we slowed danced.

A dance wasn’t on the agenda tonight. It is June and so an outside activity was in order. Tonight we were making paper airplanes. At the end, there would be a “friendly” competition.

As a kid, I had made my fair share of paper airplanes, but I was never very good at it. My friends were always coming up with cool and unique designs that could really travel. I had a hard time keeping the folds straight.

So, as we started making the airplanes tonight, I tried—honestly tried—to create one that would fly well. I even followed some instructions the leaders had kindly printed up for us.

Then came the testing phase. It wasn’t pretty. Actually, my daughter’s plane was pretty darn awesome. Mine seemed to really love the ground more than the air. With the competition rapidly approaching, I considered my options. There was no way my paper creation was going to do well.

Then I got an idea. And it was rather clever if I do say so myself. Quickly, I made my paper creation and then got in line to watch the competition and wait for my turn.

On the ground, the leaders had measured out distance markers. Most airplanes were lucky to go eighteen or so feet. Some went longer. One father got up and let his airplane fly. And boy did it ever! It went beyond the farthest marker by a good dozen feet or so. Very impressive!

When it was my turn, I stepped to the line. Trying to ignore the people watching me, I set my feet. In one hand was the first paper airplane I had created—the one that loved the ground. But that isn’t the one I used.

Instead, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my secret weapon. I had taken a sheet of paper and crumpled it up around three small rocks to give it some weight. Without hesitating, I threw my paper airplane (to be honest, it was more of a paper meteor). It flew over all the other contestants and a good ten feet beyond the best throw.

Tada! My paper creation won!

Sincerity versus credibility

“If the power goes out at school, and remains out for 30 minutes, you have to dismiss school. It’s a state law.” Or so I was told by a tenth grade student. Bless her heart, she is one of those that states her opinions as facts.

I hadn’t heard of this “state law” she claimed to be fact. So, I asked her, “Where did you hear about this state law?” You see, as far as I know, it was up to the discretion of the school district to determine when school was let out due to various reasons.

“It just is,” she said.

“But where did you hear about it?” I asked.

“My friend told me.”

“And where did she hear about it?”

“Look, Mr. Morgan. I trust my friend and so it has to be true.”

And there we have it.

Perhaps it is from my years of working in television, but for whatever reason, I tend to be skeptical of things unless I can verify them from a credible source.

To me, at least, there is a difference between someone having credibility and trusting someone. As the saying goes, “Sincere people can be sincerely wrong.”

The weather is a great example of this. Let’s say my best friend, someone I really trust, tells me it will snow three feet tomorrow. Let’s also say that this same best friend is not a meteorologist, but rather they heard about the snowstorm from someone at work and believed it.

Does it mean I don’t trust my friend if I go to the national weather service website (a credible source) to check what they say about the weather? No, it doesn’t mean that I don’t trust my friend.

All you have to do is turn on the news to see how many people truly, honestly believe in different views—sometimes in direct conflict with another person.

Here’s an example: one person states that the democratic candidate is going to win. A different person states the republican candidate will be the certain victor. They both can’t be right.

In this case, one person is wrong even though they sincerely believe they are right.

If I can be so bold: Before you buy that swamp land in Florida which is guaranteed to triple in value in the next month, or throw out all your food because you heard if it has the letter “e” in its name it is bad for you, do a little digging at other points of view. You may discover that there isn’t enough credible evidence. 

(Side note: this blog is mainly about intellectual ideas. In the matters of religion, I believe the only true credible source is through the Holy Ghost. Meaning, when it comes to religious matters, that should be between you and the Almighty.)  

Math and Musicals

I have a confession. I’ve not seen the movie Frozen. I’ll admit that I’d probably like it if I saw it. Then why haven’t I? Maybe it’s because everyone else has seen it and can sing the songs from memory. Maybe it’s because when I get the choice to watch Frozen or do something else, the “something else” has always seemed more interesting. Truth is, I’m not sure.

What I do know about myself is that I don’t like musicals, as a general rule. From my point of view, too often the pacing of a musical comes to a screeching halt when the music starts up. Meaning, the songs don’t progress the story.

Out of love for my wife, I watched Phantom of the Opera with her once. I really struggled with it. The music was good. The characters were interesting. The sets were beautiful. But I didn’t like it. How can that be? I don’t recall the specific details, but there was a scene where the characters were basically running for their lives. What would any sane person do in that situation? I can say pretty confidently that they wouldn’t stop to sing about the danger they were in—yet that’s what happened. Ugh.

But this blog isn’t a rant about musicals, believe it or not. In fact, a musical recently helped me realize something pretty wild.

While going to high school in the late 1980’s, there was a musical that was pretty popular called Chess. One of the songs even became a hit on the radio: One Night In Bangkok. I ended up buying the cassette version of the musical and I listened to it over and over.

With the recent advent of digital downloadable music, I was able to find the original soundtrack and buy it online a few days ago. (I could have found it for free, I’m sure, but the author in me wants to have creative people actually get paid for their work.)

I hadn’t listened to Chess for years, yet as the songs began to play, I found that I could sing along. It was trippy to recall lyrics and how they were sang after such a long period.

Around this same time, I was asked to cover a high school math class. I generally shy away from teaching math because while I learned it in school, I simply don’t remember it. Even when I looked at what the students were doing and tried to understand what was going on, it didn’t come back to me nearly as easily as the lyrics and music to Chess.

Why is that?

It’s one of the mysteries of the human brain, I’m sure. I’ll bet there are dozens of studies out there that prove people can recall songs easier than other things. Heck, there may even be some theories on why that is.

Maybe it means the human mind is designed to recall music better than math facts—yet students are required to take more math classes than music classes. Perhaps all the math classes are needed to help people think in a way that doesn’t come as natural as recalling music. Hmmm.

You be the judge!

Time for a little quiz. 

You get to be the judge. I’m going to post pictures of three books. 

Without searching for them on the internet, I’m curious to know which book you would be most likely to read.

Are you ready?

Okay, here we go:

Which one did you choose? Or would you choose any of them?

Why do I bring this up?

Recently, I’ve had the opportunity to show people the cover of my next book, Bring Down the Rain. (It will most likely be out in July.)

The reaction to the cover has been overwhelmingly positive. Comments have included variations of, “Now that’s a book I’d like to read!” and “Wow! That looks really interesting!” and even “He’s cute! What high school does he go to?”

Interestingly enough, these comments have come without me telling them anything about the book. It’s just from showing people the cover.

Seriously.

Despite the old saying of “You can’t judge a book by its cover,” I think it is human nature to do so. (A more correct statement is “You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.)

I was having lunch with my daughter Kelley recently. We talked about she and I being picky eaters. She said something pretty profound: “I’m expanding the types of foods I’ll eat. When I was younger, if something looked yucky, I wouldn’t even try it.”

And it makes sense. Even if you tell me octopus legs are the most delicious things in the world, I just can’t get passed that they look really gross.

Because we, as people, are quick to judge things strictly by appearances, I have made it a point to hire professional graphic designers to make the covers of my books.

As for the three covers listed above, what if I were to tell you that the contents inside were exactly the same. The author just used different titles and covers for the same book. And what if once you got passed the cover, you found that it was the best book you’d ever read.

Of course, we’ll never know because I created three covers for a book that doesn’t exist.