Childbirth and its recovery were painful experiences. Tearing my rotator cuff and the tendons in my ankle were painful. Having those repaired was painful. In fact, I can think of all sorts of pain I have suffered in my life, but none of it compares to watching my son do his homework.
Homework started in kindergarten. It was simple then...color a picture, circle some animals, and draw lines between matching objects. Its purpose was to prepare my son for first grade where he'd have a little more homework. His kindergarten teacher stressed that homework should take no more than fifteen minutes. She hadn't, however, met my son.
We'd sit down after dinner to complete his homework, theoretically supposed to take fifteen minutes. Between the crying and temper tantrums--from both of us, really--he'd finally finish a couple of hours later. It was exhausting! I'd like to say that homework has grown familiar for us, but it hasn't. My son fights it for nearly eight months, eventually reconciling himself to it around the beginning of April. We have about six weeks of peaceful homework time, with him accurately and quickly finishing it.
But it's September, not April, and his homework isn't supposed to take 15 minutes per night, it's supposed to take forty minutes. Forty minutes! I know to double or triple that time, which isn't far off. Since my son was recently diagnosed as 'advanced' or 'gifted,' we thought that would give him the impetus and confidence to do his work. Nope. He takes forever to do his work, and the time often involves tears. I try not to cry in frustration, but it's hard when he's saying, "I have to create problems where the answer is 40 but I can't use the number4." And then it takes 35 minutes for him to think of a few problems. I leave the room in frustration.
He also refuses to do his homework at the kitchen table or his nice desk. Instead, he spreads his work all over the couch, making it impossible for us to sit on it too. Or if we're cooking dinner he's asking constant questions about his work from the living room, resulting in one or both of us frustrated because I can't hear the questions, and I won't walk into the living room to help him. Surprisingly, his math homework takes the longest. I say surprisingly because he has scored advanced on math tests and his math work is really good.
Homework requires patience, and after a long day working with students who require patience, I find I'm short on it when at home. I dread homework because he turns it into such a problem, a drawn out, sordid affair. As homework times winds down, I'm about to pull hair...his because he makes the simplest assignment as difficult as a master's thesis and mine because I'm frustrated. I'm shocked at my attitude because I see the value in homework, but my son doesn't. Regardless of what we say, he fights his work with every fiber of his being. I relish homework free nights, I have to confess.
I don't mind homework, but watching my son do it is like watching paint dry. It's more painful than any injury or surgery I've had. My mind screams obscenities while I smile and breathe for patience.
Well, it's time to get back to homework help.
