Bonnie Ferguson-Baird
Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada
We home-school. As a home-learning family, many questions arise, but one big one continues to surface. We ask it of ourselves, and others ask it of us. Can anyone possibly be learning anything? Are our kids learning the right stuff? Can projects teach us the right stuff?
For many of us home-learners, project-based learning and home-schooling go hand in hand. Life is a project. It's a compilation of experiences, opportunities, risks, failures, and successes that build on one another and create a journey. It's almost impossible to pick apart and identify the individual moments of learning that lead to that beautiful place of competency and confidence.
We all want to be sure we can answer these questions confidently, but what if these are not the right questions to ask?
Learning the right stuff implies that someone knows what knowledge needs to be offered and when. It's as if we saturate sponges with specific skills and then offer them to the students so that they can squeeze out the same information when we request it. But how fascinating to consider that what the sponge is saturated with produces something different for each individual when they squeeze it. The stuff that goes into the sponge produces two things when squeezed - something predictable and something unpredictable, something anticipated and yet also completely unique, depending on the needs, dreams, experiences, and abilities of the learner. All home-schooling parents have fears, but we are also confident in one simple truth we learn. Always. But we learn in our own time. We learn what we need to when we need to.
Passion breeds learning. When working with our home-schooling family,
we try to access those passions through project-based learning. For us, this
means engaging with a process through a framework that makes room for
learning both the planned and the unplanned. It's about recognizing the value
in the process itself and acknowledging that learning is unique. Project-based
learning allows for learning things that we have no control over. We can provide
a framework for what we want to learn, and we can decide what knowledge
to offer, but how it gets absorbed and squeezed out of the sponge is beyond
our control. To try to control the learning process would limit the depth and
breadth of what we're uniquely designed to learn. We need to trust that kids
want to learn. Education isn't something you get; it's something you grow, and
we are designed to grow. When we as educators try to control what is learned,
the learner loses their control. This loss of control deflates passion. And if we
can't help someone find their own passion, we leave them with nothing in the
end. They leave this journey of education with nothing of their own - just a
compilation of other people's passions and expectations.
So, are they learning the right stuff? Are we teaching the right stuff? I'm not sure these questions should be our focus. The questions instead might be: "Are we offering the right opportunities?" "Can we offer the guidance they need?" "Have I built a strong enough relationship with these unique individuals so that I can offer guidance and they will welcome it?" We are designed to learn. Learning can't be helped when we are excited or interested or even disgusted. It is not a process done to us; it is a process of natural flow. That is, unless we dam it, and then wonder why it has stopped flowing. Our job is to present numerous sponges, saturated with different skills and opportunities, and to build relationship so there is a safe place to learn. Yes, we may need to clarify the framework. We may need to hand someone the sponge, or lay sponges out and see what is picked up. We may need to clearly define how the process could work, and come alongside until they are comfortable handling the sponge themselves. Or we may need to step back and watch. These actions are all required of us at different times and will become clear through each relationship, but we're still not in control of what is released from the sponge, nor should we want to be. We need to get out of the way as they start to squeeze. We won't be carrying those sponges for them into adulthood, so it is our role to help them understand the lifelong intricacies of the process of learning. Then, as more opportunities come up throughout their lives, they will be equipped to squeeze. Project-based learning sets the stage for learning - a place to pick up your sponges and begin the journey of seeing what you can squeeze out that nourishes you, both as a person and as an individual.
These questions about learning the right stuff arise when we don't have a clear idea of what is actually required of us as individuals and communities in order to feel fulfilled and be contributing members of society. What is our dream, individually and collectively; what do we really need to know? I need to know how to resolve conflict, how to say sorry, and how to fix a problem I created. I need to know how to support someone else who messed up, rather than lay blame. Yes, I also need academics, and I need to exercise my brain, my strengths, and my gifts, along with challenging myself to discover new things. I need to overcome fear, to take risks, to want to continue to learn past my school years. Project-based learning allows for a richer, more complete layering of learning to better equip students to grow into strong, confident, adaptable people who can get along with others.
Patience.
Patience.
Patience.
An educational career is a long one - kindergarten to grade 12 and beyond. Therefore, we have a treasured gift; the gift of time. Sponges can't sit in individual age boxes or a box with a year stamped on them; they will dry out. There is a fluidity to project-based learning that allows us to carry our sponges with us through time. That is the constant challenge for us to remember as we and others ask these questions.
When I started home-schooling, I panicked each spring. Have we covered enough? Did anybody learn anything? How many things can I squeeze in before June is over? And, more poignantly, why do they have to happen before June is over? As the years go by, I too carry my sponges, and continue to pour information into them and watch what comes out. I've learned that learning happens. Our kids are learning things, many of which I didn't list on my outline of studies for the year. They're not necessarily the things I saturated the sponges with, but our kids definitely managed to squeeze something beautiful out of what was put in. Learning happens, but often not as I envisioned. Instead, it happens according to the unique desires, learning styles, needs, and life opportunities of each of our three very different children. And I haven't been able to delineate exactly what school year they learned them in. Often my government reports state that we are "continuing to work on" or "I see growth in" or "I'm excited that I'm beginning to see." I've come to know that, by the end of grade 12, many things will have been learned, and I won't be completely sure when or how they happened. I will have provided the framework, and I can tell you when the framework was offered, but exactly when multiplication was understood at a deep level, I definitely couldn't pinpoint. It's clear, though, that the freedom to grow through time, without yearly boundaries, has led to a natural individualized growth. A growth that sticks, becomes part of your reality, and does not fall away after exams. Project-based learning can support this kind of growth.
We've educated two of our children through high school (which was definitely not in our original plan). Our oldest is now in university, studying math and physics, and our daughter is in grade 12, an avid lover of history and geography, taking a few courses at the University of Winnipeg Collegiate. The 12-year-old is juggling many sponges at the moment, trying to complete seatwork expectations but, more enjoyably, using a hot glue gun to join cardboard and metal scraps or dressing up like a Viking. We're enjoying the process, and we've come to relax about it. We've learned alongside many other home-schooling families and have walked a journey with many of these children into adulthood. I share this to say that I've seen the results. We're no longer in the throes of early years, when project-based learning is somewhat natural. Project-based learning throughout the entire school career allows space and time for development over the years and brings layers of maturity to the surface. These young adults have gone off to university, often specialized universities, community college, or full-time jobs. They know themselves, or at least know how to discover themselves as they continue to grow. They contribute. They can relate to people of different ages, including adults and young children. Learning over a span of years, rather than compartmentalizing learning into segregated sections, means that we have the opportunity to offer more sponges, to direct our kids toward sponges that lead into the next stage we see developing (or not developing) in a person's life. The more sponges available to squeeze, the more that can be released. When we look at the journey of learning over the long term, we can see the flow and offer sponges to fill in the cracks as we see them forming. We can offer alternative options or experiences that can augment or enhance what is being learned. We can see the learning process more comprehensively.
Do we need to be told what to do? Absolutely. Often. If you have kids, you know that sometimes you just want them to do what they're told. But there are many things we do not need to be told to do to breathe, to think, or to learn. I can offer information, encouragement, direction, yes, but I can't make them learn. That is a process that happens within each person, for many different reasons. Have you ever taught a child something, say 50 times, to have them forget it repeatedly, and then come to share with you an amazing insight they learned from some other random encounter? The very same insight you offered over and over again? Why is that? Readiness, for one thing. It's something we cannot produce for them. Something happens within us that opens a door when we're ready to be receptive - developmental readiness, academic readiness, emotional readiness, and the list goes on. The factors that contribute to our readiness are endless and, as a social worker, I know that adverse childhood reactions have everything to do with the readiness to learn. To learn math, and to learn to be with others. To learn science, and to learn how to look someone in the eye. To learn history, and to learn to say what needs to be said. You get the point.
Readiness is clearly connected to our emotional bank accounts. When they're filled, we can see and feel the openness, the readiness, to learn. When our basic needs are not met we're hungry, angry, or have a break in a relationship that needs to be reconnected - learning stops. I can actually see it happening. Someone says something that hurts your heart, opens an old relational wound, or throws a book and hits you, and your ability to learn in that moment evaporates instantly. Without addressing these things as part of the process, you lose the opportunity of seeing what really needs to be learned - how to reconnect after a break in a relationship, how to say you're sorry for throwing a book, or how to express how you feel to someone you love. These skills are absolutely as important as any academic learning and are carried into every part of adult life. Not having the chance to practise them when the moment arises is a disservice to our learning process and to our children as growing individuals. Process, the action involved in moving forward toward some end, is as important as the end itself. The outcome is useless without the process. Project-based learning enables readiness through this use of process, because you can be ready in a multitude of areas and not ready in others, and yet you can learn as much as you're ready to learn through a process that is limitless in opportunities.
We are part of a home-school collective. Eight families meet one afternoon a week to share learning, community, and relationship. Our children range in age from 4 to 17, and we learn and teach together. There is nothing particularly special about us; we're just passionate and intentional about our families and the learning and community we can create. Learning together brings more opportunities than we can obtain on our own. In 2008, we decided to embark on a new journey and took on a project. We would stage a Shakespeare play, and have it be as professional as we could make it. We could sense the rich layers of learning that such a project could offer: learning about Shakespeare, memorizing, text work, sewing costumes, building props, selling tickets, teamwork. A few of us had some experience in directing, sewing, and building. Surely, if we pulled together, something beautiful could happen. Well, something beautiful did happen, in the end, although it might have looked awful to the naked eye.
The final outcome, of course, was one very small part of what was produced.
The learning outcomes were clear. We, as parents, could begin to saturate the sponges by offering guidance, direction, and teaching in areas like sewing, building, memorizing, line-work, history, blocking, drama games, etc. This process began just after Christmas, during our weekly afternoon together. The process was slow. Very few of us knew what this would actually look like in the end, but we continued to saturate, hoping that when the kids started squeezing we would see where this was going.
Well, there was very little squeezing going on, and lots of saturating. In fact, the parents were working hard. So far, lots of input was producing very little output. We would ask who was interested in building and design, and many kids would come to talk about how the set could look, offering huge extravagant dreams that needed to be brought back to reality. We had limited time (one afternoon a week), experience, and no budget. Slowly, interested designers would drift off as the hands-on work needed to be done, sliding into a group that they were more interested in. But as the show dates loomed closer and closer, the energy from the kids started to change. They needed each other. The main work they needed to do was to memorize and act. It became our job to fill in those holes so they could focus on the acting. Suddenly, subtle questions started to arise. If I forget my lines, how will I be prompted to remember my line? If someone else stands in the wrong place, where will I stand? How will I fix it without embarrassing us both in front of an audience? What will I do if I forget my prop? What will I do if someone else forgets their prop? Is responding in anger going to fix this mess, or would encouragement do better after someone messes up a line in front of the whole world? We're all vulnerable here, but not just individually - as a community too. How will we handle our vulnerability? Do we know how? Can we do what we want to under pressure? What if we can't? Will these friendships hold? Or, do I really want to do this? If I don't, do I need to carry on for the sake of the troupe? What exactly does commitment mean?
These questions are big and, of course, there are more. They're bigger than a play; they're more important to becoming a strong, compassionate, adaptable adult than pulling off Shakespeare.
Once a week became twice a week around the beginning of March. Suddenly, we were all working hard, together. The original framework had been laid out, and we were squeezing learning out everywhere. We had a theatre, costumes, props, direction. We had a play. We were rehearsing every day now for two weeks of tech as we put the finishing touches on our costumes, our lines, our props, our blocking.
And then, it's play week, the most magical week of the entire year. The air feels different. The energy is electric. The relationships are intense, real, necessary. We feel a deep emotion that is hard to identify. All of a sudden, what is dripping from this beautiful mess is a nectar like none other. We begin to see in practical form what has been absorbed through this process and is now being squeezed out, in addition to the original learning outcomes. Someone picks up a dropped prop as they make their stage exit; a 10-year-old skips some lines on purpose because a co-actor forgot to bring the prop on stage for them to refer to; the whole troupe searches for cough drops to soothe a friend, and then, watching from the wings, they hold their breath, waiting to see if she can deliver her lines without giving way to a coughing fit. Someone else is holding their friend backstage because they're discouraged after messing up a scene, and 16-year-olds are playing games with 7-year-olds to help calm their nerves while they wait to go onstage. Others are working hard to respect the privacy of the introvert who's trying to carve out some space and stay focused in a noisy, crowded greenroom, provided everyone is not frantically searching for a missing boot for the actor on stage in his white sport socks. Gratitude flows with tears, and many are approaching others with encouraging words after they've messed up and feel they just can't go on stage again. Backstage chants are sung to solidify solidarity; notes are given to each individual outlining specific ways they've grown and nurtured the troupe. Children are finding each parent, and thanking them for their work, love, and support. These may sound like simple things, but they're things that build character; they add to the richness of the learning - both the seen and the unseen - that is available when we embark on a project together.
Many of the things we learned throughout this lengthy project were not developed in the first year. We were new to this. We were still very raw.
As the years went by, however, new sponges were added. They became obvious; they presented themselves. This project progressed over time and left room for flexibility for all of us to grow, to add to the framework and strengthen it, letting additional experiences strengthen the process. We added to the project early on, adding original text rather than adopting an adapted version. Time allowed us to fine-tune the project.
That first year lit a fire that would last a decade. In fact, a Fringe Festival troupe is a direct offshoot of this project. These Knavish Hedgehogs have consistently won four- and five-star reviews over the years. When we started, though, a few of these young people were content to be stagehands. They were too afraid to trust themselves in front of an audience. It was simply too much of a stretch beyond their comfort zone. Over time, they ventured well beyond knowing when to move set pieces without being seen. They learned how to let their peers shine publicly. They learned how to embrace their own gifts, and they learned how to challenge themselves to ask the hard questions. Is anything holding me back from trying something new and scary? Am I able to try something new, and go further than I ever thought I could?
Time and space that we allocated to let these questions flow, and then develop, paid off. Some of those kids have since appeared on the Manitoba Theatre Centre Mainstage. Not because they started as great actors, but because they learned something about themselves beyond the acting - something we couldn't anticipate or plan for. It was unique and necessary for who they were to become and their own tender journey, supported and scaffolded by a framework, but designed and authored by themselves. This discovery is not something that could have been anticipated or foreseen. Space had to be made for the personal process to unfold. It didn't happen within one school year. It happened over many years of freedom to try new things, to fail, grow, develop, change, and succeed.
But fail we did. Many times. In fact, the moms hired a mediator to help us work through the intensity of emotion that surfaced as so many people worked together so closely.
Failure? An inadequate word, really.
We found new things to learn about ourselves, others, our friendships, our community. We learned what matters. We learned what doesn't. What a gift for our kids to learn how to graciously and directly tackle hurt feelings, to see their teachers, leaders, parents, and mentors working through emotions and coming out stronger as individuals and as a community. No failure here. Failure is a gift not failure to complete a particular project, but the guaranteed failure that will accompany any project. This is where real learning happens.
Struggles? Yes, there were many. But after nine years, these kids have found things to love that they might not have experienced without a solid framework to springboard from. Not all of these kids (in fact, very few) have developed an interest in professional acting. But they've found something in themselves because of what was offered to them - an opportunity offered within a strong framework. Sure, there was lots of room for personal development and growth, but the framework offered stability and room for confidence to emerge within a safe environment. Who knew one could fall in love with Shakespeare, feel proud of knowing how to pull apart and understand English from around four hundred years ago, memorize hundreds of lines, or make a costume? Discovering new things about ourselves builds a confidence we can carry with us to other challenges and opportunities that will come our way.
We've equipped our kids with more than a bit of Shakespeare. They've squeezed out a confidence, an ability to venture into the unknown with hope, an adaptability to handling life when it changes before their eyes. To know that we don't have to be the best; we only have to be our best. To know that we are able, supported, unique. We are capable of dreaming and creating our life, though it may get messy, and we may need a mediator. In fact, it will get messy. Life will take turns we weren't expecting. But projects such as this one can help us know that adapting is actually part of the journey - it is not an accident that needs fixing. It is predictable in its unpredictability, and part of the process of life. And we can get through it. We can even embrace it with joy.
Project-based learning, by its very nature, will look different every time. Different teachers and mentors, with different students, in different environments, all lead to different learning experiences. For our learning cooperative, project-based learning looked like this: we started with an idea, and we shared it with the group. The adults did some research and discussion in order to present something that the kids could hang on to, something they could understand. We brainstormed together, and we created a vision together.
This began a creative process that allowed us all to access thoughts that had not yet come to the surface. It was a process of finding those questions, those ideas, and putting them out to the group so they could be sifted and refined. A framework started to take shape. We discovered what it meant to be vulnerable with each other, to be brave enough to share what others might not agree with or appreciate. Also, to hear the ideas of others without judgment. Then, to let those ideas ferment and see what could realistically be agreed upon by the group. We discussed which ideas were manageable enough to consider, and which ideas could be reshaped to bring their essence to life if they couldn't happen in their entirety. We had the opportunity to manage the feelings that surfaced when our idea was not chosen, and learned to be okay with it because we were committed to the group. We needed to learn that our opinion mattered. We needed to feel heard individually, even if we agreed as a group to take a different path than what someone had hoped for on a personal level. We learned to compromise. We learned to adapt, and to offer creative suggestions toward a collective goal. We learned to express ourselves. We learned to speak up, and we learned how and when to be quiet. We learned how to decide what matters, and what doesn't.
We brainstormed exactly what needed to be accomplished for us to complete this task. We decided if we had enough people power to pull it off. We expressed our personal interests, and agreed to help in certain areas. We did the research, and we put in the time to complete the tasks we agreed to. We learned to ask for support, to check in with one another. We encouraged. We had check-in meetings. We had troubleshooting meetings whenever feelings had been hurt, or whenever we were off-track and needed to realign. How did we do this? We expressed our feelings. We cried. We let things go. We picked things up. We encouraged again and again. This process was by no means perfect, and these tough relational issues were not all wrapped up neatly. But we had the opportunity to start to formulate how we wanted to interact with one another, and to practise responding to people we cared about while remaining true to ourselves.
A project like this also allows for an end date. The show would happen on the dates we'd rented the theatre for, regardless of how ready we felt. We had paid the money - lots of it. And we learned things, lots of things. Although the play had an end date, it was our job to make sure we made time for the other learning that surfaced. This kind of rich learning takes time and patience. It takes processing and discussion. For some, processing is quick and simple, and for others it takes hours of self-reflection, nurturing, and thought. Time for this can be and needs to be factored into project-based learning, along with having the mentorship available to nurture the process.
When we look back, we can see not only the intentional learning outcomes outlined in a framework, but the hidden treasures as well. We learned what we're capable of, and what we're not. We learned how to share our feelings, and how to listen to the feelings of others. We learned to decide if our feelings were more important than those of others, or if we could temper our different feelings and still be friends. We learned how to speak publicly without a script when we went to schools and talked with students to prepare are them for the show. We also learned how not to embarrass each other when we were nervous. We learned this, though, because a framework had been put in place. The framework definitely outlined how to memorize lines and build a set piece, but also how to manage our feelings. We discussed these things in advance. We prepared our minds for what could come, and encouraged kids to think about how they might respond, and how they might challenge themselves to respond, rather than reverting to negative responses. How did we challenge ourselves to be better? We set a framework, let each person find what they needed within it, and presented the opportunities to practise. What one person needed to learn was something that came naturally for another - no outcome could possibly be the same.
This process of creating a framework provides safety. It provides a footing to give us our bearings, to stabilize ourselves before the new challenges begin. Project-based learning is not about throwing sponges at each other - it is about carefully listening to who someone is, and choosing sponges that will potentially nurture and fill that person. Although each sponge is squeezed and unique learning comes out, there are some skills the framework accounts for. If you memorize lines and stand in front of an audience, you will learn those particular skills. You will also learn the unique set of skills and character challenges that you're ready to learn at that point in your life. The project framework needs to provide this sense of stability so that the unique learning can also emerge.
We also needed to examine the framework itself and anticipate what could be learned by our family. Our kids are not exceptional actors. None of them wants to be professional actors (except maybe the 12-year-old who thinks it might be a good idea). But the framework of a play enabled them to engage with learning that could provide many different potential learning outcomes that would benefit them, in addition to many outcomes that couldn't be anticipated. Confidence was an area in which we could improve, as well as memorization and English academic content. Challenging yourself outside of your comfort zone and meeting deadlines are vital to the learning process.
There are, of course, many different frameworks that can provide these learning opportunities. We also found many skills lying just under the surface that had a chance to be strengthened - such as easily adapting to change, letting go if something was particularly important to someone else, and sewing one's own costume with a pattern - and this play framework definitely offered a chance to improve these skills. We can learn many things in many different ways. The project - in this case, the play was just an outlet, a structured, layered project with a start date and end date that lent itself to a certain arena of learning outcomes. The journey we take with any project enables us to learn what we need to when we need to, as well as squeezing out the learning from the basic framework itself.
Learning is for all of us. In our case, we were a group of mothers who worked alongside our children to create a project together. For each of our children, something different was required. Sometimes it was a student who took the reins and designed a poster because they had an interest in doing so. The support required was to help the student to assemble a team and work through how to incorporate the opinions of others. Sometimes it was a parent who took the lead to accomplish a task because the students were focused on other aspects of the play. Other times, graduates would come back to co-direct, do fight choreography, design costumes, or do photography, and they were welcomed into mentorship roles. The idea is that a team is made up of many different people, with various levels of skill or developing skill, and as teachers we have the opportunity to enter into the learning process with our students through a relational experience. We can be there to notice when mentorship is needed or when someone can be challenged to step into leadership, or when some guidance or encouragement needs to be given. Learning from one another brings equality to the process, a deeper understanding that learning is not just for students but is actually for all of us. It gives us all the freedom to learn and to teach. I would dare say that the parents learned as much as any of the kids, and for that opportunity I'm forever grateful. We learned when to step in and when to step back, when to talk and when to listen, when to teach and when to learn. This in itself gave freedom to our kids to know that this process, this journey of learning, is for everyone, and there is enjoyment, safety, and support in doing it together. This is how community is born.
This Shakespeare troupe is just one example of project-based learning. Our family built a house ourselves, created a small sewing business that didn't get far off the ground, followed requests for history clubs, created elaborate costumes late into the night, and shared life with international students. All of these experiences can be viewed as project-based learning - some went well, some not so well, but learning happened. They reflect a layered journey that doesn't just mimic, but embodies, life. Things grow, and things die. A friend once said to me, "Life is long." What an interesting perspective; we do, usually, have lots of time to nurture, water, and squeeze, and then pick up the next sponge, while learning how to put others down. We need to just open up the boundaries of learning through time and let it unfold. In this way, we learn how to experience life to the fullest. What we learn about ourselves and our world can blossom through project-based learning, and this is certainly as important, perhaps even more so, than curricular outcomes. Project-based learning opens up the freedom, the time, and the space to learn, based on what each unique individual needs. Our job is just to keep saturating those sponges of learning, and let them squeeze. Then step back and ask the question again - are they learning the right stuff? With guidance, love, mentorship, rich opportunities, and the space and freedom to grow, how can they not?