Archive for July 29th, 2009

July 29, 2009

Loves school sport more than school work…

by Rod Smith

“Our son of fifteen is not a problem child, but does not do well with schoolwork. His projects are slapdash; he leaves everything to the last minute. If a project is due one week in advance he works on it the night before. He drives us to destruction. He loves sport and attends school only for that reason I am sure. What do we do? “

India

India

I say great! If your son thrives in doing his work even at the last minute, encourage him in his areas of strength. I myself found that I was a procrastinator in school and did well even though I always crammed in the last minute for my tests or assignments. For some people, that works. Teens live with so much more pressure than ever before. And I do not envy what they have to go through one bit. So if sports are what keep him in school, terrific! Unlike so many other young people, your son has found something positive that encourages him to stay in school. I say be his number one cheerleader, and trust the values you’ve taught him will work out in his personal, unique journey.

Midwest, USA

Midwest, USA

You could create a system that rewards him if he completes his assignments well and on time. If he enjoys sport create the system around his love of sport. Devise a contract where, if he spends a certain amount of time a day on his homework, then he would be allowed to spend the rest of the day doing sport. Decide together what grades he needs and create rewards when he reaches them. They must be achievable and also flexible. Find out what interests him and arrange a work experience in the field where he can spend time in the real world. Provide opportunities for him to discover where his passions and abilities lie and this alone may encourage him to improve his performance. It’s his life, therefore his responsibility, but guidance from parents is very important.

July 29, 2009

Welcome home…

by Rod Smith

Speak up....

Speak up....

When Thulani was about nine months old we once entered the USA through LAX.

A roaming immigration officer met us in the line.

“Papers!” he demanded without looking at me.

“I beg your pardon,” I said.

“Papers? Passports? Where’s the mother?” he said.

“Sir,” I said, “The courts in Indiana decided that the whereabouts of my son’s mother is no one’s business.”

The officer stormed off with our passports, only to return to repeat the question.

“I have told you,” I said. “Now, tell me officer,” I continued, “What are your worst fears?”

I pointed out that the legitimacy of the passport ought to calm his worst fears. Getting a little more than irritated I noted:

“I can’t figure out if this is sexism or racism? You’re not checking other parents and babies. Is it you can’t imagine a man traveling with a young baby or it is that we are different colors. Both will make a good story for Time,” I suggested.

Then, having slept through all this in a backpack on my back, Thulani awoke.

“Dadadadadadadadaaaa,” he said into my ear and the official stuffed our passports into my hands and left us alone.

He never did answer my questions.