Homeschooling, day 17



My six year old pupil was still sleeping when I made breakfast. She had dug herself in her covers like a lethargic adolescent. But when we went for our mandatory morning walk she was upbeat and cheerful. Everything looked like it was going to be an easy day at Homeschool Frölkini.
Then came the writing. I couldn't explain why a six year old needs to be able to write by hand (all the people I know have terrible handwriting, and almost no one uses it anymore). However, this was academic. I have taught handwriting to her before and it went allright. But today she didn't feel like it. She threw her pencil on the floor and screamed: 'Forget it. I'm not doing it. Go write those stupid words yourself.'
Whenever she complains about her education I find it hard to reprimand her, not so much because she is so cute and she is my daughter, but because she has a point.
In this case, she had to complete sentences from a stupid poem by a famous Dutch poet, who I happen to detest. (Her work, I mean.) So I had a hard time getting my daughter back to work. I even had to send her to her room, crying, when she started calling me names. Whenever I send her to her room, within seconds she stands before me again because I don't lock her up (I'm allergic to lock ups; lockdowns I like.) Then again, Befehl ist Befehl, so I said: 'Come here. Sit. Get your pencil and complete the fucking (no I didn't say that but I thought it) poem.'
I dried her eyes with a paper towel, and she complied, having difficulties, like any six year old would have, with the particularities of modern – or, rather, not so modern, actually ridiculously outdated – spelling.
The last word she had to spell out couldn't be written at all and not because the pencil was broken. The letters she wanted to write drowned in a teardrop on her notebook.