Children aren’t looking around wondering why Clara is fluent in French or Luke plays junior badminton or Minnie has stronger collection of googly eyes and fuzzy pipe cleaners in her craft drawer.
These kids didn’t have anyone telling them they were a failure or that they had to pass tests to be successful. And they’re now top of their profession and internally renowned in a creative field.
Will the magic of reading and writing be thwarted by attempts to understand and label the grammatical cogs behind it before creativity has even had a chance to bud let alone blossom?
The data is for schools, for the Government. It has no bearing on my son. The other day I broached the subject of the May tests with BUB.1 and he started talking animatedly about the Easter bunny. Relief flooded me.
You see them get lost in their own world. It is THE world. This is a world you cannot create for them, or buy tickets for, but one into which you must just gently shove them.
I expected torrents of tears. Snorts of despair and denial, frantic rubbing of face with tissues. And that’s just me.
I spent the majority of my childhood bouncing a tennis ball against my bedroom wall, and I often wonder if in today’s rush to fill our little one’s lives with endless activities we might be missing something? Or am I just a lazy pig?