Two high school students

Michael started high school today. Here the boys are explaining to Winston that they will be out for most of the day; he has become very used to them lying around like he does, all day every day throughout summer. Except with added electronic devices.

To be fair to Marcus he has worked quite hard on his Maths Olympiad problems over the holidays and has spent quite some time on his French - he is jumping into a class of kids who have mostly got one year of it up their sleeves already.

They will be home soon and I hope Michael will fill me in on his day; in recent years I struggled to get more out of him than 'good' as a description of a day at South Hobart Primary.

They were both very keen to head off this morning; I think Marcus was excited for Michael. Marcus is revelling in being the Wise Old Hand who can teach Michael the ropes.

This morning Michael was stowing his combination lock and Marcus said 'OK, do you know the combination?' Without missing a beat Michael said '4 0 5 4 6'. Marcus said keenly 'OK, MEMORISE IT'.

The last school sports

Yesterday I went to the South Hobart primary sports day for probably the last time. With Michael in Grade 6 this year, we are experiencing quite a few lasts. We started our involvement with the school in 2006, (almost matching the life of this blog), so it's quite an era coming to an end. Given the fluidity of people's work lives now, and I expect in the future, most kids will probably never have an 8-year stint anywhere again after primary school.

Michael is developing his thoughtful and responsible side. He shies away from the kind of leadership roles that naturally appeal to Marcus, but in his low-key way I can see he is enjoying being "top of the school".

At the sports I found him sitting in the back row of the grandstand, not on his own but just in his own space, behind some friends. Where Marcus revelled in leading, and encouraging, it is rare to hear Michael express enthusiasm for others efforts, and we are really trying hard to work on that with him. It comes very naturally to me to babble encouraging generalities while watching kids sport or playing my own, but it will have to be a learned skill for our youngest.

Of course it's nice to be encouraging, but beyond that it is good for you yourself, I believe. Even if it's claptrap and the people nearest me dearly wish I would shut up, I am certain that some kind of soup of positivity infuses and nurtures my brain while I am being Mr Encouragement.

Back to Michael and the sports. Grade 6 kids are chivvied into participating in practically everything. Once I was there too to join in the persuading, Michael had no hope of receding into the grandstand as he wished.

He had won his 100m race before I arrived - he usually runs in the "not that fast" heat and has won it comfortably now two years in a row. I also missed seeing his long jump, but I understand he came fourth.

I came in exactly at the start of his speciality, the sack race. He has been unbackable favourite for this for some years. It's a shame the monkey race was phased out, he was seriously a world title chance in that one. It was like Walter Lindrum all over again.

His race approach in the sack was "give it the kitchen sink", which probably cost him the win. He is simply the fastest, so if he'd just gone boing boing he would have won comfortably. Instead he took off in a frenzy and fell, injuring his arm and scraping his knee. He got up and then just burned up the track with the most incredible (bagged) closing speed anyone had ever seen. But too late, he hit the front mere inches after the finish line.

After some cajoling he went in the 200m. He is actually quite fast when he applies his mind and legs. He ran in lane 2, starting staggered behind all but one of the others. And he caught them all but one, coming with a terrific finish and just failing to pass Oliver who had spent nearly all his petrol.

Michael's egg and spoon race was not his best, but I was pleased to see that at last SHPS has invested in some Sensible Standard Spoons after some less-than-fair variability in past years.

As ever our family house Derwent was the winner at the end of the day. Join me now in one last rendition of DER WENT (clap clap clap) DER WENT (clap clap clap).

Some assembly required

The end of year assembly at school is always a big gig - its taken me several weeks to recover to the point where I can write about it. This was also the new principal's first EoYA, so we all waited to see how she would go. Past editions have been long and windy with unnecessary amounts of Scottish country dancing.

We had been asked to attend which usually means Someone Is Getting Something. I knew I would be presenting the inter-house chess trophy, so I was going anyway.

 [A quick digression on the chess - Rodney and I agreed that we needed a trophy but that modern trophies are yuk. I was casting around for something simple, inexpensive but ingenious to serve as a perpetual trophy, when Mum suggested a sandblasted-glass chess board she found cheap at a jumble sale. I bought a plate stand for it and bingo, we had a trophy good for the next 32 years of winter and summer competitions. Then, just two days before the EoYA, Elf and I were standing in the hallway at school by the trophy cabinet when she said "Look - there is already a chess trophy!" It was inaugurated in 2008, and only awarded once before being forgotten. It's a standard modern trophy ie ugly, but it exists, and so we gave back the glass chessboard and went with it. Derwent made a stirring comeback on the final day to beat Wellington. In all about 52 kids took part, which was huge.] 

Elf was called to the front for a thank you for running the Saturday Sausage Stall for 4 years, and awarded a fine box of chocolates. Rodney and I presented the ugly chess trophy to "a representative from Derwent" who turned out to be Tully, who had in fact been tricked into playing for Wellington. Then it was time for medals. Here's where it starts to get braggy.

The school does very well in the various academic competitions. This year both our boys got High Distinction certificates in the UNSW Competitions for Maths and Science. Last year Marcus got a medal at the end of the year for being in the top 0.3% (or smidgen) nationally in the Grade 3/4 Maths competition. This year Michael was called up and given a medal for being in the top smidgen in Grade 3/4 Science - and he's not yet 9! Then Marcus was called up for a repeat of last years' effort - another Maths medal, this time for being in the top smidgen in Grade 5/6/7, and he's not yet 11!

The loot

The boys are undoubtedly gifted in Maths and Science, and it's worth remembering what gifted literally means. They are lucky kids to be able to achieve on this level without any visible effort. But it's to their credit that they love learning and long may it continue. I refer to them for now as The Medallists, eg "Have you brushed you teeth yet, Medallists?"

Eleanor in Grade 6 also won a medal in spelling, and that was it - Reeses provided 2 of the 3. I was probably puffed up like a bullfrog, I was feeling so proud. Karri won the Grade 6 Principal's Award, for her excellence in ALL AREAS. All three grandparents were there, which was even better. Bill would also have been very proud, but fortunately he had plenty of opportunity to see the boys and Karri and Miah succeeding in music, sport, and academically before he died in mid-2012.

The golden glow of the boys' success was enough to carry us through the Valley of Darkness that was the senior brass ensemble's performance. Parp. Wah wah waaaaaaaaaaaaah.

This year the Grade Sixers had written a song with 2 lines for each leaver, to the tune of Gangnam Style (of course), and after that they marched out of the life of the school to (strangely) Aussie Jingle Bells. And, another school year was over.

School sports 2012

The boys did very well in the school sports on Wednesday. A quick rundown - Michael won 3 blue ribbons and Marcus 5, with a few other placings each. They won their respective sack races, and Michael also dominated the egg-and-spoon. (There were good spoons and bad spoons and he seemed to have a particularly good one). His bounding technique in the sack race was effective yet hilarious. After the finish he grandstanded a bit by continuing to bound for a few more minutes.

Marcus won the 100m, 200m, 400m, and the 800m which was held a few days earlier. His friend and nemesis Reuben moved to the local fancy boys school this year, and suddenly Marcus's swathe of red ribbons have turned to blue.

He was thrilled to beat the school "beep test" record on Tuesday, with 11.1 (if that means anything to anyone). I think he may have gone a bit overboard boasting, as yesterday he came home to very glumly announce his record had already fallen - to a Grade 4 kid. And about 50 schoolmates came and told him about it.

Richard works blue

About twelve or so years ago at work we put together a CD-ROM called The Tragedy and Myth of the Tasmanian Tiger. We have boxes and boxes left over still. They don't work on Macs any more, but still spin up OK on PC (sing out if you would like one).

I donated some to the school a few years ago. I just looked at the intro clip for the first time this century (it has a skip button and I always skip it). I put together most of the contents, but we hired a young auteur to create the opening clip. It utilises sound grabs from the interviews and readings elsewhere on the disk.

I have just realised that about 20 seconds into the intro, Richard Flanagan, who is reading from his book The Sound of One Hand Clapping, says with gusto "it's a fuckin' Tassie tiger!"

So. I recall now that when I followed up and asked if the disks were any use, Marcus's teacher was non-committal.

School fair dominated by apple products

Today was the school fair, and it went very well. We usually take the approach that our job is to attend and spend money, rather than run a stall. Although we usually do end up manning someone else's at some stage, and today it was Imp and Ed's apple stall. Imp is a master networker. She wheedled a donation of dozens of bags of apples, and a huge sack of choc buds. "Value-adding" is one of her favourite terms, and she turned 50¢ apples into $3.00 chocolate-coated apples. We also sold fresh apple juice, 2kg bags of 6 varieties of apple, and individual "swirly-whirly"ed apples - peeled and sliced by an ingenious peeler-slicer - like this thing.

We managed to shift almost everything. When I last saw Imp she had set up a table near the exit and was beseeching people as they left to consider taking home a bag of red delicious. Some likely lads had taken the other remaining bag and had offered to hawk it around the remaining crowd - it was possibly never seen again. But that's OK because we all know - red delicious are actually yucky.

There was a "bevy tent" selling all kinds of refreshments through the day. At one point I was mildly startled to see one of my customers, while buying her daughter a choc apple, had a stubbie of beer in the other hand. The people who run the stall are very nice, and I'm sure it raised a lot of money, but I always feel a bit uncomfortable seeing grog on sale at the school. A tradition has snuck in of "after parties" that start while the tidying up of the first event is still going on. I am bemused at seeing people sitting back with their third or fourth lager while others are carrying out their third or fourth load of furniture.

We saw a lot of people from outside the school, including Steve, Meredith and Finton. We are very proud of the school, so it's delightful to have outsiders come in and see what its all about. Sadly, Steve was targeted by a couple of urchins (I have a fair idea who) that tried the old "lost bus money" sob story on him. He said the giggling was a bit of a giveaway. My suspects live about 100m from the school.

Due to the fair, I have been on a sugar roller coaster all day. I have just been handed a cup of tea and will accompany it with some large chunks of toffee, to finish off the day.

School Quiz Night

Some weeks back when it was announced we would be having a fund-raising quiz night, we were immediately snaffled by our friend The Fewst to be on her team. She even paid for us, as a gesture to say thanks to Elf for shuttling her son from school to her work once a week. We suspect she also thought we would shore up the team in some vital knowledge areas.

Mum and Dad were roped in to look after Marcus, Michael, Miah and Karri, as Imp and Ed were also quiz-bound, although in a different team. The kids were fed, pyjama'd and toothbrushed before we left. As Elf, Imp and Ed went out the door Michael said "Where are they going?" I said "We're going to the quiz night". Michael said "Great!" and scooted out the door. I put him straight quick smart, pointing out that he was wearing pyjamas for a reason.

We arrived at the school gym, and split off into our teams. I was expecting to be cold but there were about 170 people crammed in, and we were soon peeling off layers. We had to name our team, which task fell to me. Fewst's Flamingos. Harmless enough. By the time The Fewst heard the name it was in the hands of the scorers. "Oh NO, how embarrassing!!!" she wailed.

Off we went. We had a variety of people in the team, no-one that we knew very well. Everyone was very pleasant and mostly played nice. But we had to do that swap-answers-for-marking thing, and The Fewst seemed determined to mark hard. We had to keep chivvying her to be fair. Not only that, the very first tough question saw her fish out her iPhone. "Fewst, you can't do that!!!" "Why not?"

An early question was "How would you cut a circular cake into 8 equal pieces with 3 straight cuts?" I have heard this before, so I explained you cut down the middle, then right angles to that (4 pieces) then horizontally through the whole cake parallel to the table (8 pieces). Our captain tried to draw this, and didn't quite get it. Her 2nd attempt was going down the same track, so I offered to draw it. No big deal, took a few seconds, and the other less artistically inclined team members all said "ooh, look at that, lovely". The Fewst sulked for quite some time about me "criticising her drawing". When the time came to swap answers with the next table, she proposed marking theirs wrong when they had drawn something exactly the same as hers. Sheesh.

Anyway. The whole thing was terrifically well organised. Parents from the school had donated an amazing array of things, including this beautiful framed print by Maddy Goodwolf, worth over $1000. There was a silent auction for a wide range of stuff, and a proper auctioneer (hup 400 400 400 400 hup 450 450 do I have 5, do I have 5 thankyousir 500 hup etc) taking live bids (and even phone bids) for the big ticket items like the print (shown below). The whole thing appeared to be a roaring success in terms of raising funds for the school.

We were in front in the scoring about threequarters of the way through. We were getting good answers from all quarters, The Fewst coming through very nicely with the correct term for the white bumpy bits on southern right whales (callosities).

We were asked: what was the name of the actual dog who first played Lassie? I happened to have looked it up 3 days ago, and stunned the team by getting it right (Pal). All going well.

Then came the Trash and Treasure round. A list of things had to be found and presented to the scorers, including a bra, a tampon, a condom, a high-heeled shoe, a band-aid, lip balm, etc etc. We did very badly here, and we all agreed that it lowered the tone somewhat. Then again, we had already been given a list of place-names and had to find the one that was fake. The list included Middelfart, Fucking*, Anus, Bollocksberg, Crapstone, Wetwang and Penistone. So, yeah, the tone was low already. *It's real, and can be found in Austria.

In the end we came second, and won a motley swag of musk sticks, tiny Easter eggs, and bizarrely a large jar of satay sauce. As I was stressing about how late up we were keeping Mum and Dad, Imp approached with a large man she wanted me to meet. Turns out he is a more-or-less professional quizzer, who wants to add me to his roster of reliable team members. He even carries around a spreadsheet with his recent results to show prospective draftees.

I said he could give me a call - but I am starting to go off the idea a bit. The idea of a grim team of hand-picked specialists going around cleaning up at the expense of teams of actual fun-loving friends - it's not really cricket is it?

School sports day - shock win to Wellington House

Our school is not that big, so it only has two "houses", Derwent and Wellington. The boys are proudly members of the blue house, Derwent. Derwent has won the last eight sports days in a row.

But not today! Marcus ran in one of the last events, a 100m relay. He had come second to Reuben (from Wellington), three time already through the day. He and Reuben ran the last leg for their teams, and again it was Reuben by a nose. The winning team got 28 points, the losing team 21, so if Derwent had won they would have been 14 points better off. Wellington won the day by 13 points. Marcus did the maths, but I don't think he's taking it to hard. He was pretty happy to blame another kid who didn't compete in anything all day.

I saw Michael's Late For School race. The fastest he ran was actually before the start, when he had to go fetch one of his official LFS Race Accoutrements (which are Jumper, Bag, Hat). He competed in everything and had a couple of thirds to show for it.

He was having a great time yelling when I showed up. He loves a good yell. I have a lot of trouble getting him to encourage Marcus when we are watching his races at Little Athletics. Perhaps I just need to emphasise the yelling aspect a little more.

I saw Marcus do his utmost to catch Reuben in the individual 200 metres. Marcus's style is a bit reminiscent of Betty Cuthbert - head back, mouth open. Reuben just smoothly loped along in front and never looked like being caught. Michael and I yelled happily anyway.

Standing on one leg, wobbling slightly, to accompanying bagpipes

The next day after the funeral was the end of year school assembly. I am prone to silent tears at various inappropriate times, and as we walked in a grade five girl was playing the piano so beautifully I was struggling for composure. All it takes is 20 kids finishing their primary school years, and some well chosen minor chords, and I am like a limp rag.

If you have ever sat through something like a final assembly you'll know they go on forever and always feature a) endearingly bad trumpet playing, b) Scottish country dancing and c) a Village People song reworded to mention everyone in the graduating class. This is true everywhere from Utah to Uganda. Fortunately this one was a daytime thing, so the spectacle of tired dads asleep with their mouths open, drooling, was averted. Just.

We knew we had one thing to look forward to at least. We were forewarned that Marcus had won a medal in one of the maths competitions. We don't know how many medals are given out, whether this means he topped the state in Middle Primary or what, but the principal said in his speech that it was the only one he had ever seen awarded in 30 years. Marcus was bursting with pride and we were too - it was good. He got a tiny medal, a certificate, and a book voucher - entitling him to any of the books published by the Australian Mathematics Trust (sample title: Chinese Mathematics Competitions 1981-1993)

I must mention again the Scottish Country Dancing. One finishing grade 6 girl is the daughter of the SCD's valiant matriarch. The bonny lass had choreographed a special graduating dance of excruciating slowness. It was like watching someone riding a bike too slow - someone had to fall over soon. Just as the tension was becoming unbearable, they sped up. Elf and I compared notes later and we had both looked out the window because we just couldn't bear to watch.

Michael escapes from school

We had a pretty mad day on Monday. I was at work at about two in the afternoon when Michael's teacher rang to say he had walked home, on his own. She had spoken to him on the phone, he was safe, and the school principal was in his car on the way up there.

Mrs P had noticed him missing when the bell went after lunch and asked around if anyone had seen him. One kid said something about an escape capsule - which sounds like a typical Michael make-believe lunchtime game. But he escaped alright. Mrs P was very shaken, thinking he might be hurt and maybe unconscious, around the school grounds somewhere. There is the rivulet just over the fence, and a busy road not far away.

She thought to ring our home number in case one of us had taken him home. Michael answered. At first he naively said he was hiding in the school grounds. Then he said Elf was home, but he couldn't find her. He told a number of lies. But at least he answered the phone and Mrs P knew he was in a (relatively) safe place. We never leave Michael at home alone, and he certainly is not allowed to walk around the suburbs on his own.

I was completely flummoxed when I got the call from Mrs P. I caught a cab home and found Michael out the front with the principal Mr T. I took Michael inside and quizzed him about it. I was fairly calm - I hadn't known he was missing until he was safely found, so I didn't have that adrenaline that can cause you to actually spank your kid out of sheer relief that they are OK. He was also calm, and showed dismay at being caught lying, but no indication he really felt bad.

I asked him to tell me how he had got home. He walked out the front of the school quite easily. There is no fence or gate. (I actually really like the openness of the school - I would hate a culture of fear to arise resulting in high walls and security guards or ID cards). He had walked up the main road, staying on the safer side of the street with less big side streets to cross. He had crossed the main road up near our house, where the visibility is good. He said he watched the traffic for two minutes before crossing.

When he got here he climbed in through the cat door. He has done this before and it would have been an integral part of his plan. Once in, he let Winston in, fed him (for some reason), and then settled down on the couch with a book, with Winston at his feet. The very picture of the six year old contented homebody. Then the phone rang.

By 3.15 Elf had picked up Marcus and heard all about it, so she came and picked up Michael and I, and took us all back to school for a conference with Mrs P and Mr T. Michael was told the error of his ways, particularly in breaking school rules and worrying everybody in the school. Elf and I felt dreadful for them because we had been spared the nerve-wracking worry, knowing nothing about it until he was safe.

What could we do as punishment? He's such a funny kid, relying on his internal resources so much. There is nothing much you can take off him or deny him, because it's just all up here [taps head]. We just made him go to bed on time, rather than sit up to watch Masterchef like Marcus. He went along with it, then when I went down a little later his light was on and he was on the floor reading a book. Not examining his conscience, resolving to be a good boy tomorrow - just reading a book. I did my block at him then.

On Tuesday he had to spend recess in the principal's office as his school punishment. After recess he was extremely naughty again and was sent back to the principal, who kept him in his office over lunch. This time he had poured a lot of expensive food dye into a box, ruined the box and wasted the dye. Beside his effort the previous day, it was probably the worst thing he has done in his 3 years of school, but he got off lightly because it now seemed comparatively minor.

It's all so weird. He has obviously done the wrong thing. He said he did it for no other reason than that he doesn't like school and he wanted to be at home. But it has to be said he did it with aplomb. He had a plan, he followed it carefully - and he did answer the phone. It could all have ended so dreadfully in so many different ways. He does really not understand the dangers, and the fears he struck in the hearts of everyone at school. And because he doesn't understand I don't think there's really any remorse.

At least Wednesday was a quiet day with no reported dramas or mutinies.

I sneak into and out of the Art School

Today Marcus' and Michael's classes both went on an excursion to the Art School, where the Young Archies exhibition was hanging. (There is an annual portrait prize for grown-up artists called the Archibald Prize, hence the name). Michael's portrait of his teacher Mrs Parker was chosen to hang in the show, but didn't win any prizes. Here would be a good place to have a photo of him proudly standing next to it, but I don't have one. As I work down near the Art School now, I nipped across to be there with the school group, and have a look myself. They walked down from the primary school. That's a great thing about the modest size of Hobart: weather permitting, the school always walks the kids to excursions unless they are way out of town.

There was some really great stuff, as there always is when you have a bunch of work by motivated kids. The grown-ups were thrown by some of the work that was chosen for prizes but - I guess it's just like grown-up art prizes: unless you know the criteria they are using to judge, you can't say if you agree or not. Should "good" kids art look like grown-up art? Should it be naive? Should we be giving out prizes at all? When I was at school I remember being praised for painting all the way to the edge of the paper. Anyway. Michael was proud and the other kids were proud of him too.

It was weird for me to be back where I studied for three years, over twenty years ago. I said to Marcus and Michael "I went to school here after grade 12 and before I started working" - they looked at me like I was mad. When I said "before that it was a jam factory" they actually backed away from me a little.

I gave Marcus a mini tour - I pointed out where the Graphic Design studio was, but it's part of Photography now I think. I have actually avoided the place almost totally since I finished there in 1989. Sometime in the 90s they went security-crazy, and as a casual visitor you really felt you weren't wanted. You are supposed to report to the uniformed guard at the entrance, state your business and sign in. The big welcoming glass doors are always shut now, and you creep in apologetically through a small revolving door to the side.

The schoolkids were looking at another exhibition on the ground floor when my lunchtime was up, so I excused myself and tried to walk out into Hunter Street. You can't even get out without a swipe card. I waited for someone to come along and they believed me when I said I wasn't smuggling out anything.

The old school tie

Apparently the rich kids' secret of success is a Burnie High School tie. Ha! Now, what did I do with mine?

Marcus, fleet of foot with spoon or without

Marcus did really well at the school athletics last week. His team won the relay, and he finished 1st in 100m, 2nd in 200m, 1st in 400m, 2nd in 800m and to top it off he clinched the blue-ribbon event, the egg-and-spoon race.

Yesterday he represented the school at the inter-school athletics carnival. He brought home a couple more ribbons, for 2nd in the 200 metres and 4th in the 100 metres. South Hobart came 3rd in their first year in Division D, a great effort I think.

Marcus is getting taller all the time, his legs are long and he just looks like an athlete. I still think he has a lot of improvement to come in his running style, but he has only just turned 8. so there is plenty of time to work that out. I now officially declare the athletics season over. We have a couple of weekends breather, before soccer starts again.

A little chat

The kids have been back at school for a week. Marcus is now in Grade 3, and Michael in Grade 1. They both have new teachers and new classrooms, and seem to have settled in OK. Marcus is now upstairs - it's serious primary school up there. We've heard he'll get homework this year. We have just started getting him to sit down and do some handwriting practice each evening. He's not keen but it is really making a difference to his writing. We hope having a habit of daily desk time will help when the homework kicks in.

Michael's teacher beckoned me aside the other day to ask "what we want from this year for Michael". She's had gifted kids before and was a bit wary that we were expecting her to just smooth the way for Michael's inevitable progress into international law, or brain surgery.

We've had this little chat with teachers a few times now, so I recited the usual things,

1. we want Michael to enjoy school, so he still has an appetite for more at the end of Grade 10.
2. we expect him to complete the work everyone else is doing
3. he is enormously interested in a wide range of things, so anything you throw at him with energy and passion behind it, he will probably love.

The same goes for Marcus, but his new teacher has known him for a few years and is pretty much aware of what he needs. The main difference between the boys is that Marcus excels strongly in maths, while Michael seems a bit more of an all-rounder.

Michael's teacher went on to ask what Elf and I do. When I said that I'm a graphic designer and Elf's an office manager, the teacher said "Was it a big surprise when he turned out like this?" I pointed out that no, we'd already had one gifted child so another didn't surprise us, and in fact our families are quite high achievers academically - ourselves and our parents and siblings between us could make quite a pile of degrees. Perhaps the fact that when I drop the boys off I am attired in shorts and sandals has given her some idea that I am no mental giant.

Reports

The boys had their mid-year reports last week, both very good.

This is Marcus's 4th year at the school, and the staff are generally aware of his phenomenal appetite for mathematics. By now the novelty has worn off a little and his report is pretty matter-of-fact about what he can do and what he should do next - which is what you want.

His general comment starts "Marcus shows an excellent attitude towards school and learning. He has been able to set himself goals and shown pride in reaching them". The report picks up a couple of things that he can build on, and a couple of things that need work - eg "he is a reluctant writer and needs constant prompting to complete writing tasks". I know he has an amazing recall for all the details of a soccer match, so I am trying to use this as leverage to get him to write match reports for me.

I should note for fans of advanced educational administration theory that Marcus is at level P5 in Standard 2 at English, and level P7 in Standard 3 in Maths. (It all reminds me of when Homer bought an obscure Eastern Bloc car 2nd hand. As he bunny-hopped down the road in it the previous owner ran after him yelling "Put it in H!!".)

Michael's still a new kid on the block, and his report reflects that - the comments have an element of bemusement about them. In literacy "his skills are of an extremely high level" and "Michael displays incredible numeracy skills". Michael also finds writing sentences a chore. He "has the skills to create written pieces but he can become very distracted by the social aspect of the classroom".

We are delighted with how they are going, and the way their teachers seem to have a pretty good handle on them. We (and they) are very lucky to have everything going so swimmingly at school.

Mr Gifty Gifterson

Michael has been bringing home books to read aloud that are very easy for him. I thought I would chat to his teachers about it, just to make sure they were aware he could be reading slightly harder things. Michael has two home teachers, who job share.

I asked Mrs Howearth yesterday, and she said yes, she was aware of his reading, in fact based on his PIPS test (stands for Performance Indicators in Primary Schools , given to all prep kids at the start of the year) he was possibly the top student in his year in Southern Tasmania! Mrs Harrington followed it up today saying that she would like to do another assessment just to establish better what his levels are so they can give him extension activities. She said he is the most gifted child she has taught.

Of course this is all sweet music to the ears of doting parents. However it reinforces our happiness with how well the local state school has appreciated both of our boys' talents and abilities. They both have many years of school stretching ahead of them, and we think it's crucial that they are still finding it interesting and fun when they have to start making post-compulsory choices.

The Gifted groups, in our limited experience, are probably great for parents who haven't been as lucky as we have with their kids' school and teachers. They can get together and apply pressure for a better deal and more resources for their kids. They seem to be all about solving a problem that we don't have. They don't seem to offer much in the way of fun get-togethers for the little physicists, atsronomers or paleo-linguists of the future

I hope as time passes our boys will find what it is that they want to do, and will have the talent, application and tenacity to follow where it leads.

Sports Day 2009

The school oval was leveled and topdressed (whatever that is) in the holidays, and the new grass was not ready for the SPorts Day yesterday. So the school bussed all the kids to the Domain, and used the grown-up Athletics Centre. This meant I couldn't drop in as I usually do, so the following report is based on hearsay.

Michael had given indications in the morning that he would dodge his athletic responsibilities, but Mrs Howearth managed to get him well and truly involved. He picked up four ribbons, one first, two seconds and a third. He won the Monkey Race (for which he's been unwittingly training most of his life) and came second in the flat 50 metre dash.

Marcus of course was out of bed and sprinting up and down the living room, before dawn. His preparation paid off, and he won his 50 metre dash, and came second in his other three events. They both had a good time and earned a lot of points for their house, Derwent. Some of the final events had to be postponed, so the crucial question of whether Derwent or Wellington won the day, hangs in the air as we go to press.

I think to build up the rivalry they should think about renaming one of the houses. Instead of Derwent and Wellington, Napoleon and Wellington. Now we're talking. If anyone asks, just say it's named after that street in Battery Point.

The gifted eat sausages and salad

Last week we took the plunge and went to a Tasmanian Association for the Gifted barbecue get-together. The boys are both super-smart, have been tested for early entry at kinder and so on.

Elf and I are not sure quite where we stand on "giftedness". Are gifted people special and need to be streamed with like minds to some degree? Is everyone gifted in one way or another and no-one should be singled out? We have an open mind and wish to hear what TAG have to say. If the boys make some good friends among the other kids we will certainly view it more positively.

Interestingly it is a purely state-school-focussed group, and it's function is largely to exert leverage on government education policy and on school principals to devote specific resources to gifted kids. Presumably private school parents have the leverage of their huge fees to achieve what they want for their children.

Anyway. The barby was pleasant. The people were nice. Everyone was nametagged. One of the mums was named Hermione and many of the kids had names that proclaimed loudly "Mum and Dad read a lot of books". A lot of the kids spoke in a very correct way that Marcus sometimes does (other times he's a terrible mumbler). I was expecting the kids would be divided into teams and asked to build suspension bridges arcoss the creek, or something - but there were no organised activities.

I was drawn into a game of hide and seek with our boys and a tiny girl named Kariah. When it was her turn she needed a little coaching. "Cover your eyes and count to ten while we hide", I advised her. "Um, I'll count to a mill... a thous... um, eleven".

The School Duck

A recent arrival at the kids' school is the School Duck. There are quite a few wild brown ducks around, who wander up silently from the rivulet that runs past the sports ground. This new duck is black and white, very noisy, and works the canteen/lunch benches area like an expert panhandler. I'm pretty sure its a sign of the credit crunch/squeeze/freeze/meltdown - I believe he used to be a stockbroker.

Old-timey day

This year is the 150th anniversary of the founding of the boys' school, South Hobart Primary. Last week was the designated week of celebrations, with old scholars and staff invited back for an assembly, and special receptions on Thursday and Friday night. The school was open for tours on Saturday. It that all sounds worthy and a bit yawnsome - think about 1858! Transportation of convicts ended in 1853. The place wasn't even called Tasmania until 1856.

Thursday was Re-enactment Day, and all the kids dressed in short pants and caps and bonnets and so on, the teachers wore dress up too, and they did fingernail inspections. Here is Marcus - looking ready to pick a few pockets.


I went along to a morning tea in Michael's class, and there were grandparents there who attended the same school. In the school hall there is a great display of old photos of sports teams, duces of the school and so on. I spotted the mum of one of Marcus's friends - she was dux of 1B in 1969! I pointed her out and said "who does that look like?" Marcus said "BLAKE!!" They still live about 10 minutes walk up the rivulet from the school.