The Two Year School Itch -- Here We Go ... Again?

William, 3rd from left, on his 16th birthday with friends.

In my Panama life, change happens in twos. School that is. Just as I think we are  gliding on a smooth ramp heading toward the end of high school, two years off, Bam! Change. Every two years, without fail.

We bumpity-bumped our way through the fifth grade and then sailed through sixth, both at Instituto Guadalupano. When seventh grade rolled in, William wanted a change, so, after the first trimester, he announced he wanted to give full-time homeschooling a try.  I had strong suspicions that this would not be the best plan for him, but I agreed to give it a good "go."

Yippiee! ... not!  While I love to teach and love the challenge of putting classes together, this came, frankly,  at a rotten time. We had just -- and I mean just -- opened up our restaurant and were working at a frantic pace to build it up. Still, I figured I could school my son form 8am till noon, and then work the restaurant.

I spent copious hours carefully piecing together a plan for finishing up seventh grade. I purchased courses in Monarch, a division of Alpha Omega/Switched On Schoolhouse, out of Canada, because this was their program that was live-streamed and offered interactive testing and immediate results. Perfect for the active, kinesthetic learner! William could study geography and history and science, and even some English in this way, online.  There were also supplements I either purchased or designed with hands-on activities and reading.  I had Saxon Math, and Khan Academy for math back up and also for some art history. Plus, I had outlined detailed scheduled, beautifully color-coded, to keep us on a good track.

All this look perfect, as they say, on paper. But not so much when the real live kid came into the scene. It just went to hell in a hand basket, and in a heartbeat.  William is  highly social and it was obvious he missed the camaraderie of the classroom experience. I figured that one out  the day I came home and, entering our gate, dressed in white, I was completely startled right out of my high heels by an unexpected downpour of water from above. On my head. And my white clothing.

I looked up and there, on the roof, grinning down at me with a mixture of fear and glee, was my own little Tom Sawyer ... and an empty bucket where the water had been.
I got it.
He was bored.

So the next morning, early, I packed him up in a mini fury ( he was in blue jeans, not a uniform, which is standard here) and dropped him off at the closest school, a sweet evangelical school just blocks from both the house and the restaurant.

We are not evangelicals, but I figured that this was the least of my worries.  My son grumbled as he entered, announcing he would of course "hate"  it and would not stay, to which I responded with "I'll see you at 2 pm. And behave! You represent your family! Oh, and just don't come out Homophobic!"

When I pulled up at the end of the school day, I was met with a grinning preteen. "Mom, I love the kids here and I know most of them anyway ... and... I need to get my uniform!"

And there he remained for a full two years at Colegio El Buen Pastor school (a.k.a The God Squad School) right through the eighth grade. He also learned a bit of saxophone from an outstanding musical teacher we supported. Plus.. there was no bullying, well, at least not from the kids! After all, they have to behave like Jesus. And for the most part, they really did. So it was both a good choice and also... a blessing.

On the one morning  a week, when prayers that involved "laying on of hands" took place, I just kept my son home, with no fight from the excellent director. I never had to explain why.

After eighth grade, and as the high school years approached, it became clear that my son, now fully bilingual (in a rural Panama farming town way), was going to need to beef up his English. By this year, the fairly newish international school, Academia Internacional Boquete (AIB) had added upper grades and I reasoned they'd had some time to iron out the wrinkles of newness, so we enrolled him for the ninth grade.

Just recently, in December, 2014, he graduated in good standing from the tenth grade. I was absolutely delighted by the English teacher he had this year and hoped she would be staying on. And I hoped also that my son would feel completely settled at school.

Too much hoping going on! Alas, the two year curse is upon us, once again! For reasons that have little to do with the school, my son recently expressed serious interest in returning to the USA to finish out his remaining two years of high school.

He is hoping for more organized sports of his choice and I suspect missing family connections, old friends, and feeling a need for more than what a rural town has to offer a young man heading toward adulthood.  Part of this was expected: teens and small towns don't always mix well. And of course the desire for change is partly due to personality and his particular interests. Finally, it does factor in that in seven years in Panama, my son has collectively spent only about seven weeks in the USA. He is simply ready for a change.

So, like a good dance partner, I am ready to spin either way.  Neither my son's dad nor I wish to live in the USA for now, having fully adapted ourselves to the gentle pace of Boquete life. But we will work it out.

Years ago, the news of another big change would have sent me into a crazed, mommy tail spin. Today, I take it with a grain of salt, knowing that nothing stays the same, accepting there is only so much I can control.  And I trust that if  I wait and pray and have enough faith that eventually all things come right, there will be a practical solution.

So, what's next? Who knows? More adventure...

My Ongoing Panama School Saga

The ongoing saga of how to educate my expat kid in Boquete, continues. Ugh.
I try to remain fluid on this issue, but today, having now shot past five years with this dilemna, I just feel like a good whine. Or, in keeping with the "fluid" theme... a good Wine.

So much about education is driven not only by the school systems here, (mediocre at best,) which are for the most part antiquated, old school, copy-from-the-board, rigid rote learning before exams, followed by forget it all tomorrow, but also by the type of child you have.

In the best of the school,  there are classrooms that are utterly chaotic and teachers who scream at the top of their lungs. Sometimes they make the children cry.

In one of the schools we were previously involved with, I have heard credible accounts from parents and students alike of older teachers actually bullying middle school students.  And I have heard believable accounts of  teachers logging onto  Facebook during class, or being entirely absent from the classroom for hours.

For the moment, the jury is out on the newer school we are trying. I believe the have a true vision of bringing something new, more creative and expansive in the way of educatin to the Panama school system. So far, I do see improvements over issues we have experienced before, but they too suffer from some very strong challenges.  The trouble is, I'm running out of time. My kid was in 3rd grade when we arrived; now he has officially hit high school, and he has to be prepared to enter a decent University in four or five years.

God did not send me a timid girl content to sit in a corner and read for hours, or create her own fabulous journals and turn in meticulously carried out homework assignments. Nope.  God sent me a fantastic,   fidgety, fast-moving, fast-thinking, fun, fiesty and incredibly charming boy -- now a young man -- who has claimed, over a period of five years, to have nary a home work assignment. Meanwhile, the schools have claimed he has had homework nearly every single day.  Go to that math!

And still the kid gets decent grades, which causes me to wonder:   Is this ability to get by using the least amount of energy a sign of early genious? Or am I seeing glimpses of a future, slick, super smart bilingual,  border hustler.  Hmmm.

Oh! And did I mention? During one night, several months ago, someone, maybe my higher power, pressed the "Automatic Download" button and apparently a program (I'm calling it Gene14to the 10th power) streamed directly into my child's brain. In case you are not yet familiar, this is the gene that ignites, around age 14, and turns  your previously sweet, loving, considerate, fun, thoughtful boy into a suddenly a sleep-till-noon, sometimes snarky, teenager.

And still,  I love him more than air and water. What can I say?

Meantime, he is now enrolled in the 9th grade in the the newer private school which claims to have the best curriculum, and truly has a vision, (but which has mandated personal computers/laptops -- a personal hell, if I'm being honest), and which, despite a few positive changes, seems to offer little difference in teaching style and is navigating some common but difficult challenges particular to so-called bilingual education.  Many teachers are wrestling with the super struggles of having class with some fully bilingual students, but also many students  many in serious need of the most basic ESL. Other teachers are trying to manage really chaotic classrooms, leaving little time for real learning and a wake of frustration.

An easy solution for me would be to supplement at home, right? And I know families who do this and for whom it just fills in the right pieces. Alas,, not so easy with a kid who is burnt after 7 hours of sitting still-ish and now chomping at the bit to get on top of a soccer ball.  Switching to homeschooling could be a solution but, the last time I tried that, full steam, it was a month of three hours of head butting, eventually getting things done, and then my kid was ready to play with a group. Trouble is, the "group" were all at school!

Alas, I find myself, still, sitting most uncomfortably on a big fence. Which begs the question: What next?  To be continued...

Graduation Day, Panama

At the Instituto Guadalupano, being graduated from Kindergarten and the Sixth Grade are considered important milestones, acknowledged by an elaborate  "recognition" ceremony, including gifts and a special mass later in the week. Our little dude is the only "gringo" in the group... alas.  Ditto, as far as I could tell, during our 15 hour, non-stop Independence Day Parade, where William marched with his classroom in his ethnic dance costume.

The little ones wore cap and gown. It was a darling celebration.

Maestra Vielsa is practically an institution here,
having taught many of William's friends' parents!

Abram & William in uniform, graduation day.

About Schooling In Boquete

Toward the top of this blog, and in the right-hand column, you will find a section called PAGES.
In the same PAGES sections, you will also find a Directory of private schools in this immediate area.

Bilingual? Maybe, Baby.

I wonder often if by moving here, William is missing too much of what beautiful Sarasota has to offer, e.g., terrific kids' theater, skate parks, sailing camps, the Ringing Museum and even a Circus camp. But it's all worth it because he'll be bilingual, right?

People get excited when they remind me of the advantages William will have when he is fully bilingual. In this shrinking, globally connected world, another language will bolster any career the kid chooses. He'll be a better communicator. All true. ( But, whispers the cynic in me ... being bilingual could also mean he'll just be able to sell drugs on both sides of the border!)

Having your kid become bilingual also presents a potential problem for an only semi-bilingual, middle-aged mom. I am now in a constant race to keep ahead of my son in the Spanish department, and he's fast approaching the pass-me-by point. If only I can become fluent, I'll know that when he says he told his posse how great a mom I am, I'll hear that what he really called me is an an evil, wicked dictator.

My friend Jenni, who has four kids, refers to fluency as the "F" word. Now she's been in Central America for four years and has a way younger brain than mine , so if Jenni sees fluency as an unbeatable dragon, I'm in deep doo doo. Or, as we say in Spanish, "mucha mierda!"

Undoubtedly our move has provided a simpler childhood. On the left are posted photos of a lovely spot our friend, Farmer Henry took Larry and William, not 40 minutes from our house. Old fashioned fun from another decade. I must say, it does beat the hell out of a Gameboy.

Skipping Schools

The trip to the states was whirlwind and utterly exhausting. William accurately dubbed this visit the Work-cation. (Not even time enough to stock up on Tums & Tampons! Thank to my sister Madeleine and her care packages!).

However, we did spend some terrific evenings with some excellent and generous friends. Plus, we squeezed in a few precious days with our pre-med son, Dylan, who worked like a Roman slave helping Larry stuff our stuff into storage!

With the house rented to friends, back we headed to Panama, utterly spent. Back to Boquete, where William had the chutzpah to turn ten.

The end of his first decade was marked with a painful lesson in life, to wit: How to handle childhood torment. More specifically, Catholic School Torment! If there are degrees of suffering endured by a boy, being teased and excluded by schoolmates (who can't understand your clever retorts in your mother tongue) must fall lofty on a child's scale of psychological pain.

Let me say that William braved the storm for nearly six months, determined to fit in. However, his challenge was compounded by the attempted erosion of what I've always described as William's (heretofore) excessive self esteem. A campaign to reduce his pride was apparently being waged by his teachers, no less!. (No, they didn't rap him on his knuckles. They simply told him, repeatedly, that he'd never make it to fifth grade!)

Those of you who know me may imagine the rest. OH yeah ... Mama bear to the rescue! It turns out I'm an adept verbal warrior in more than one language. However, I promise... I did exercise great restraint. After all, we're the foreigners, this is a small town, plus ... I'm pretty sure I'd go straight to hell, without the comfort of a handbasket, if I'd slapped a Catholic teacher!

So, we're catching a rhythm. Home School has resumed with Professor Larry. A new and happier local school was found for half-days. Forward and upward we go, leaving only one or two slightly bruised teacher egos in our wake, their knuckles intact.