Homeschoolers Association of Pakistan

Homeschooling | Ask Asma | Episode 10 Homeschooling can be a fantastic alternative to traditional schooling but not many of us know much about it. Join us on Ask Asma to get the full picture. Wat...

Work on building vocabulary. It helps in reading, writing and better comprehension.

Homeschooling is the education that children receive at home or at any other place other the 'school' itself. Most of the time parents opt to educate their children themselves. Sometimes they hire face-to-face or online tutors. In many countries homeschooling is a legal alternative to a conventional schooling.

In Pakistan, the concept of homeschooling is still in its initial years of development. When there are already quite a few parents who have been homeschooling their children in Pakistan, there are many others who may want to choose this alternative, but they are still struggling with accepting the idea.

We ran a poll on our page to ask people if homeschooling is a good idea or not. The result was close to a tie. Out of 78 people who responded, 51% think that it is not a good idea to homeschool.

Most of the people not in favor of homeschooling based their opinion on the possible lack in the development of social skills amongst children. They were also uncertain about the effectiveness of it in the longer run in terms of professional growth. Parents not having the skills to teach is yet another argument that was put forward.

Some of the respondents gave their opinion in favor of both. Being experienced homeschooling parents they advised that it depends on every child. Some children thrive well in a homely, at-your-own pace learning environment, whereas some need a well-structured system.

It can be concluded from the poll results that since there is a very narrow gap between the decision to homeschool or not to homeschool, much awareness need to be created at a greater level to help parents make the best decision for their children's education.

----------Harper Lee -----------

"Now tell your father not to teach you anymore."
"Your father does not know how to teach."

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You mean we can’t play any more?” I asked. “We’ll do like we always do at home,” he said, “but you’ll see—school’s different.” It certainly was. Before the first morning was over, Miss Caroline Fisher, our teacher, hauled me up to the front of the room and patted the palm of my hand with a ruler, then made me stand in the corner until noon. Miss Caroline was no more than twenty-one. She had bright auburn hair, pink cheeks, and wore crimson fingernail polish. She also wore high-heeled pumps and a red-andwhite-striped dress. She looked and smelled like a peppermint drop. She boarded across the street one door down from us in Miss Maudie Atkinson’s upstairs front room, and when Miss Maudie introduced us to her, Jem was in a haze for days. Miss Caroline printed her name on the blackboard and said, “This says I am Miss Caroline Fisher. I am from North Alabama, from Winston County.” The class murmured apprehensively, should she prove to harbor her share of the peculiarities indigenous to that region. (When Alabama seceded from the Union on January 11, 1861, Winston County seceded from Alabama, and every child in Maycomb County knew it.) North Alabama was full of Liquor Interests, Big Mules, steel companies, Republicans, professors, and other persons of no background. Miss Caroline began the day by reading us a story about cats. The cats had long conversations with one another, they wore cunning little clothes and lived in a warm house beneath a kitchen stove. By the time Mrs. Cat called the drugstore for an order of chocolate malted mice the class was wriggling like a bucketful of catawba worms. Miss Caroline seemed unaware that the ragged, denim-shirted and floursack-skirted first grade, most of whom had chopped cotton and fed hogs from the time they were able to walk, were immune to imaginative literature. Miss Caroline came to the end of the story and said, “Oh, my, wasn’t that nice?” Then she went to the blackboard and printed the alphabet in enormous square capitals, turned to the class and asked, “Does anybody know what these are?” Everybody did; most of the first grade had failed it last year. I suppose she chose me because she knew my name; as I read the alphabet a faint line appeared between her eyebrows, and after making me read most of My First Reader and the stock-market quotations from The Mobile Register aloud, she discovered that I was literate and looked at me with more than faint distaste. Miss Caroline told me to tell my father not to teach me any more, it would interfere with my reading. “Teach me?” I said in surprise. “He hasn’t taught me anything, Miss Caroline. Atticus ain’t got time to teach me anything,” I added, when Miss Caroline smiled and shook her head. “Why, he’s so tired at night he just sits in the livingroom and reads.” “If he didn’t teach you, who did?” Miss Caroline asked good-naturedly. “Somebody did. You weren’t born reading The Mobile Register.” “Jem says I was. He read in a book where I was a Bullfinch instead of a Finch. Jem says my name’s really Jean Louise Bullfinch, that I got swapped when I was born and I’m really a-” Miss Caroline apparently thought I was lying. “Let’s not let our imaginations run away with us, dear,” she said. “Now you tell your father not to teach you any more. It’s best to begin reading with a fresh mind. You tell him I’ll take over from here and try to undo the damage-” “Ma’am?” “Your father does not know how to teach. You can have a seat now.” I mumbled that I was sorry and retired meditating upon my crime. I never deliberately learned to read, but somehow I had been wallowing illicitly in the daily papers. In the long hours of church—was it then I learned? I could not remember not being able to read hymns. Now that I was compelled to think about it, reading was something that just came to me, as learning to fasten the seat of my union suit without looking around, or achieving two bows from a snarl of shoelaces. I could not remember when the lines above Atticus’s moving finger separated into words, but I had stared at them all the evenings in my memory, listening to the news of the day, Bills to Be Enacted into Laws, the diaries of Lorenzo Dow—anything Atticus happened to be reading when I crawled into his lap every night. Until I feared I would lose it, I never loved to read. One does not love breathing. I knew I had annoyed Miss Caroline, so I let well enough alone and stared out the window until recess when Jem cut me from the covey of first-graders in the schoolyard. He asked how I was getting along. I told him. “If I didn’t have to stay I’d leave. Jem, that damn lady says Atticus’s been teaching me to read and for him to stop it-” “Don’t worry, Scout,” Jem comforted me. “Our teacher says Miss Caroline’s introducing a new way of teaching. She learned about it in college. It’ll be in all the grades soon. You don’t have to learn much out of books that way—it’s like if you wanta learn about cows, you go milk one, see?” “Yeah Jem, but I don’t wanta study cows, I-” “Sure you do. You hafta know about cows, they’re a big part of life in Maycomb County.” I contented myself with asking Jem if he’d lost his mind. “I’m just trying to tell you the new way they’re teachin‘ the first grade, stubborn. It’s the Dewey Decimal System.” Having never questioned Jem’s pronouncements, I saw no reason to begin now. The Dewey Decimal System consisted, in part, of Miss Caroline waving cards at us on which were printed “the,” “cat,” “rat,” “man,” and “you.” No comment seemed to be expected of us, and the class received these impressionistic revelations in silence. I was bored, so I began a letter to Dill. Miss Caroline caught me writing and told me to tell my father to stop teaching me. “Besides,” she said. “We don’t write in the first grade, we print. You won’t learn to write until you’re in the third grade.” Calpurnia was to blame for this. It kept me from driving her crazy on rainy days, I guess. She would set me a writing task by scrawling the alphabet firmly across the top of a tablet, then copying out a chapter of the Bible beneath. If I reproduced her penmanship satisfactorily, she rewarded me with an open-faced sandwich of bread and butter and sugar. In Calpurnia’s teaching, there was no sentimentality: I seldom pleased her and she seldom rewarded me

It’s a funny old world, isn’t it? For thousands of years, humans lived, worked, played and learned in groups of various ages. A child was just as likely to spend time with his grandmother, as he was to be in the company of a younger child. What was odd, was finding anyone spending most of their time exclusively with their peer age group.
And then, the modern education system, being wise and efficient, sorted children into classrooms based on age. This way all 9-year-old’s could learn at a 9-year-old’s level.
Only, not all 9-year-old’s learn at the same pace. Some might be better suited with the seven-year-old’s in maths or the 13-year-old’s in English. Some may still want to play imaginary games at recess, while others have grown too mature for such trivialities.
This classroom thinking has leaked into every area of our lives. The idea that children should only play with others of their own age, is a very recent one. When viewed through a different lense it seems odd. Consider that after reaching adulthood our friends begin to spread out over a variety of ages.
One of my greatest joys is seeing the different ages at our Wild+Free outings playing together. Big teens helping toddlers cross creeks, small people having a voice even with the older children. There is no hierarchy, just children playing. The older children show the little ones how to construct lean-to forts. The smaller children point out mushrooms and insects and everyone oohs and ahhs. They are an organic community. Similar interests unite them into friendships, not age brackets.
The benefits for all are wonderful. Older kids have the freedom to tarry in childhood a bit longer. Younger kids have a wise companion to help and teach them. Older children benefit from the responsibilities of leadership and nurturing. Young ones benefit from the attention and care of “the big kids”.
What a beautiful childhood for all.
🖼: “Wherever he said, ‘Come,’ I stepped in faith” by Honor C Appleton 1879-1951

Homeschoolers Association of Pakistan (HAP) provides guidance and support to parents and guardians who have chosen or plan to choose homeschooling.

HAP members get support in choosing the right curriculum, material, resources, in-door and out-door activities and assessments.

We are also bring like-minded organizations on board who think that learning is not limited to a set pattern of education.

There could be many reasons why you would want to homeschool your children.

Whatever the reason, please know that you have all the rights to choose what is best for your child and for your family. Don't let the societal pressure get to you.

But yes an informed, well-researched decision is always suggested.

Make a list all the questions that you or people around you put forward about homeschooling. Try finding answers to them. This may take some time. Maybe a month or even a year. But once you find the answers, weigh the pros and cons, and then DECIDE to homeschool or not to homeschool.

If you have any questions already, we would love to hear them.

Welcome to Homeschoolers Association of Pakistan.

Hatsoff to all the moms and dads who have taken the step to help their children learn beyond the walls.

Homeschoolers Association of Pakistan (HAP) will help parents and their children make this journey filled with learning.