SATs

SATs.

It's one little word (OK it's an acronym - standardised assessment tasks). And yet it can strike fear into lots people.

The young. Especially UK children in Key Stage 1 (7 ish) & Key Stage 2 (11 ish).

And adults. Teachers. Head teachers. TA's. And parents.

<Sighs>

Team Parent (yay!)

Have the questionable good fortune or having both Boy10 and Miss7 sitting there SATs pretty much at the same.

Different schools and all that. Different Key stages blah blah.

But both around the same time.

(OK Vegeta you've made your point...

<Is charging power levels>

Elegant as it is, now hear my rebuttal...

Kame-HAME-HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

<Orders new black board>)

There's very little stress around Miss7's.

They're call them quizzes not exams/tests. No one says the S word around them. They were told they are VIPs so that if they need a wee an adults comes with them, like celebrities.

Sweet huh.

Then they have a big play afterwards and do something special with the children.

Good for them. Good for the school. Good for the teachers.

That makes me glad. It feels a shame to be testing seven year old's so young in their academic careers.

But if they must, they must...

Come on! Off the computer!

Boy10: 'Two minutes more?'

No, now!

Boy10: 'But I need to do this...'

Not need, you mean want. You want to do something in the game.

Whereas I am telling you not to, and asking you nicely to ... OH NO! GET THAT GUY! YEAH HIM!

SHOOT SHOOT! NO! UP-UP!!! MOVE OVER!

<We spend some lovely father son time together... killing stuff>

I'm not entirely sure Miss7 knows.

She is sitting SATs at all. She may. But it's not worth the conversation to find out if she is.

I don't remember my SATs. BigBrother#2 says that is because I never sat them. Which is probably right.

It was an awful long time ago. Paleolithic at least.

Yet I do remember some variety of government run tests that we all sat. In class. In silence. When I was about seven.

But who cares. It's in the past. It doesn't matter!

<Hits you over the head with a staff>

And at the time I do remember not caring whatsoever, as they said we would never see the results.

So why worry?

However for Boy10.

It's a totally different game. It's the difference between touch rugby at school, and over twenty one's local drunken rugby.

One is kind and caring and respectful about each player on the pitch, and just wants the best for all in involved.

The other... well we all expect injuries.

And Boy10 may well be one of those that gets mullered to the floor and has studded boots applied to his face in the name of national testing.

Quite a picture I'm painting I know...

Are you done yet? <Is sat as a still life (fully clothed) model, with cuppa>

Miss7: 'Nearly' <Is painting>

It's been ages... I've a numb bum... <Sips on tea>

Miss7: 'DON'T MOVE!'

<Sips and gives Miss7 a look>

Miss7: 'Just be cool... .I am nearly finished...' <Huge enthusiastic brush strokes going on>

Miss7: '... nearly...' <Paint spraying everywhere>

Miss7: 'And done!'

Really? <Goes to get up, falls of chair> Ow.

<Gets up> Let's have a look then?

Miss7: 'TADA!' <Reveals her masterpiece>

Oh... You've painted a rainbow... A brilliant rainbow! It's brilliant!

Miss7: <Is proud>

...

One question though...

How long after you asked me to pose for you, did you give up on that and just paint a rainbow?

Miss7: 'Almost instantly'

I see...

<Limps off grumbling>

It's complex.

Why I think this may muller Boy10. It's to do with him as a person, how he reacts to things. What his personal values are. And his particular skills.

There's three key parts to his SATs: reading; Grammar, Punctuation and Spelling; and Mathematics.

And one of those he is rocking at. There is no worries at all.

The other two... er... well there's a difference.

And in many ways that's fine.

Except.

For Boy10 that is not fine. He likes being good at stuff. It's important to him.

I blame myself. That's very much how I am wired. It has benefits and pitfalls. Like most things.

So for Boy10, all of a sudden, he's being tested and the results are not expected. By him. By Team Parent (yay!) and his teachers.

And whilst all us adults think about what to do. What he could practice, how to move him forward.

Boy10's confidence in his skills is taking a knocking.

Quite a wallop actually.

Which isn't good.

I find it pretty frustrating.

Because I think these tests and results count for naff all to do with Boy10.

Whatever results he gets will be fed back to the teachers, the heads, the guv. And they will record the values and check the school is working as expected. Which all sounds quite reasonable.

Except that at some point Boy10 will given the results.

Or we'll be given the results and can decide for him. Which isn't much solution either. Hiding them sends the same negative message.

Does he really need to know?

In September.

When Boy10 starts secondary school. He will sit more tests. This time set by the school to find where he is in his learning. So the new school can put him into the right skills groups. Fair enough.

Apparently they will ignore the SATs results for everything (except the maths results which they will use).

So why test them twice? Tests are not fun.

<Looks at you quizzically>

I know.

There's good reasons why. Well I hope there are. I'm sure there are... <Isn’t all that sure>

But right now, for Team Parent (yay!), it's not quite adding up.

I'm sure they know what they are doing. I know for sure the teachers have his best interests in mind.

And weirdly knocks like this can sometimes make you stronger, and chase off demons.

So it may be a blessing in disguise.

But right now we've a Boy10 with anxiety.

And that's not good.

(Back foul demon BACK!

<Throws holly water>

It’s not working… OH NO! He's smiling!!!

RUUUUUUUUN!!!!!)

Anyhoo...

Team Parent (yay!) have a plan.

We discussed. We decided. And made a plan of how best to support him.

We didn't totally agree on this. Which is fine. Mixed opinions can be best sometimes.

But we're going with loving support and huge encouragement. Which is hard to argue against as an approach.

Who doesn't want that?

I reckon we use the Convincing Hammer?

Mrs. Amazing: 'No. Love and support'

Coercion Pliers?

Mrs. Amazing: 'No! Love etc...'

Behaviour Altering Rake?

Mrs. Amazing: <Sighs> 'I'm going to bed, come up when you're done with the great jokes...'

Mind Manipulating Mallet? <Calls after Mrs. Amazing>

Screwdriver of Submission?

[Hours pass]

... er... Hole Punch of Practical Persuasion...

Knowing the plan is loving support.

I've done my best to talk to him about the SATs in a calm and supportive manner.

Never saying they matter for nothing, even if I think that, as that doesn't help. Boy10 still has to sit them.

I've done my best to remove failure as a result. Results are just results, you cannot fail.

We just want him to do his best.

(Baring in mind his best includes being prepared and ready for the tests, so he's had extra practice at home with Mrs. Amazing).

The other morning.

I asked him if his tests started today. He said yes.

Knowing it was my moment to lay the support, and love, on thick. I cooked him a warrior's breakfast: Bacon sarnie.

And generally pampered him. Laughed at his jokes, listened to endless computer game anecdotes. Basically flirted with him. Which is a weird thought.

And then just as he was about to leave for school I took my chance and went for the supportive pep talk.

I basically hugged / picked him up and told him I was proud of him. Talked him up a lot.

And did my utter best to be supportive of the SATs, for him.

A tough task for me in the morning.

Normally you just get grunts, or song.

Then Mrs. Amazing walked into the kitchen.

And pointed out the SATs didn't start for another week.

...

<Gives Boy10 a look>

Upon hearing this new information.

I rugby tackled Boy10 to the floor and squeezed a fair bit of air out of him.

There was much giggling from all.

Mrs. Amazing commented that the tackle would a better send off for his first day of SATs.

As it was tension breaking, fun, and close physical contact from his Dad.

Especially when you compared the positive benefits of a tackle, against my pep talk.

I concluded Mrs. Amazing had a point.

<Rubs hands ready to splat Boy10 properly next week>

In tribute for Boy10 who's just about to delve into the world of SATs.

I gave you a homeless man miming Queen and David Bowie's Under Pressure with not one, but two Kermit frogs. Yes I know, what a cliché tribute.

To me the lyrics seem apt and seem to speak to me directly, 'Mm ba ba de' and 'Um bum ba de'. <Pauses to let them sink in>

Wise words I think you'll agree.

And everyone needs to see this man with Kermit puppets being awesome.

You'll be fine Boy10.

<Whispers we believe in you>

Mrs. Amazing: 'Why're you whispering?'

For drama... <Does Jazz hands>

X

Take it away you puppeteering genius...

Miss7's 20m of Fight...

It's not far is it?
20m is a short distance. For an able bodied sober adult.
I postulate (oh yes I do) that it is the average walk to the bar and back distance. In my local.
I suppose it's further, relatively, for children. Little legs and all.
Especially if they are swimming.

Or are being lazy...

Dude can you pass me the remote?
Boy10: <Reaches but isn't really trying> 'Can't'
Oh go on! Don't make me get up and get it!
It's right by your head. Reach harder...
Boy10: <Makes fake reaching and trying noises>
REALLY? You're gonna make me get up?
Boy10: <More fake reaching noises>
<Sighs>
Fine... <Gets up> <Knees creaking noises> <Methane escape>
<Walks over glaring at Boy10>
<Just about to reach remote>
Boy10: <Grabs remote and passes it me> 'Here ya go!' <Big grin>
... <Glares> ... Thanks...
<Sits back down muttering>
What? OH IT'S THE WRONG REMOTE GROMIT!!! <Muffled swearing>
<Sighs>
Boy10 please pass me the other remote...
Boy10: <New fake reaching noises>
<Mutters>

I take Miss7 swimming once a week at present.

She was sent off to lessons with her cousin when she was younger. Which was great and she learnt a lot. But it was hella expensive (for us) and whilst I only took Miss7 to the class a few times.
Something about the class bugged me. Something just wasn't right about the class.
And what was bugging me was that I sat watching.
Whilst Miss7 was in the pool.

(Hmmm… <Checks swimming manual>

… I’m not entirely sure we’ve got front crawl right…

<Turns book right way up>

… No. No that’s still not much better....)

It didn't bug hugely.
Not enough that I would cry 'FREEDOM' stand, tear my clothes off, and leap into the pool and join in. No that would be weird.
But there was defo bugging levels there. And watching was/is pretty dull. And hot.
Fully dressed sat in a swimming pool is not the best fun you can. Especially in summer.
But the watching and not being involved did bug me.
Suddenly money in the Dragon household went uber tight. And lessons of all sorts were cancelled.
Everything was reigned in so our bank balance would, well, balance bankily...

Mrs. Amazing: 'So are we solvent?'
Yes... Think so...
Mrs. Amazing: 'Good'
<Continues sitting on huge Amazon box>
Mrs. Amazing: 'What's in the box'
Air... <Does shifty eyes>
Mrs. Amazing: 'What did you order?'
Air and packing stuff... <Shifty as you like eyes>
Mrs. Amazing: 'Open it' <Is serious>
I can't. It's un-openable...
Mrs. Amazing: 'Open it or I'll do it...'
<Opens box and pours out complete set of Guardians of Galaxy vinyl head figures>
Mrs. Amazing: <Is speechless>
Right... before you say anything...
Mrs. Amazing: 'Yes'
... <Runs>
<Runs back, scoops up figures, runs again>

(Guys… I want to you to meet your new brother!

This is Peter, but he likes to be called Star-Lord…

He has the best mix tapes!

Kids: <All worry about their father as he bounces Star-Lord on his knee>)

So I took my chance.
And Team Parent (yay!) decided that Miss7 would now be taught swimming by me. Which would be very much cheaper and more fun. Only downside was my utterly lack of knowledge of teaching swimming. I can at least swim.
Team Parent (yay!) agreed it was worth the risk, swimming I would teach her.
(Not grammar for reasons obvs.).

I am really glad I did this.
Swimming lessons with Miss7 every Sunday morning very quickly became a highlight of my week. Just us two. Alone in a small swimming pool. Learning and having fun.
I obvs. watched any swimming teachers I saw in the pool and stole their lessons as much as possible. And me and Miss7 worked really hard and it wasn't long before she had managed 10m!
Brilliant.

I send away for 10m badge.
Promoted myself to examiner and presented her with her badge and certificate. Signed by me. I did look into getting someone with actual swimming credentials to test her. But it was gonna cost. On the one hand I am not qualified to hand out swimming badges, on the other, what the hell!
Miss7 got her reward of one very large chocolate milkshake from the milkshake shop.
Miss7 showed off her badge to school and her friends.
All was well.

(Our swimming carrot...)

That was eighteen months ago.
And in that time we have been working on 20m. With little progress.
My abilities at teaching Miss7 were starting to be looked at. And if I am honest it was starting to bug me too. What were we doing wrong?
Why wasn't Miss7 improving?

It's not as though we spend every lesson playing.
Nope. We practice swimming then play. Then practice. Then play.
For eighteen months that's what we did. And the closet we got was 13m when Boy10 came along to lead a hand.
He's a swimming expert and I've been getting swimming tips from him. And he did help.
Still we were not making the 20m.

Then last week.
With a holiday looming where being able to swim would be really helpful. Mrs. Amazing suggested an intensive swimming course over the summer for Miss7.
I gotta admit that hurt a bit. It's not as though we weren't trying.
But Mrs. Amazing was right. We were not getting anywhere.
Bugger.

So with a deadline now looming.
Me and Miss7 hit the swimming pool early Sunday morning. Before it gets too busy to swim in a straight line. I gave Miss7 a good (maybe) coaching session before the lesson. And made it very clear we had one aim today. 20m.
No feet down midway. No goggles adjustments midway. No 'I stopped because I got lost' midway. No 'I forgot to breath'. No excuses.
20m. <Shakes fist>

Miss7 has at most one hour of swimming in her before her lips go blue. For reals.
Miss7 gets worn out after too many attempts.
20m in the pool we are in is two lengths.
No matter the deadline or my desire for to do 20m, it has to remain fun.
Has to.

Forty minutes into the lesson.
And Miss7 has managed eight lengths. But with many breaks in between. No 20m record at all. She explains what happened this time. Bubbles got up her nose.
I am sympathetic. But losing hope. Maybe I am crap at this and am being selfish wanting to teach her myself.
Bums.

I convince Miss7 to try once more.
Do or die! Well... do or carry on living actually.
Miss7 lines herself up and before she even starts I realise she is not going to do it.
Why would she? We've changed nothing. What on earth are we doing wrong?
Then I remember the golden parenting rule - If the plans not working it. Give up and get drunk Change it.
It's served Team Parent (yay!) well for years. Hic.
Many times we've tried stuff and got nowhere, only to change plans and get instant results.
So I change the plan and drain the pool.

I explain what I want Miss7 to do.
She's cool with it. Stuff technique. I don't care if your foot goes touches the ground. If you wanna float midway, you go for it.
Any style. Crawl. Butterfly. Dolphin. Badger. What ever you feel like doing.
I just want you swim as fast as you can for 20m.
Go!

Off Miss7 went.
It was atrocious. From a swimming teacher point of view. Terrible. Everything you don’t want someone learning to swim to do, she was doing. In many ways I think you could call it drowning more than swimming. She stopped every few meters.
Goggle problems galore. Costume problems. Got lost (!?). Everything you can think of.
EVERYTHING.

Eventually she makes it to the end.
20-cheaty-m of swimming complete.
And then I turn to her and apply the new plan. My great new plan.

My only hope.

Right! You just did 20m easy <Is lying>...
Now do that again, but WITHOUT putting your foot down once!
Miss7: <Mulling it over> 'OK Daddy'

I admit my hopes were low.
I expected more excuses. Stoppings. Water up the nose moments. I wouldn't have bet on her at all.
It turns I'm pretty stupid sometimes. Or just human. One or the other.
Stuman in fact.

Miss7 started well.
Good technique and breathing for half a length. But still my hopes were low as suddenly she turned over to catch her breath. Still no feet had gone down.
Miss7 switched to back stoke as she was in position for that. A few feet more and she switches to star float.
I walk past her (I have stilts the pool is shallow) and shout some encouragement.
She turns back to front crawl and she's off again. But the technique is not good.
She is trying though. Really trying. Her little legs are kicking for all they are worth.
A quick sink just before the pool edge, and I think she's lost it.
But she surfaces and on she struggles.
The turn is good and we are 10m in and entering the danger zone. Where normally breath is the issue.
Or bubbles.

Miss7 turns for another float.
But I can see the water is still splashing into her little mouth whilst she is trying to catch her breath. It's quite horrible to watch as really I just want to scoop her up and save her the pain.
But on she battles and I resist. I wanna to raise a fighter, so I better let her fight.
Suddenly we are at three quarters mark. She has never managed this far before!!!
OMFB!

But there's a problem.
On the last turn over from float to swim. Miss7 has knocked herself off course and is now very much heading towards a wall. Not one she should be aiming for. Not the finish wall.
I walk quickly around her and put myself between her and the wall and walk alongside her.
With Miss7 getting closer to me with every stroke. I figure her hitting me will be less shocking than a hard wall.
Maybe... I don't know.

We collide.
With barely 2m left to swim. I see her eyes flash up to what she hit. A smile and my give best 'GO ON DON'T STOP FOR BACON’S SAKE' face.
As I know she cannot hear me in all that drowning / swimming she is doing.
All technique has now gone. Miss7 is clearly low in breath and muscles.
OMFB! I am literally bouncing in the water.
Willing her on.

Her hand reaches for the wall.
The finish wall. Her hands misses. It's a classic I need to finish now reach. Yet she misses.
Her next reach is good though. She hand reaches the wall and she's made it.
My little girl. Half drowned and exhausted pulls herself upright and starts taking some deep breaths. She's got hiccups obviously. There's been a lot of water swallowed.
And despite my joy with her I give her space.
All I want to do is throw in the air in celebration and victory.
But I can see Miss7 needs a few moment to literally get her breath back...

You ready?
Miss7: 'Hic... Hic... Yep'

Miss7 knew what I meant.
I launch her into the air and catch her as softly as I can. It's lucky the pool doesn't have a low roof. As I am so happy and elated for her, for us, I throw her pretty darn high. Hence the super soft catching. Miss7 giggles in my arms.
And I tell how brilliant she is and proud I am of her for never giving up. Because I hella am.
We head off to get her victory chocolate milkshake, order new 20m badge!, and to let Miss7 rest. As she is utterly knackered.
Excellent fighting Miss7. Excellent.
X

(Totally official and stuff…)