One of those light-bulb moments

Barry with a bunch of Dad's Sweet Peas, 1950

If you recall, last week Barry struggled to play Bingo with ten cards from a standard pack, plus milk-bottle tops to indicate a winner. He had to listen to the caller, check his layout to see if he had the called card, either raise his hand or call 'got it', and place the bottle-top on the card. This was all too much for him, and the stress - bordering on panic - was apparent in his body language. He relied on my to identify the card, and often did not quite get the gist of what I was saying to him. We spent some time reading the 'Daily Telegraph' our city tabloid paper with a reading age of about 11 years. He talked about the photos of ANZAC Day, but the only word he could read was 'and'. He was quite happy to look at the photos and chat on from there.

Howewver, this week when I arrived, Barry was perched on his bed doing a brand-new book of Sudokos. He had finished all the 'easy' pages and was into the games labelled 'medium'. He was enjoying himself by the looks of it. I did not check to see if the games were correct. That is condescending and rude. However, he was filling them in in biro and there was no crossings-out that I noticed. He explained to me how to do Sudoku.

Barry in Pa Coles' backyard in Drummoyne, c early 1948

We went along to the Activity Room to wait for the Catholic Mass to commence at 1030am. [Bary remembered that the priest wanted him to go to Confession prior to giving him communion.] I pulled out a box of Animal Dominoes that I play with Alannah. He had no problem playing this at all. He remembered the rules from childhood, and corrected me on a couple of issues. I always stand corrected in these circumstances. So, he could recognise the animals. He knew which dominoes were doubles. He knew how to turn corners. Can you see a pattern here? The cards are symbols [numbers and suites]. The dominoes are symbols: Lion, tiger, elephant, hippo, monkey, bear, Red Panda. Symbols and numbers are processed by a different part of the brain to words and language. Then I shuffed the deck of cards. I asked him to put them into four piles by suite. Not a problem. He even removed the Jokers and put them separately. Them I asked him to sort each suite from Ace up to King in order. Not a problem, indeed, he presorted in his fingers, defly going from one run to another. He was quite chuffed. Then the priest came over and took him aside for Confession. We were told that Barry's stroke resulted in a pool of blood lying in the centre of his left hemisphere. My guess is that this is the temporal lobe. But 'tis nowt but a guess.

Barry and Julie, Hunter Street, Hornsby, c 1950

The importance of 'pre-'

Kindy and preschool are all about 'pre' stuff: pre-reading, pre-number, pre-writing. In fact, pre-paration. Getting a child ready for learning, involves them learning HOW to learn. It is a cliche nowadays, to say that learning is not about the absorption of facts, but learning how to find facts, learning what facts are important, and learning where to find them. To me, though, that doesn't cut the mustard. Learning has always been about technique, and attitude, and howto. Rarely has it been about the accumulation of facts. That is an autistic response. I'll jump into the deep end: a law degree teaches one how to think critically and laterally; working in a law firm will help one to seek out facts.

In reading, the 'pre' stuff is getting toddlers to appreciate that the marks on a page are what an adult is saying, that we are 'reading' those marks close to the picture. That these marks always 'read' the same. That we are not quixotic. We don't make things up each time. That the marks go from left to right. Sure, we can describe the picture, chat about it, but that will vary each and every time. And although that has its attractions, humans crave certainty. They crave the familiar. Tthe marks tell more about the pictures in a consistent, replicable way. This can be broadened into the environment. There are marks everywhere that can be read. Like on the side of a bus, or the side of a truck, on the roof of a taxi. Or a sign on the road that says STOP, at which few cars actually stop.

Something similar goes with writing. There is a link between writing and reading. As well as reading the marks. We can write marks, and then read them and they are consistently the same. Toddlers enjoy realising the link between speaking, reading, and writing. They adore language and the control that so obviously comes from a proficiency in it.


Up here where I am keying this, Alannah sits where I am now, and I stand beside her. She can have as many pieces of paper as she wants - each piece is a quarter of A4 - and she does ask for more when she has finished.

Up until today, I have offered her a black texta, and four coloured textas. Today she would only use black, possibly because I only write with black. I make marks with the coloured textas but do not (and cannot) read those coloured marks to her. She is a most observant child - she does a heap of silent, wide-eyed watching.

Usually, I ask if she would like me to write her name. That is how it starts. But today, she said she was writing Alannah. So underneath, after she had finished, I wrote Alannah. Then she said 'Jane' just like that, and wrote it. I had not heard her say Jane before. I wrote Jane on the bottom of the sheet after Alannah. Then I asked her if she wanted me to write 'Lynn', and she gave a shy grin, and nodded. I wrote Lynn, then she wrote Lynn. Pretty much over the top of Alannah. Then, I pointed to both our writings, and said that we had written her name. And I poked her in the chest, repeating her name. All this writing can be seen in the first image.

The others followed suit, in order, Mummy, Daddy, Grandad, Ma. She knows that Ma is very short. And I think the 'stabs' (or dots) are her way of writing something short. She was very noisy when writing Ma. Nearly shouting. Yet Mummy, Daddy, and Grandad all look different from either Alannah or Ma. They are all long, with lots of ups and downs. She has seen these words lots of times. But never before have I seen her consciously set out to write them.

Today, Alannah's writing came before mine. she was writing, whereas prior to today she had been colouring in my writing. Today she was communicating, whereas prior to today she had still been listening to something. Today, she was joining in a conversation.


I *think* this understanding of writing could be going hand in hand with my asking if she would like me to read the 'words' in the book 'Rudie Nudie' which are words that appear to float across the top of the page. I read them slowly, and with great theatricality. Alannah will then use her finger to float across where the words are, and will sing-song read. I also read the pictures to her. I don't make up the story in my own words, but I point to a smile on the face of a character that might indicate happiness and pleasure. Stuff like that.

I was telling this to Alannah's Mummy that evening. And it transpires that on Tuesday, when they had been at Camp Cove, before the rain began, another push-forward had manifested itself. To quote Kirsten:

Yesterday at the beach I asked her what she wanted me to write and she said Alannah. I wrote Alannah. What next? Mummy. I wrote Mummy. Ma. I wrote Ma. What about Grandad? Nod. Daddy. Etc. I wrote them lots of times because the waves kept washing the words away.

'Rudie Nudie', written and illustrated by Emma Quay, ABC Books, 2011