How I Spent My Summer Vacation, and What it Taught Me About Critical Thinking

It was sometime around eleven pm on our last evening in the RV-cluttered, government-operated, lakeside campground when The Girl (who we thought was sleeping) summoned us to the tent and as humbly, as a nearly-three year old can manage, told us that she needed some help with brushing her teeth. Um, really? Yup. She had painted her doll, herself, and half of the contents of the tent with the minty-fresh slime of warm toothpaste from her mother’s bag. We suppressed our nagging mix of annoyance and bewilderment, stifled our laughter, and started dragging sticky items from our rain-dampened dark tent and into the fully-serviced warmth and running water relative cleanliness of grandma and grandpa’s trailer one site over. And something in my head clicked. Epiphany. You know how those work, right? Something that had been processing away in my skull for many months regarding the trials and tribulations of my life found a weird little pattern-based metaphor in the whole little adventure in the woods and it all started to make an odd bit of sense.

Now I must retreat once more to some additional background information to continue bringing meaning to this anecdote: earlier that day we had had something of a heated arguement on the definition of ‘camping’ in the context of what counted as true camping-camping, and what didn’t. My assertion, boy scout that I once was, stood firmly grounded in some quasi-idealistic notion of shivering in the deep woods, wrapped in a blanket eating a poorly cooked meal from a tin plate around a low fire and nursing a collection of bug bites and sore muscles acquired on the day-long trek from where we left the car and where we eventually pitched our tent. This, of course, was contrasted with current so-called camping experience of playing card games in a heated trailer, drinking microwaved beverages, and occasionally updating our Facebook status on our cell phone while one trailer and about ten feet over our neighbors watched movies on their 37 inch LCD over the never-ending drone of their air conditioner. True enough, we were all out in the bushes… but camping? Not by my definition. Not really.

Maybe I wasn’t enjoying the moment. Fair enough, my check in with the wired world was sending me updates from TAM8 via Twitter bits and Facebook pics of my skeptical bros downing pints with Richard Dawkins et al. All that while I swatted mosquitoes and nursed a warm beer cringing every time some kid shouted to his friends, or some big diesel truck grumbled by either one shaking The Girl once again from her nearly sleeping state. I’d rather have been in Vegas, of course. But I wasn’t. And my father quotient sucked because roasting marshmallows with my daughter and niece was second in my mind to not only that skeptical conference but that nagging regret that accompanies one’s thoughts any time life altering events blister with the seeping could-have-been moments of some other alternate timeline.

Are you getting a sense for my state of mind yet? Adrift in what-ifs, idealizing against my reality, and stuck in one of those parenting moments where the reality I had chosen to pursue had created a problem (toothpaste chaos) that had an ideal solution (kitchen sink) that required me to surrender those ideals (what IS camping?) for simple practicality (a clean child.)

Here’s where you ask about the whole promised metaphor thing: “Tell us then… why is skepticism like a camping trip?”

And here’s where I extrapolate the perceptions of different realities between those two (apparently abstract) concepts and explain that it’s very much like camping in at least three ways: (1) everyone camps for different reasons, (2) everyone has a different definition, and thus expectation, from camping, and (3) camping is an uncomfortable sidestep from the day-to-day reality in which we all exist, but a sidestep we usually choose to take for reasons contingent on the aforementioned two previous points.

Now… wait for it… here is where you ask about the relevance: “Epiphany, schmiphany. What’s your point? ”

Alright, then. If you’ve thus far come up short on my subtle bit of roasted-marshmallow-induced quasi-enlightenment, here’s the abbreviated primer: I’ve been holding inside my head this idealized notion of the perfect camping trip for so long, pining for the long lost days of hard-core backpacking and survivalist trekking, that the moments in which I get to do something that roughly approximates camping — events that are oh so much different from that snobbish definition I tout — are lost on what it isn’t, rather than finding purchase in what it is. My moment of insight about my role as a skeptic struck me in tandem with my moment of insight about my role as a camper: ideals seldom exist anywhere but in our minds. And like camping, trying to be something beyond what I could simply offer as a schmuck of a dad trying to foster an atmosphere of critical thought in my house was an ideal that was ruining the day-to-day, moment-by-moment reality of how much I actually do enjoy just pontificating on skeptical topics, pursuing critical parenthood, and being part of the effort to bring a bit more rationality to an irrational world… and that — regardless of the consequences beyond my four walls, of which there have been multiple this year — the imperfect, non-ideal state of this effort is still an effort worth pursuing, and much better than dreaming of something less flawed that may never happen.

Obvious? Perhaps. But sometimes the evidence for our own flaws lies fixed in places quite unexpected… like a quiet lake in the middle of the prairies filled with squat, white recreational vehicles each stuffed with people who may not be camping as per the definitions of some, but are out enjoying something nearly as good.

But… well, maybe someday… a dad can still dream, right?

When I was a teenager I had an unspoken agreement with my father. I could watch R-rated movies at home under one condition: Any time so much of as the suggestion of a nipple or pubic hair appeared on the screen dad retained the right to jump from where he sat on the couch and cover the screen with his body, arms waving madly and distractingly in front of the picture, and block the scene from view. Televisions were still small enough back then. I called it the nudity dance. Of course, I had little to complain about: the only thing overtly censored in our house was a little innocent nudity and scenes of (largely consensual) sex despite he fact that we were a fairly religious family. The jumping and waving about — obviously memorable — often left us kids casting knowing glances at each other and laughing in confusion at the moment. Now from the perspective of a parent, I can begin to somewhat understand how that desire to filter media from one’s kid can be irrationally — almost instinctively — strong. But, as illogical as this censorship might have seemed (both then and now) I’ve started to wonder if there was a bit of skeptical rationality at play, too.

The filter was small, however. Were his only objective that I follow in his moral belief system (at least more rigidly than I’ve done) dad would have been far better to filter the more intellectually challenging material that crossed my path (such as the piles of science fiction novels I read that were so often subtle treatises on alternate philosophies.) But he didn’t and so this isn’t an argument for or against the definition of such a filter, only a skeptical look at how it is often applied and the meaning derived from its application. The filter may have been small, but the effect… well, that now seems quite big, arguably emerging as a key factor in how I now filter the barrage of information I face each and every day.

In thinking back on these experiences, and considering my perception of the quaint oddness of dad’s blocking of the television from such content — content that was admittedly of great interest to most any teenage boy — I’m left to wonder what exactly he was blocking. I suggest here that maybe the content wasn’t the point: resourceful kid that I was, and had my interest been so inclined, I could have named a dozen friends (for each a point of swagger and bravado) and twice as many other sources of far less restricted access to porn. I mean, by thirteen, anyone without such access either didn’t care or hadn’t bothered trying. And this was pre-Internet. I dare not even offer a guess at the exponential increase in access that has since occurred.

Any father extrapolating back to his own childhood and assuming a general, relative increase in availability over time, should have assumed that blocking, restricting, and demonizing said material was a futile pursuit. What I can only presume then is that there was a meaning in the message that only years later — as a parent myself — begins to make sense.

But how does one then rationally — skeptically and logically — apply a filter to the media (and by this I mean television, movies, radio, books, and web content) pouring in ever increasing volumes across the gaze of our kids? And should we? I suppose the first question that must be explored is why might we need to filter?

Depending on where one grows up, perception of the subjective morality of content is very different. I recall my first trip to Europe. (Need I go on?) Visiting from the upright, mock-Victorian-style virtues of small town Western Canada, the streets of Amsterdam, London, or Paris are bubbling over with raw sexuality. It became very obvious to me, even based on that trip alone, the filters projected by my parents upon me as I grew up were hardly universal. In that way, it can hardly be obvious to claim a standard for right and wrong; Note I say neither impossible nor unlikely, just not obvious. Moral philosophers have been arguing these points for centuries, and this is no place for such an argument.

One humble possibility emerges in popular psychology. I’ve been reading on Freud lately and it got me thinking about ego and id. Freud broke down the unconscious mind’s id into the factors of life-seeking and death-seeking. I doubt that he meant that deep down we were all suicidal, but the latter — death-seeking — is often applied to the universal search for peace and quiet, escape, or solitude. In this way, our desire to escape into media — the narratives of books and movies, et cetera — might be deemed to fulfill an id-like desire. Through such escape, the isolation of bits of reality is an attempt for our minds to find peace between the activities of our lives. That is to say, by consuming media we could be — extrapolating from Freud — forcing ourselves to focus and drown out the rest of reality while we isolate a single element of information and absorb it in the form of a description or narrative. In this way, it could be argued, that perhaps we are unconsciously compelled towards the entertainment provided by a seemingly unlimited quantity of information and media. That’s not to say our consumption of media is necessary, but easily and arguably (in a way and using the definition loosely) addictive.

Such an analysis does put the moral perspective on media consumption into a different light for parents concerned about filtering media in a rational way. For such a parent, the throttle-back of content into the minds of our young charges becomes less a kind of moral stopper of the content and more a kind of lesson in regulated dose. It is then no longer just about blocking it — or even censoring it at all — but rather about inducing a kind of perceived understanding of both a larger, societal taboo towards some kinds of information and an introduction to a culture increasingly overwhelmed by the availability of that information.

In keeping with my own example, it might not have been that my father was banning such content completely — forbidding it or censoring images of nudity and sex in our house, then — but rather giving the message that dosage and control are important factors, too. He jumped in front of the television and blocked the screen not because of what we might have seen but rather because it was his job to help us understand that filters do exist — should exist — agree with them or not, and that those were his. Just as like he conveyed with, for example, alcohol — it exists, we partake, but until you are old enough and responsible enough, not in our house — media and information got the object lesson on responsible substance-abuse. Obvious, right?

I might argue that from this perspective, moral philosophy and the nature of the content in media — good, bad, right or wrong — then becomes a mere definition. It would follow that the greater and higher meaning of such actions are drawn from the way we first learn, then teach in a rational way, about the responsible consumption and control of that media.

That isn’t to say subjective morality is non-existent or irrelevant. On the contrary. Numerous studies are available that show correlations between childhood diet and television^[1] or childhood aggression and media.^[2] And as a humanist I’m hardly in a position to be interested in enforcing any form of morality on anyone. If parents want to be a Ned Flanders (satellite TV, with nearly all of the two hundred and thirty channels blocked out!) go nuts. Again, this isn’t an argument for or against the definition of such a filter, only a skeptical look at how it is often applied and the meaning derived from its application. As a humanist I’m not interested in interfering in the moral framework of others, but as a skeptic I insist that framework be a rational one.

So then, from the perspective of a parent can filtering of media be rational? Or put in another way, was my dad onto something logical when he did his television dance or was he merely enforcing a vague moral rule without reason or context? And what is the lesson for the skeptical parent with the job of figuring out if and how to filter media from their child?

Would it be stating the obvious to suggest that these rules are completely fluid and possibly irrelevant? Morality, after all, is only a definition and definitions of such abstract concepts by their nature are fluid, changing and evolving to meet our needs for meaning. It is the meaning that is important and the context that makes it such. And a filter applied rationally might not be a filter applied because of the definitions it inhibits, but rather a filter applied because of the meaning it conveys. That is to say, an irrational filter may seek to hide bare breasts where a rational filter might teach that the context for seeing bare breasts needs to fit into a framework of behavior and broad spectrum of moral opinions. Even a proponent of the strictest propriety would have reason to admit that the best lessons are those that are backed by evidence, and a filter with neither meaning nor context remains merely a definition of one individual’s version of right and wrong.

How then is the filter to be applied? And should it be applied? I suppose the rational response to such a question is that parents have little choice but to apply some kind of filter to the stories and images that enter the minds of their child. My dad’s literal barricade of the scenes from the television may have done little to prevent me from access to such content, but nonetheless impressed upon me the understanding of a broader sense of responsibility and control around it, whether he intended that lesson or not. Practically, a skeptical parent might extrapolate the lesson here any many ways; Perhaps we select certain channels or quantities of time to watch television, limit the number of scary stories we read before bed, or shun advertising by fast-forwarding or turning down the volume on the tv or radio. The things we choose to filter are personal choices, but arguably irrelevant. What becomes obvious later on — the unstated lesson — is that we filter at all, and it’s how we keep control and in-check the information (from media or elsewhere) that will bombard us for the rest of our lives.

References

[1] D . Borzekowski, The 30-Second Effect An Experiment Revealing the Impact of Television Commercials on Food Preferences of Preschoolers. Journal of the American Dietetic Association , Volume 101 , Issue 1 , Pages 42 – 46

[2] Thomas N. Robinson, MD, MPH; Marta L. Wilde, MA; Lisa C. Navracruz, MD; K. Farish Haydel; Ann Varady, MS, Arch Pediatr Adolesc Med. Effects of Reducing Children’s Television and Video Game Use on Aggressive Behavior , 2001;155:17-23. http://archpedi.ama-assn.org/cgi/content/abstract/155/1/17

While I gladly accept comments on the general blog areas of skepdad.ca, in keeping with the magazine-style of this bimonthly publication article, comment here are closed and feedback can be submitted in the form of letters to the editor using the contact form. The best letters and responses will be published in an upcoming issue.

If, as some toy-makes claim there is so much to be learned from a simple toy, why don’t we have some kind of standard label — something like the nutrition label on the side of a food package — to help parents decide which are the best toys for their kids? I’m sure any skeptical parent’s first reaction to this statement is fairly obvious: because these kinds of claims have a bad track record of turning up as bunk. The thing is, the real value in any product claim comes not from the claims themselves, but from the collective standardization of claims that give them context and meaning. But what does that mean?

I vividly recall the first time I encountered a bloated set of learning objectives tagged to the side of a baby toy. I wish it were something more glamorous, one of those Mozart music-for-babies discs or some infant flash card set, for example. Instead it came to me in the form of a mere yellow rubber duck. But then I shouldn’t be so surprised; Perhaps I would have been more willing to accept the claims had the toy been something far less mundane. Who can say? I wrote about the experience a couple years back on the blog, the tag I then quoted (but long since having tossed) reading: “[the brand name] Toys are specifically designed to stimulate development of your baby. Because the toys are designed intelligently, using colour, sound, and feel as key stimulation aids, your child will quickly discover that learning is fun!”^[1] This claim, strung from the neck of the yellow plastic bath toy by a small elastic band, may not have gone to the lengths of some more ambitious learning objectives I’ve since seen, but ultimately played a big role in sparking my interest in debunking the value of such claims as a skeptical parent.

I have doubts that as parents we fall for this stuff as easily as the toy companies believe. In some ways I’d suggest it’s a game of don’t-ask-don’t-tell; We buy the toys because we think they are good toys. Or — more likely — we buy the toys because our kids think they are good toys. Sure, we read the product claims on the side, maybe react somewhere between a disbelieving laugh and approving nod, thinking ‘well, what could it hurt…’ Sure. But then like every other aspect of skeptical bunk-busting, there ARE true believers, particularly when said claims go beyond vague promises of infant development. “The baby-educating industry has found a receptive audience of parents eager to enrich their offspring. One survey shows that 65 percent of parents believe that flash cards are ‘very effective’ in helping two-year-olds develop their intellectual capacity. And more than a third of the parents surveyed believe that playing Mozart to their infants enhances brain development.” ^[2]

Then, maybe it IS just the more skeptical among us who are laughing at the boxes. Or, maybe it’s the depth of the claim that decides who falls for it? Perhaps we are pressured into belief by our existing preconceptions of what products should be able to do for our kids? Or maybe… well, the list could go on.

As Skeptics we tend to be notoriously strong critics of these sorts of claims on foods or drugs. But why is that? True, those claims have the capacity to do real harm and are arguably more immediately dangerous to the suckers who fall for them. But then, not-so-life-threatening bunk has earned its share of skeptical ink, too.

This isn’t an article about bad claims or a need to debunk them. (That’s a topic for another article.) This is more of an exploration beyond the learning objectives — vague value propositions — slapped to the sides of kid’s products and why those products will likely never — arguably, should never — have something akin to nutrition-type or medical-type labels on their boxes.

So, let’s take a look at nutrition labels. Here in Canada (similar to other places in the world) nutrition information is mandated and regulated by the government to appear in a little black and white box on the side of every salable food product. “Canadian regulation tightly controls the manner in which the nutrition fact table (NFT) data is laid out. There is a wide variety of possible formats for use on a given food package. A selection hierarchy is used to select among the many formats (28 main formats, and 2-7 subformats for each).” ^[3] Why is this? I suppose, having seen the food industry from the inside, it has little to do with directly selling the product. Getting accurate information this box for any given food product is an extra cost for the manufacturer. Labeling is far from free. And as a public cost, we pay both indirectly (trickle down) and directly (government regulation and enforcement) for this service. Presumably we’ve come to a consensus as a society that this is a cost we are willing to pay and that it has value, particularly since the information is both (a) applicable to our interaction with the product and (b) based in evidence. This information has context. It has meaning. These are not just claims for the sake of claims, or to entice us to buy the product. In fact, sometimes those same claims help us decide NOT to buy the product. These claims (and I call them claims because their format — white panel on the side versus bright font with exclamation marks on the front — is irrelevant and merely akin to a definition) help us make choices about safety and diet in the form of calories, salt, fat, and fiber.

Again: context.

Is that then the obvious answer with regard to labeling other products, such as the numerous claims slapped across the boxes of children’s toys, furniture, clothing, diapers, and media? Is it about context?

Let’s ignore for the moment that few toys could be standardized and quantified in the same way as we do with food. We might suppose that we could label the box with quantifiable things like plastic, metal, wood, or fibre content, decibel level, durability, weight, dimensions, and even the systems used in manufacture and delivery and their possible by-products. That would give us a fairly good definition of the product, but then the million dollar question: does it provide us with context? And, more importantly, does it provide us with a context that we could link to a perceived value for us to pay as a society and consumers (because… remember all those direct and indirect costs?)

Now, readers are likely thinking but, wait a minute… what happened to those other claims like “using colour, sound, and feel as key stimulation aids” or that listening to Mozart makes babies smarter? The thing is, those who have been following along get the obvious assertion here: their value is actually relatively meaningless. The meaning — if they could derive any at all — is not in the claims themselves, but the fact that claims with such meaning get that meaning from the context upon which they’ve been built.

And in the case of all these gleaming products to help us raise our kids, that context simply doesn’t exist.

References

[1] Words from the tag of a toy duck, previously referenced: http://www.skepdad.ca/2007/over-educated-toys/

[2] Kathy Hirsh-Pasek Ph.D., Roberta Michnick Golinkoff Ph.D., Diane Eyer Ph.D., Einstein Never Used Flash Cards: How Our Children Really Learn — And Why They Need to Play More and Memorize Less, 2004

[3] Wikipedia, January 31, 2010, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nutrition_facts_label

While I gladly accept comments on the general blog areas of skepdad.ca, in keeping with the magazine-style of this bimonthly publication article, comment here are closed and feedback can be submitted in the form of letters to the editor using the contact form. The best letters and responses will be published in an upcoming issue.

A good friend of mine teaches high school here in Canada and while she loves the job because of the interaction with students, from her stories I would probably be led to assume that this love is balanced by an equal (but unspoken) loathing of the parents. She reluctantly recalls sad tales of parents who both implicitly and explicitly have suggested it her job — and solely her job — to educate their kids. And if at first blush readers are wondering why that is such an outrageous suggestion, consider that the context for raising and educating any child has likely never been so far from obvious as it is in a society that so easily seems to find trouble defining that education.

As skeptical parents does it matter how we define education? Or is it merely stating the obvious to suggest we just get on with the teaching our kids? For we parents who seek a rational approach, perhaps in hopes of providing the most balanced and critical education for our kids, one that we can understand and have hope of contributing to as participant and co-educators, these differences of opinions — differences of definition of what defines a good education — are troubling. If we can’t agree on definition, then what hope do we have of moving onto the debate around context and purpose?

Still confused?

If it helps, think of the aforementioned difference in opinion between (one) teacher and (one) parent as something of a simple disagreement on definition; And the conflict builds as the teacher wanting to do the best for both the student and the theory is told by this particular parent, flat-out suggesting of his son: “I’ve given up. You teach him something.” The teacher views the definition of education in one light, the parent in another. The student is caught in between. And what I think shines most plainly from such a mess is that by arguing at the level of definition both teacher and parent cannot easily find a practical context for the student to actually learn — at least not optimally.

And for the newbie skeptical parent looking to enter the fray, what is this so-called context? And why does it even matter? For now we’ll consider that context the goal of this article and that it is temporarily lost in semantics.

My friend — unnamed here because teachers should not be telling tales out of school — could likely be labeled as a skeptic, though she has not yet adopted the title herself. I am certain her innately rational view of the world influences her perception of the frustrating misunderstanding by parents of an otherwise carefully planned and idealized teacher-student role in the equation of a larger philosophy of education. And as she tells me stories such as this, implied in these stories is that she has set her mind on a set purpose and practical definition of formal education and her job in relation to that. Fair enough, but her definition may easily be just one in a constellation of others. So, to give readers an idea of the depth of this confusion, six broad definitions follow:

Definition 1: Formal Education as a Right…

It could be argued that the perception of education as a unilateral human right is not a bad thing. As skeptics we tend to champion the idea of higher learning, critical thought, and balanced rational development of the mind through both formal and informal education. I was reminded recently of the emotional tug that the abstract concept of education is capable of exerting on the heart when a television commercial pleaded for donations to help send young girls in some faraway country to school. I was bolstered in my belief of the importance of education as students gathered at the local legislature to rally against budget cuts to education. And I felt the inevitable warmth of parenthood when I recently realized that the Girl will — in a few short years — be heading to school herself, and not by a question of ‘if’ but merely a question of ‘when’ and ‘where.’ We spend so many years of our life despising school (perhaps as a result of some pop cultural zeitgeist derived from teen movies) that when it’s over we’re just so glad to be done that it takes us a few years to look back and think with gratitude upon the rare experience — the rare right — that we’ve been granted by virtue of when and where we happened to be alive.

Definition 2: Formal Education as a Commodity…

Alternatively, the perception of education as a product to be bought and sold is more rampant than many have stopped to consider. At the highest levels, education — at least in Canada — tends to be portrayed as a cost and not an investment. Teachers are paid fair salaries, but operate as invisible service providers save for the occasional labour strike. Learning is sliced into grades, grades sliced into curriculum and subjects, and subjects are sliced into lessons with both absolute objectives and per-student costs. Education is something that happens in schools, boxed, neat, tidy, and out-of-sight from we grown-ups who’ve done our learning and don’t have time for more lest it be termed advanced training or professional development, and only then parceled into a budget under the heading of taxable benefit. An even rarer few of us enroll in ‘continuing education’ but more often than not as some kind of eclectic hobby that we attend to optionally and think of as a form of alternative entertainment. And if nothing else, we buy our learning in the form of educational language programs, do-it-yourself books, or so-called educational software from the store. The list could go on, but the conclusion is the same; we have made a business of trading knowledge as a marketable commodity.

Definition 3: Formal Education as a Propaganda…

As skeptics we’ve likely all felt the sting of prejudice based on our relative level of education. I recall my own disgust at how the word “elite” or the idea that someone with an advanced degree has been used politically both in Canada and elsewhere as a means to imply that there is a unbalanced class system at work in society, and that education distances those who have it from some abstract state of “being in touch” with those who have less. Our previous federal election was bent in one solid direction on the notion that one of the candidates was somehow flawed (and if not flawed, incapable of balanced leadership) because he was educated. And more so, I might personally suggest, it was not merely that he was educated, but educated in a system that was perceived somewhat apart from the agreed upon average education or obtainable institution to which most citizens can hope to belong. Thus, under the banner of education as propaganda I would also suggest falls a number of ideas about institutional and organizational learning, at the basic end learning such as those differences implied by so-called ivy-league educations to those from closed-door, employee-only corporate and business environments to something as seemingly innocent (and and far more entrenched) in Sunday Schools around the world. Here the content is not as important to this discussion on definition, as is the premise that each exists to educate (overtly or not) as a form of sharing an ideology. And thus, yet another facet of the formal education question emerges.

Definition 4: Formal Education as a Philosophy…

A fourth definition emerges from my own previous life as an educator; around the turn of the millennium I spent some time training for a bachelors degree in education, optimistic that it might one day lead to employment as a teacher. (I changed my mind, eventually.) In participating in those courses — ethics, psychology and theory classes — I was exposed to all manner of abstract education research theory, psychological modalities, and education philosophies. At a very simply level this manifests itself in the form of grade-levels and achievement-rankings. It is a formalized way of quantifying education, but gets even more complex when that quantification enters the realm of textbook-level theory. For example, I spent a good deal of time — and as I recall, ink as well — understanding the basis and bias of Piaget’s four stages of learning (sensorimotor period, preoperative period, concrete operational stage, and formal operational stage.) The core of this theory looks to break down learning into defined stages correlated with brain development and the effects of various kinds of educational inputs, a theory that I cannot hope to do justice in a quick summary. The point is not the theory (and definitely not the value of these theories) but rather that such work, easily categorized as just another — albeit highly formalized and evidence-based — definition of formal education, adds yet another level of complexity to the semantics of our discussion.

Definition 5: Formal Education as Entertainment…

A fifth definition is found in society’s current need to be entertained while learning. More-so even than that “educational programming” has literally become a genre on our televisions, I’m thinking of my own involvement in both curriculum development and working through schools to promote advanced education. This work has often left me to consider the common sentiment: “you gotta grab their attention to keep them interested.” Here I risk descending into the age-old rant of ‘back in my day’ and suggesting that modern education systems have — perhaps — been increasingly bombarded by a culture that supposes its better to entertained than bored. There is no value judgment here. We’re I to hunt down research on this, maybe it would result in a positive effect to the value of formal education. Or maybe not. Also, this may or may not be a professional perception. I think it might simply be a definition adopted by those who have fallen into that cultural zeitgeist mentioned in a previous definition, that school and education is something to be endured and to fix this we must make it fun. But then, recall this a discussion on definition and I would suggest that there is a genuine and heartfelt perception that education needs to compete on a level of defining itself as entertainment, that school should engage kids at a level beyond the level of knowledge for its own sake. And yes, another conflicting definition for our list.

Definition 6: Formal Education as an Institution…

A final definition falls out of not what it should be or the way that it is viewed, but rather distinctly around who should be doing it. Consider for a moment the ongoing debate on homeschooling; one side argues that proper societal development of social interaction, openness to diversity, communication skills, and willingness to collaborate come from the institutionalized nature of the classroom. The other side argues that schools fail to teach morality, passion, and practical interaction with the world, and what is taught is done so by an underpaid civil servant. But again, this is not a debate on the merit of either side (I’ll save that for another post.) Rather it is yet another example of the definition by which society chooses to label formal education in 2010. I could go on, but I think readers likely get the point….

My goal here has not been to suggest that any of these definitions have any more merit than any other, or that their internal questions should be pulled in one particular direction. Nor is it my goal to suggest that the debate is entirely devoid of discussion beyond definition. Instead, my goal is to suggest that as we think about our kid’s educations — as parents — we will likely face each of these (and many more) definitions. And hidden in these definitions is the prospect and threat of (our own personal) distraction from more interesting and important things to debate than semantics. Our acceptance of each helps (or hinders) our general involvement in the process, and likely this understanding has a great effect on the quality and quantity of education our kids will receive. This mish-mash of definitions is merely splitting metaphorical hairs, and being aware that the value for our kids comes not from the definitions themselves, but from the context we derive from moving beyond this semantic debate.

As I asked earlier, what then is this so-called context and why does it even matter? To suggest one single answer to this question, let’s go back to the simple statement by one parent to one teacher: “I’ve given up. You teach him something.” I would argue that this is not only a case of mistaken definition, but a case where by mistaking the definition the student is lost in a discussion lacking context. Both teacher and parent assume that the question of “what is learning?” is just defined as a ‘thing’ easily categorized and completed: a job to be done, a role to be played, time to be endured, or an institution in which to be enrolled. But the rational parent will struggle to poke their head above this categorization and forget about how education is defined. The skeptical parent is one that gets that there is more to learning for our kids than any one definition can possibility encompass. Instead, by understanding that only by moving beyond the idea of trying to define a role for each of the players in the process — the teacher does this, the parent does that, the state does yet another thing — that our kids also realize their learning actually has a deeper meaning.

While I gladly accept comments on the general blog areas of skepdad.ca, in keeping with the magazine-style of this bimonthly publication article, comment here are closed and feedback can be submitted in the form of letters to the editor using the contact form. The best letters and responses will be published in an upcoming issue.

It is more and more often these days that I encounter some quirky experience while hanging about and doing that parenting-thing. Maybe in wearing my “skepdad hat” I merely notice these quirks more readily. No matter the reason, these experiences then prompt me to think about how I could approach new pieces for a new article or volume of this blog. This first issue (finally you might say) is no exception. For example, recently I was minding my own business, enjoying the weekend routine of fatherhood, and I was pinched on my (metaphorical) skeptical nerve by a comment that nearly made me spit my coffee onto a room full of colourful playground equipment.

This particular anecdote begins with a parachute.

Think of this issue of the skepdad blog as an editorial on definitions. If I was to write, for example, that the meaning one might derive from a collection of words on a page is deeply dependent on the way in which one chooses to define those words, one might argue counter to that premise and state that, well, no actually; Definition is secondary. Presumably meaning is more than the sum of the parts. We’ve agreed on definitions for the words, but the way that they are strung together into ideas is what matters. Who cares what the definitions might be; that’s the obvious part. Get a dictionary if you want to ponder definitions. Ideas are built around definitions, but are emergent within context and purpose.

We registered the Girl in a weekend toddler gymnastics group. It has nothing to do with much, beyond the fact that we live in a cold climate with snow and wind and freezing drizzle that renders outdoor play spaces unwelcoming for at least a few months in the middle of each winter. Gymnastics equals an hour of access to an indoor, heated play space with other kids — while dad grabs a coffee. There are slides, foam shapes, blocks, balls, mats, toys, and other kids. And, of course, the highlight of gymnastics is the parachute, that multi-coloured acre of soft fabric enabling a score of children and their parents to bounce, spin, cling, duck, bounce, wave and ripple their way to fun in a gibbering frenzy of other kids and with a toy larger than most should have at home.

How does one define a parachute? I suppose I just provided one possible definition at the tail end of the previous paragraph. But then that’s just being literal from my parenting context, no? There are many other more practical definitions I could have used, most involving leaping from aircraft. But here I’ve stated what I perceive the parachute to be for me, and where meaning comes is in the context of how that parachute was used. It is possible that one could redefine the parachute in a learning context; The leader of the gymnastics group opted to define the parachute to her class as a “big colourful mixing bowl” into which she tossed balls and fuzzy toys and a couple of stray children. “Mix up the food.” She shouted as the children and parents laughed and shook the edges of the fabric sending the objects in the middle into temporary chaos. Does it matter if one defines a parachute this way? No. It is pretending. It is play. It is any number of… “Hey kids!” The leader shouts to the room. “By pretending that our toys are food we are developing our ‘symbolic thinking’ skills and working towards becoming ‘critical thinkers.’”

She actually said this. Aloud. And this is where I nearly spit my coffee across the room.

I’ll give the leader the benefit of the doubt. Some program designer somewhere developed this tidy script using an abstract definition coupled to some pop-psychology terminology with the side-goal of giving the group leader an excuse to state the obvious to parents — to redefine play and step away from the context and purpose to fulfill some vapid need to match an activity with a skill. Those are parents, by the way, who paid to hear that their kids are developing very concrete skills and not just flitting away a perfectly good Saturday morning with — gasp! — play. I checked the brochure shortly thereafter. Yup: Children in that group would be working to develop their “symbolic thinking skills.” Done and done.

This isn’t a critique, per se. As I wrote at the beginning, this is an editorial — a collection of observations throughout a handful of articles — on stating the definition of our actions and descending into checklist-parenting by reducing the process of just simply being a dad or mom to a formula that can be bought and sold. Obvious.

For this issue I’ve put together a small collection of articles on this same theme of “Stating the Obvious” and thinking about how we define the boundaries between what we do and why we do those things. First, I’ve started by thinking about the definition of education versus learning; Sure, there are qualifiers for certain types of learning, but by redefining how society thinks of formal education are we doing the kids any favours? Second, I dive into a look at one of my pet peeves; Buy a toy, book, game, or even a piece of clothing for a child in 2010 and its more likely than not to bear a stated value proposition for the kid, supposedly enhancing the purpose for buying said item. But one will notice that real value in any product claims comes not from the claims themselves, but from the collective standardization of claims that give them context and meaning. Third and finally, I take a skeptical look at how we filter media and how it just might not be stating the obvious — at least from a rational perspective — to label some good and some bad, some right and some wrong, some worthy of praise and some trash. Skeptical parents, after all, do more than just define a morality for their kids; they give that morality context.

Welcome to the first bi-monthly issue of the skepdad blog; You’re going to enjoy it… obviously.
Brad

The Articles…

…filed in “rational education” – Learning by Any Other Name
…filed in “product overhype” – Don’t Eat Your Toys
…filed in “media relations” – The Censor’s Dance

While I gladly accept comments on the general blog areas of skepdad.ca, in keeping with the magazine-style of this bimonthly publication article, comment here are closed and feedback can be submitted in the form of letters to the editor using the contact form. The best letters and responses will be published in an upcoming issue.

Critical thought and Skepticism go hand-in-hand. And for those unfamiliar with the ideology, the first thing that should be told is that this blog is nothing more than a green and fledgling member of a wide-spread, growing international community of rooted individuals seeking to share the benefits of pausing to think about the things we’ve all been told. I’m still trying to find my voice in that community, albeit from the perspective of passing those critical thinking skills onto kids. Thus, understanding what that community entails, and how skeptical fathers can tap into it to become critical thinking role models is a fundamental aspect of the mission of this blog.

I thought I would take a few minutes and compile a (admittedly very short) list of some of the multitude of definitions of “Skepticism” available on the web. But rather than plug you, dear reader, into a vague dictionary entry or lengthy Wikipedia explanation, I would point you at some of the sites owned and operated by other Skeptics in the wide community. There is no particular order for the pieces listed, nor is there any real basis for inclusion other than the pages cited have readily accessible definitions and explanations for their blogging or writing efforts — and they are pages or resources I have found personally enjoyable and useful.

But again, how does this fit into a skeptical parenting blog? The short answer: skeptical parents need to have skeptical thoughts, so read on. So, what is Skepticism, anyhow?

Brian Dunning at skeptoid.com emphasizes the critical thinking, scientific approach to skepticism. Skeptoid is a weekly critical thinking essay-style podcast that hones in on one particular topic of interest and examines it from a skeptical perspective. Among other things, this definition is a little more permissive than many with respect to belief and religion, inviting more folks into the fold on the condition of critical thought and scientific analysis:

Many skeptics are deeply religious, and are satisfied with the reasoning process that led them there. Skeptics apply critical thinking to different aspects of their lives in their own individual way. Everyone is a skeptic to some degree.^[1]

Karen Stollznow at Bad Langauge starts her analysis of the Skeptic’s dilemma with the common plea that Skepticism does not equate to cynicism, and attempts to debunk the fundamental misconception that Skeptics are curmudgeons who would rather poo-poo the world. In reality, Skepticism is about appreciating what is true and interpreting that based on questioning and evidence:

We all have the ability to question, so we should all be natural skeptics. Kids make great skeptics! They exhibit curiosity and a keenness to understand the world around them. Remember though, that children will believe that they are always being told the truth by the ‘wise’, ‘knowledgeable’ adult. ^[2]

Dr. Robert Carroll at the Skeptic’s Dictionary has written an extensive FAQ (something that I need to do) that answers numerous questions (obviously) that have been posed about his own perspective on skepticism. One of my favorite excerpts from this is his response to “why aren’t you skeptical of skepticism?” question:

Skepticism is an attitude, not a belief or set of beliefs. Skepticism involves a willingness to inquire, to investigate, to think critically about any subject. The alternative to skepticism is to accept things on faith and assert them dogmatically. Skepticism is a virtue; irrational dogmatism is a vice. There is no need to defend skepticism. Irrational dogmatism is indefensible. ^[3]

And to sum things up, the folks over at The Skeptic Society (publishers of Skeptic magazine) ask us to discover Skepticism with a plea for science and reason, and give the nod to Socrates who famously said “All I know is that I know nothing.”

…skepticism is a method, not a position. Ideally, skeptics do not go into an investigation closed to the possibility that a phenomenon might be real or that a claim might be true. When we say we are “skeptical,” we mean that we must see compelling evidence before we believe. ^[4]

If nothing else, reading any of these definitions should teach you one thing: think about everything. Critical thought is at the core of Skepticism, a — if not the — pillar of the community. But don’t take my word for it.

[1] www.skeptoid.com
[2] www.bad-language.com
[3] www.skepdic.com
[4] www.skeptic.com

Skeptical Tidbits

As a side-note, a new little (regular) feature I’m going to try out starting today: Skeptical Tidbits. At the bottom of posts I’ll be adding little random notes of various kinds. For example:

Evidence #1: New research in vaccines and autism debate slams the door on the myth. See the run-down on Science Based Medicine.

Skeptic’s Tip #1: Skepticism can also be correctly spelled with ‘c’ as in scepticism. This will double your opportunity to find great information online.

Skeptical Parenting

This is a mindset. Skeptical parenting is an approach and an outlook, a way of doing the work involved in parenting. I tend to believe — and more than ever as I work on this blog — that you cannot raise critical thinkers without being somewhat a skeptical parent, and you cannot be a skeptical parent and easily avoid raising critical thinkers. Some may argue, but the two are so entwined that it would take devotion above and beyond to accomplish. I suppose this means that at the highest level we the parents are critical thinkers ourselves. Sure, we are not perfect. Yes, we make mistakes. But the efforts we make are based around evidence and logic, decisions founded on rational responses to stories, claims, and ideas. We are role models after all. Our kids will try to emulate us. And so if our decisions about important things, including health (such as vaccines, medical procedures, drugs, fitness, and diets), spirituality (such as morality, religion, community building, and modern mythologies), and education (science, art, language, et cetera), are not made with a skeptical eye then we cannot call ourselves skeptical parents, whatever our goals. Already in this blog I’ve touched upon topics around consumerism, an element of skeptical parenting that I think is going to be revealed as a core aspect of modern element of the same. Modern advertising works hard to bombard us with false or shady claims on countless products — and we want to believe they will make our kids smarter, better, stronger, healthier, and more. As skeptical parents it is our job to evaluate — to filter, in some respect — the onslaught of society but only just enough that we can enable our goal, which is:

Raising Critical Thinkers

This is, for lack of a better word, a goal. It is also in the tag-line of this blog. Why? Because I’ve seen the Internet and there are countless awesome resources to help individuals think clearer and more rationally about their own encounters. And this is great. But when a dad wraps his arms around his innocent little kids and the thought occurs to him: how am I going to teach this little version of myself to be a critical thinker, where does he turn? Of course, this is a problem that cannot easily be solved by indoctrination. I want to make that clear, because if (as skeptical parents) we wanted to teach kids to ‘believe’ something, we would just shove it down their throats until they could recite it as rote. But, then any critical thinker will tell you that indoctrination is nothing more than a hypocritical kind of argument from authority: believe this because “I say so.” And instantly, we are not creating critical thinkers, but rather accomplishing the opposite of our goal. So, raising critical thinkers is a tricky sort of business, and I’ve started the discussion of this (somewhat) in an early post titled An Introduction to the Three Eyes where I outlined that raising critical thinkers has less to do with skepticism (at the outset) and more to do with inspiring a few core traits for worldly interaction: Independence, Integrity, and Imagination.

Thus, the efforts of this blog — a dichotomy of sorts — is summed up in a quote from my earlier article: The question that burned in the back of my mind was this: what are the the key skills that define moral, skeptical, critical thought and how would one go about imparting those skills to a child? Or, how does one accomplish the goal of raising critical thinkers, without simply indoctrinating skepticism, but while simultaneously role modeling a method of parenting that is in itself skeptical?

I hope that clears up a few things.