Twenty-one degrees and sunny.
Picture this scene : a stern stone Victorian-style building with large, high windows. A flight of wide steps leads up to the heavy wooden door with its oversized, over-ornate handle. Two-stories, with a high classical cornice. A bouquet of flags waves grandly below. This could be police headquarters or city hall. But it isn’t. The words chiselled onto the cornice are ominous : Asilo dell Infanzia. Bedlam for Bambini, then?
In one of the windows the white face of a little boy emerges from the gloom. The eyes are swollen with crying and the cheeks are wet. Holding back his tears, he waves gamely and blows a heartfelt kiss.
AJ has just completed a month at our local scuola materna in Cannobio and every day is a scene from Oliver Twist.
Scuola materna is the first step in the Italian school system. It can also be called ‘asilo’ (1), ‘scuola dell infanzia’ or ‘asilo dell infanzia’. Not to be confused with ‘asilo nido’, a nursery which takes children at a much earlier age.
Scuola materna takes children from the year in which they are three to the year in which they are six. After this they graduate to the slightly less imposing scuola elementare down the road.
Registration took place in January, when posters appeared around the comune inviting parents to register for the following September. In Cannobio this year it seems there were not enough children to make a viable class, and intake includes a number of children born in early 2005 as well as 2004.
It’s not obligatory to send your child, and you can choose between a half day (8:15am-1:15pm) or a full day (until 4:15pm). Those staying all day take a nap in the afternoon, and all children eat lunch at the school (I guess as a way of ensuring that all kids get at least one balanced meal a day – if they eat it, which AJ currently doesn’t). Parents pay for lunch, which is called, interestingly, ‘mensa’.
Scuola materna is paid for by the state, although parents are asked to provide materials such as paper, tissues, wipes, etc.
Scuola materna isn’t a bit like the play groups of the UK. Here, there is a clear didactical aim. Although there is a strong element of play, this is clearly a school environment, and by the third year, children are being introduced to their letters and numbers.
AJ has had a rough first month. He started by catching every bug on offer and was continuously poorly for the first three weeks. He and his sister have to be up at 6:30 to walk down the blessed hill and catch the bus in time, and walking back up in the afternoon after five hours of scuola is a tall order. He has sat through numerous lunches without eating anything but bread and water, despite what are probably the constant urgings of his teachers and the pressure of his peers. Not having eaten anything since 7am also doesn’t help in his walk up the hill at 2pm.
The policy on parents is that they place the child in the schoolroom and then leave. Even on the very first day – no wimpy ‘settling in’ with Mama on hand for security (and translations – AJ speaks decent German and English but as yet very little Italian). I can’t decide whether this aspect has been harder for me or for him. It’s against every natural urge to leave your child crying bitterly in a roomful of strangers, and my heart is in pieces every time I leave him.
Still, while it’s been a bumpy ride, there are signs that one day soon he’ll run into the classroom without a backward glance, eat a hearty lunch and come out with better Italian than mine.
Ci vuole tempo, as they say.
(1) while the connection to the word asylum is there in an English-speaking mind, I understand the Italian doesn't bear this undertone.
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Friday 12 October 2007
AJ at Scuola Materna
Twenty-one degrees and sunny.
Picture this scene : a stern stone Victorian-style building with large, high windows. A flight of wide steps leads up to the heavy wooden door with its oversized, over-ornate handle. Two-stories, with a high classical cornice. A bouquet of flags waves grandly below. This could be police headquarters or city hall. But it isn’t. The words chiselled onto the cornice are ominous : Asilo dell Infanzia. Bedlam for Bambini, then?
In one of the windows the white face of a little boy emerges from the gloom. The eyes are swollen with crying and the cheeks are wet. Holding back his tears, he waves gamely and blows a heartfelt kiss.
AJ has just completed a month at our local scuola materna in Cannobio and every day is a scene from Oliver Twist.
Scuola materna is the first step in the Italian school system. It can also be called ‘asilo’ (1), ‘scuola dell infanzia’ or ‘asilo dell infanzia’. Not to be confused with ‘asilo nido’, a nursery which takes children at a much earlier age.
Scuola materna takes children from the year in which they are three to the year in which they are six. After this they graduate to the slightly less imposing scuola elementare down the road.
Registration took place in January, when posters appeared around the comune inviting parents to register for the following September. In Cannobio this year it seems there were not enough children to make a viable class, and intake includes a number of children born in early 2005 as well as 2004.
It’s not obligatory to send your child, and you can choose between a half day (8:15am-1:15pm) or a full day (until 4:15pm). Those staying all day take a nap in the afternoon, and all children eat lunch at the school (I guess as a way of ensuring that all kids get at least one balanced meal a day – if they eat it, which AJ currently doesn’t). Parents pay for lunch, which is called, interestingly, ‘mensa’.
Scuola materna is paid for by the state, although parents are asked to provide materials such as paper, tissues, wipes, etc.
Scuola materna isn’t a bit like the play groups of the UK. Here, there is a clear didactical aim. Although there is a strong element of play, this is clearly a school environment, and by the third year, children are being introduced to their letters and numbers.
AJ has had a rough first month. He started by catching every bug on offer and was continuously poorly for the first three weeks. He and his sister have to be up at 6:30 to walk down the blessed hill and catch the bus in time, and walking back up in the afternoon after five hours of scuola is a tall order. He has sat through numerous lunches without eating anything but bread and water, despite what are probably the constant urgings of his teachers and the pressure of his peers. Not having eaten anything since 7am also doesn’t help in his walk up the hill at 2pm.
The policy on parents is that they place the child in the schoolroom and then leave. Even on the very first day – no wimpy ‘settling in’ with Mama on hand for security (and translations – AJ speaks decent German and English but as yet very little Italian). I can’t decide whether this aspect has been harder for me or for him. It’s against every natural urge to leave your child crying bitterly in a roomful of strangers, and my heart is in pieces every time I leave him.
Still, while it’s been a bumpy ride, there are signs that one day soon he’ll run into the classroom without a backward glance, eat a hearty lunch and come out with better Italian than mine.
Ci vuole tempo, as they say.
(1) while the connection to the word asylum is there in an English-speaking mind, I understand the Italian doesn't bear this undertone.
Picture this scene : a stern stone Victorian-style building with large, high windows. A flight of wide steps leads up to the heavy wooden door with its oversized, over-ornate handle. Two-stories, with a high classical cornice. A bouquet of flags waves grandly below. This could be police headquarters or city hall. But it isn’t. The words chiselled onto the cornice are ominous : Asilo dell Infanzia. Bedlam for Bambini, then?
In one of the windows the white face of a little boy emerges from the gloom. The eyes are swollen with crying and the cheeks are wet. Holding back his tears, he waves gamely and blows a heartfelt kiss.
AJ has just completed a month at our local scuola materna in Cannobio and every day is a scene from Oliver Twist.
Scuola materna is the first step in the Italian school system. It can also be called ‘asilo’ (1), ‘scuola dell infanzia’ or ‘asilo dell infanzia’. Not to be confused with ‘asilo nido’, a nursery which takes children at a much earlier age.
Scuola materna takes children from the year in which they are three to the year in which they are six. After this they graduate to the slightly less imposing scuola elementare down the road.
Registration took place in January, when posters appeared around the comune inviting parents to register for the following September. In Cannobio this year it seems there were not enough children to make a viable class, and intake includes a number of children born in early 2005 as well as 2004.
It’s not obligatory to send your child, and you can choose between a half day (8:15am-1:15pm) or a full day (until 4:15pm). Those staying all day take a nap in the afternoon, and all children eat lunch at the school (I guess as a way of ensuring that all kids get at least one balanced meal a day – if they eat it, which AJ currently doesn’t). Parents pay for lunch, which is called, interestingly, ‘mensa’.
Scuola materna is paid for by the state, although parents are asked to provide materials such as paper, tissues, wipes, etc.
Scuola materna isn’t a bit like the play groups of the UK. Here, there is a clear didactical aim. Although there is a strong element of play, this is clearly a school environment, and by the third year, children are being introduced to their letters and numbers.
AJ has had a rough first month. He started by catching every bug on offer and was continuously poorly for the first three weeks. He and his sister have to be up at 6:30 to walk down the blessed hill and catch the bus in time, and walking back up in the afternoon after five hours of scuola is a tall order. He has sat through numerous lunches without eating anything but bread and water, despite what are probably the constant urgings of his teachers and the pressure of his peers. Not having eaten anything since 7am also doesn’t help in his walk up the hill at 2pm.
The policy on parents is that they place the child in the schoolroom and then leave. Even on the very first day – no wimpy ‘settling in’ with Mama on hand for security (and translations – AJ speaks decent German and English but as yet very little Italian). I can’t decide whether this aspect has been harder for me or for him. It’s against every natural urge to leave your child crying bitterly in a roomful of strangers, and my heart is in pieces every time I leave him.
Still, while it’s been a bumpy ride, there are signs that one day soon he’ll run into the classroom without a backward glance, eat a hearty lunch and come out with better Italian than mine.
Ci vuole tempo, as they say.
(1) while the connection to the word asylum is there in an English-speaking mind, I understand the Italian doesn't bear this undertone.
1 comment:
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Hi - thanks for this info. Planning to move to Italy next year and doing some research into schooling. Very useful.
- Thursday, 30 October, 2008
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1 comment:
Hi - thanks for this info. Planning to move to Italy next year and doing some research into schooling. Very useful.
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