MARK MY WORD: AMID ALL THE MEAN NUMBERS, STUDENTS BAG PLENTY OF HOMEWORK

There's nothing like a little homework any more.

Homework has become a marathon event. At least, that's what the experts say.

Recent studies show students are hauling home a massive amount of homework, fueled by the nation's desire for kids to learn something and meet all those educational goals that no one can name unless he or she has done his homework.

Ginny Markell is one of those people that worries about things like homework. She is president of the National Parent Teacher Association.

She says homework reflects a growing desire for kids to meet new educational benchmarks.

A University of Michigan study last year found that the mean amount of time children ages 3 to 11 spent studying at home each week increased about 50 percent between 1981 and 1997.

That doesn't, of course, mean the kids had a lot of mean homework or even mean parents and teachers who made them spend all that time studying.

It's a math term that most people my age confuse with a numerical average because we failed to spend a lot of time doing math homework.

As a result, we disregard all mean studies in favor of watching baseball, a sport where there are no mean records but plenty of stats regarding averages.

Students, ages 9 to 11, are spending 3 1/2 hours a week studying, almost an hour more than in 1981.

Some parents say homework is cutting into family time. They worry their kids are becoming slaves to homework.

Personally, I have yet to see that happen at our house.

Eight-year-old Becca has second-grade homework several nights a week. But it typically takes her less than 15 minutes on any one evening to do her homework, unless she has a reading assignment to do.

Becca, however, likes reading and doesn't really view it as a chore. She even seems to have grown fond of math, a modern miracle considering she is the product of two journalists who view math with about as much excitement as paying bills.

Of course, math is important. Without it, our civilization and more importantly our bank accounts wouldn't add up.

That's, of course, why we have computers. Without them, we would all have to go back to school to learn how to balance a checkbook.

Computers won't cut it when it comes to homework. Teachers still want kids to use those No. 2 pencils, at least in elementary school.

Becca's nightly homework typically amounts to no more than a page. She spends more time playing school at home than doing homework.

She doesn't have homework on weekends. That will come in later grades.

"Is there homework in college?" she asked me one morning.

"Yes," I informed her. "There's even more homework in college."

By then, I' m not sure just how much homework will be on her plate.

Our 4-year-old doesn't have real homework yet. But Bailey has plenty of pretend homework courtesy of her big sister, who clearly is on track to be a teacher.

Becca doesn't have a lot of homework yet, but I figure it's just a matter of time before her book bag is filled with all sorts of studious stuff.

That, in essence, is the problem. America's book bags are just too big.

Some book bags are so big they could qualify as sports utility vehicles.

It starts in kindergarten and before long, they're shouldering a monster.

To be fair, book bags aren't just for books. They have plenty of room for shoes, coats, lunch boxes and just about anything else.

But clearly there wouldn't be room for a lot of homework if those book bags were smaller.

Besides, teachers would be reluctant to send home loose-page homework if children didn't have book bags. There would be concern that the stuff might blow away as kids walked home from school or rode the bus.

With book bags, we're spared such disasters.

Of course, as parents, we didn't always do our homework and what we did wasn't in a book bag.

That explains why we're more interested in cramming spare clothes in our kids' bags. We know that will leave less room for homework, assuring that our children won't ask us to calculate all those mean numbers.

Mark Bliss is a staff writer for the Southeast Missourian.