School's out

Just about everyone in town is back in class now, but several hundred of us homeschoolers will converge on a local pool this afternoon. I've written before about how much I savor this time of year.

Free-range learning was a piece of cake until Rocketboy hit school age, and then we hit a couple of snags. One, I worried that he needed to be learning things in the same sequence in which they are taught in the classroom. I'm finally comfortable with Rboy as a motivated, natural-born learner who pursues academic subjects, albeit on his own schedule.

Two, strangers started asking what grade he was in.* Rocketboy would give long lectures about how he's homeschooled and we don't use grade levels because he learns at his own pace. He learned that this response leads to lots of questions about what he learns and the details of his day. Eyes on both sides would glaze.

A couple of weeks ago, he asked me what grade he would be in if he were in school. Apparently he's learned the value of the short answer. The next time someone asked what grade he's in, he answered, "Second." That brought the small talk to a polite, inquisition-free end.

I, too, am tired of questions about homeschooling. Earlier this summer, a woman at the pool asked where Rboy goes to school. I told her we homeschool, which prompted a flurry of defensive statements about how good the neighborhood elementary is, how her daughter just finished the first grade and is already reading at the second-grade level, how busy she is. I get irritated with narcissistic responses to my educational choices. Any judgment she read into my response was put there by herself. I found myself assuring her that I valued her choice, that the local elementary is quite good, it's not her it's me, yadda yadda. Call me callous, but I don't go to the pool to soothe neurotic strangers.

The next time someone asked me about Rocketboy's school, I had a flash of sleazy inspiration. My kids were in the van and it was a hot day; I was just dropping off fundraiser items at this woman's house. I didn't want to get into a long talk about my choices and I didn't want to leave abruptly with any potential misunderstandings lingering.

"We homeschool," I replied, and I could see her eyebrows rising, the questions lining up to pour out. I dropped my voice and added, "My son requires a special curriculum."

Her face melted. "Ah," she nodded, having no idea that Rocketboy's specialized curriculum includes subjecting his mother to repeated presentations on the Bernoulli effect and reading The American Story for hours on end. Freed from the need to explain myself or assuage her feelings, I got in the van and left, unfettered by judgment or hard feelings.

Churlish, maybe, but as with any form of being 'other,' I get tired of being the representative. Luckily for me, someone else has filled the breach. Greg Sherman does an excellent job of outlining the pitfalls of how to answer the question, "Why do you homeschool?", complicated in his case by the fact that he's an education professional. Homeschoolers will find good stuff in the first part of his essay; non-homeschoolers curious about why people homeschool will find a list of ten reasons toward the end.

(I would add to his number ten about religion that for us, freedom from religion is an important part of our choice. This may sound odd coming from a Christian/Unitarian, but Texas public schools had plenty of religious content when I was a student and are still hemmed in in terms of science and sex ed by religious considerations that I find unacceptable.)

Better Sherman than me. If you were to ask me today why I homeschool, I'd say, "Our family has special scheduling needs." Which really means, "Woo hoo! I didn't have to get up at six to make sandwiches! And now I have to get ready to go to the pool."


*My friend Lexy jokes that there are only two conversation-starters many adults use with kids: What grade are you in? and What is Santa bringing you? With an unschooler who never bought the Santa story, these tend to flop.