A Education in Life

"You need to bring the kids over. Come anytime!" From beneath her white veil, the religious sister smiled at me and continued to insist. "Bring the kids over!" 

I knew that I needed to finally do it. 

When I had first learned that this woman had opened a home for elderly people and those near death, I was excited. The life-affirming mission of this home was beautiful. Yet, I hadn't taken my kids; it was hard to determine the "perfect" time to make a trip. However, that day after Mass, the answer popped in my head. 

"What if we just came and brought our schoolbooks?" I said slowly, turning the idea over in my mind. Instead of meandering home or heading to a park after daily Mass, once a week we could drive over to this home for the dying instead.

It would be, I realized, an answer to a prayer that dwelled in the depths of my heart.  

When we visited relatives last Christmas, I thought about how good it is to be with others, even if we aren't constantly doing an activity together. There's something reassuring and comforting about curling up on a couch with a book and seeing a couple other people playing a game nearby or watching a show together. Just being around other people, in community, is a beautiful and consoling thing. 

What "traditional" education is not

Like clockwork, when September rolls around, memes begin flooding social media with a consistent message for homeschoolers: Dear homeschooling families, please stop trying to do "school at home" and just enjoy learning. 

I see these message and think of all the people who, after brick-and-mortar schools went to the virtual model during Covid shutdowns, were frustrated as they tried to understand lesson plans and help their children complete schoolwork...and decided that homeschooling was not a good fit for them. 

I think of the new homeschooling parents who feel exasperated as they try to force their young children into a rigid schedule and curriculum to fill several hours a day because "that's what school is." 

This is a problem. 

Homeschooling isn't always a good fit for every child at every stage, and I'm grateful that there are some good schools in this country. I'm also grateful for the amazing teachers who work selflessly to help their students; they do tremendous work. However, we can't make our educational decisions based off of dramatic assumptions about what education necessarily looks like. A variety of factors contribute to our conclusions, including the terms that we use. 

Specifically, I'm thinking of how we pair the word "traditional" with education. 

For the past several years in America, we've acted like a specific model of schooling is "traditional education": a model that involves students from around the age of six to eighteen years old, segregated by age, staying in buildings from around nine a.m. to three p.m., five days a week, nine months a year, to learn a variety of preselected subjects. This is "traditional education." This is normal. This is necessary for the proper education and development of children. 

When we embrace this model as "traditional education," we then assume that any method of schooling which deviates from this schema is "nontraditional."  These other methods may be good for some kids, but they are abnormal--and treated as such. 

However, what we think of as "traditional education" is not exactly traditional. In fact, this whole business of segregating students by grade, for thirty-ish-hours each week in a building, is a relatively new innovation in America.  

Permission to Fail: Granted

I fail to recall what the article was even about, but I still remember the way I inwardly cringed. As I read about one young adult's professional accomplishments, and about the definitive way that we can all achieve these goals, I was struck by how familiar the tone was. This looks a lot like something I would write, I thought. Not the same content, necessarily, but the polished, overly-confident, "I'm not even thirty yet but I've figured everything out and I'm succeeding at life" voice struck too close to home for my comfort. It's good to present ourselves well, to be professional, and to be coherent. Yet, there's this trend I've been noticing in myself and in other young adults: an inclination to avoid any semblance of failure--until we've hit the stride of professional success. 

Those "I graduated from college a year ago and TRUST ME, my life was a mess for a month, but then, my Tweet went viral and now I have a huge social media following and a hit podcast and a forthcoming book" stories have grown wearisome for me. I value and appreciate these people (often fellow Millennials) and I think it is wonderful that they are creating and sharing exciting work in the world. However, the tendency to always polish up our lives and stories, and to immediately put a rosy glow of success on anything that slightly resembles a failure, is creating a rather unfortunate cultural climate. 

There's the pressure--both external and internal--to constantly create and market content. There's also the habit of using words and phrases to make ourselves appear in the very best light possible all the time. The inundation of rosy images and "success stories" splashed all over social media can be nice and inspiring, but-combined with all the pressures to succeed-it can create an atmosphere that does not allow for failure. 

How Noticing can be Life-Changing

Four words slide together, forming a question that I utter several times a day. Four words form a backbone of the education I present to my children. Four words that, I hope, we can all ask our children, ask each other, ask ourselves.

One day, I was reading a book to my children; it was a simple, ordinary ritual we participate in often. Like many parents, after I read the words on a page, I asked my son: What do you see? It was some sort of attempt at grasping his comprehension, I guess. I wanted to know if he could identify elements of the pictures that were splashed across the page. Of course, this wasn't always the most peaceful occasion for me as I would grow bewildered and frustrated by how my child couldn't "see" an obvious picture.  

However, I suddenly realized that I had been asking the wrong question. As we sat on that mottled couch, a book spread across our laps, I resolved to ask something else.

The Challenge of Homeschooling in the Early Years

I want to homeschool my kids. I am excited to guide them as we learn and explore this tremendously fascinating world. I am curious to see where there interests will take us, and what interests they will pursue. I am thrilled for my husband and I to grow and discover with them in this journey. 

My oldest child is now three-years-old. Many people proclaim that, Kids just need to play at that age! You don't need to "do school!" Yet, there's many children this age who are heading off to preschool (since some schools offer programs for three-year-olds). Then, there's other kids who aren't going off to preschool, but are planning on attending a brick-and-mortar school when they are old enough for kindergarten. They don't see themselves as being part of a "homeschooling family," and mentions of homeschooling will cause their parents to say, that's really great for some people, but it's not for us. 

I firmly believe that play is vital, particularly in the early years. Yet, my firstborn is fascinated with "schoolkids." He's talked about going to "school" someday. He loves being with other children. I think that right now, he would enjoy doing something "schoolish" with others. However, I've run into a small difficulty.

When Education prevents us from being truly present

I remember those mornings when we'd step into our puffy snowsuits and walk into the frosty air, our gloved hands packing snowballs or scooping armfuls of delicate snowflakes that we pushed and stacked into forts. Later, we'd crowd back into the hallway of that creaky Victorian house and lay our wet hats on the radiator as we rushed to sip mugfuls of hot chocolate.

I remember those afternoons when we'd breathe in the crisp air as we drug the rake across the yard, forming piles of leaves. Yellow, orange, and red would mix and tumble as we jumped and flung leaves at each other. I recall when once, a man stopped his car and walked over, and after talking with us raised his camera-and soon after, we excitedly stared at our picture in the local newspaper.

I remember those early mornings when I'd sit at that long kitchen table and write, write, write till the side of my right hand was gray from when I'd rest it against the page of the fantasy story I was creating.

I remember those leisurely, long hours at the library, when I'd lose myself in the shelves and pages upon pages of books. I remember the hiking trips, the field trips, and the peaceful weeknight evenings of fellowship and relaxation. The days and nights of simply being present with other human beings.

Then, the Educational System blasted into the calm.