Luke was this age when I first began kicking around the idea of homeschooling. Now, the seed of “maybe” from way back when I first began to entertain it as an option has become the action of doing it. We homeschool.
Last Monday marked the official start of Luke’s kindergarten year. In these first stages, bearing the full force of this choice can leave me feeling overwhelmed. It can feel like I’m standing alone in a field, lifting a massive pumpkin I’ve watched grow from a sprig of green in the dirt. My back arches as the weight pulls me with it toward the ground. Sometimes it feels too heavy to manage, like it could slip 
right out of my hands. The decision to homeschool was the easy part. Seeds don’t weigh much.
Today, Luke’s curriculum is heavy in my hands in a similar way. I lug the stack of it–everything he’ll need for five subjects over the next year–home from the car. The pile sinks into our bed with a thud. Ideas swirl in my head like a swarm of bees as I imagine everything we’ll make and do and learn this year. The inevitable worries, doubts, and fears sting through the general feeling of optimism and excitement I have about the year ahead, not to mention the many years in line after this one.
I’ve batted the thought of homeschooling around in my head like a kitten does with a pingpong ball as I’ve imagined for three years what homeschooling will look like in our house. In some ways, not much changes as we begin this journey. In a sense, we homeschooled Luke when he did Kumon for reading. Most of his work during his year and a half in this program involved packets we did with him at home. Kevin and I both helped him then and, thanks to this program and his effort in it, Luke is already a strong reader for his age. In other ways, everything feels like it changes as we begin this year, officially our first year of the homeschool path. I know success–whatever it begins to look like–will require patience from all of us as we work to conform our days to a new sense of rhythm and routine.
Over the years, it used to always leave me stunned whenever someone asked in passing about our decision to homeschool, or when I’d feel compelled to follow up the answer to “And where is Luke starting kindergarten?” in relation to this heavy and I think often misunderstood word: Homeschool. In the space of three minutes, I wanted to fill in our reasoning in the gap between my answer and the flood of assumptions many people probably make when they hear the word. I wanted to explain, to inform, to justify. At first, I felt like all I could do was fumble my way through a half-answer to the question more than I could offer any real clarification about our reasoning behind this choice. Some topics do not fit into small talk boxes and forcing them there can actually undo the goal of the conversation in the first place. Conversations like this can feel like quicksand. Recently, I’m better at formulating a short, canned answer to offer the basic gist of our motivation to homeschool Luke and (eventually) Sam. I can concisely articulate our goals, and the advantages I anticipate there’ll be for us in this process.
My good friend, Erin, recently sent me a blog article written by an experienced homeschooling mom. Erin will also begin homeschooling this year. Luke and her oldest, Maddie, met back when the three-week age gap between them was to infants what years are to older kids.
Neither baby could even pull themselves up to a sitting position on their first play date. Now look at them! I’m excited they’ll have each other through this process, and thankful I’ll also have Erin’s support behind the scenes.
In the article Erin sent, this other mom outlines her motivation behind their decision to homeschool and lists some of the unexpected benefits she’s discovered in the process of doing it. She also offers details about how their days as a homeschooling family work and she attempts to dissolve some of the general misconceptions around the subject. Though I stand with assurance and certainty about our decision to homeschool, going public with such a complicated, personal, and potentially hot-topic decision leaves me with fears of being labeled, judged, and misunderstood. Part of me wants to drop the link here and bail, the same way I’d tack on “Moi aussi!” (“Me, too!”) at the end of my friend’s restaurant orders on our trip to France in high school. Timid then about using my skills with native speakers, I’d simply “Ditto!” whatever Amanda said rather than order in my own voice. It may have meant a bowl of pistachio ice cream instead of my first choice, but at least the order was fast, painless, and still involved dessert! When it comes to homeschooling, I don’t even flinch at the task of explaining our choice, especially now as it has come to fruition and I’ve practiced the explanation so many times. As we inch our way into the full swing of it, I am confident and excited about our decision. More than anything, when it comes to this entry, I find the thought of distilling the nuance of the reasoning it has taken me years to come by into a few paragraphs rather daunting. It’d be as if somebody said to me in the checkout line of a grocery store, “So, tell me briefly what parenting is like.”
Ironically, Amanda from high school has three kids and homeschools. Her oldest is a grade ahead of Luke so I know she’s already been in the thick of things for a full year. Maybe I could ask her to explain this for me?
In searching for homeschooling quotes to prompt this entry, I find many of them leave me with a bad taste in my mouth. Take this one by John Holt, for example–though I’m sure I’m taking it out of context here: “Teaching does not make learning–organized education operates on the assumption that children learn only when and only what and only because we teach them. This is not true. It is very close to 100% false. Learners make learning.” This quote and others like it seem to imply homeschooling is the only good option, and everybody should do it. This view strikes me as equally extreme and as false as to assert that nobody should. It’s as absurd as a law student arguing every member of society should work for the same degree. I much prefer sentiments along these lines–also courtesy of Holt–when it comes to homeschooling: “We can think of ourselves not as teachers but as gardeners. A gardener does not ‘grow’ flowers; he tries to give them what he thinks they need and they grow by themselves.” This notion, of course, just as easily applies to teachers in a traditional classroom!
As I consider education and contemplate the many, many options available for our kids today (Waldorf or Montessori schools, private schools, duel emersion language education, standard public schools, and charter schools of every stripe), I view our decision to homeschool the way I’d view our decision to go to the beach on a hot day. Reading the weather forecast, I’d wonder were we should go to beat the heat. I’d consider the river, the beach, a swim at a local pool, escaping to a shady park, or a hike in a nearby tree grove. There are so many choices, each of them with their own set of positive and potentially negative outcomes (Maybe it’ll be cold and foggy at the beach. Maybe the river will be too crowded.) Fun had on a hike through the trees isn’t better or even especially different than the experience of boogie boards and sand castles just as “turquoise,” “aqua,” and “cobalt” are all separate aspects with the same essence: Blue.
I feel like I should also make it very clear that our decision to homeschool is not in any way a gesture against teachers or the more traditional educational approach most of Luke’s friends are taking. To the contrary, I have only the highest regard for teachers and respect for what I’m sure is the incredibly challenging work of the teaching profession. My mom was an elementary school teacher once. I have friends and many family members who have been teachers or are teachers today. Many teachers throughout my education have been the catalyst for profound learning and positive change in my life, sometimes in ways having nothing to do with academics. I don’t hold an extreme view here, believing one option of education is lesser or greater than another as a general rule. I do believe, however, we have chosen the right path for our own family. Though I acknowledge its downsides–those both potential and inevitable–I also feel a very strong pull in this direction and see many benefits specific to us that make homeschooling a nice fit for our family.
I’ve watched friends on Facebook post pictures of their kids–Luke’s friends–on their first day of kindergarten and other grades. Seeing these photos, sometimes I feel pangs of regret, even catching myself in the midst of doubts as I admire all the pretty green happening on their side of the fence. Am I holding Luke back from some of the most rewarding and exciting parts of childhood? I know homeschooling means he will miss out on certain experiences by default. Then I remind myself how seeing my friend’s children standing proudly with big smiles and shiny new lunch boxes is like scrolling through their pictures on the summer day we played at the river when they chose the beach. On one level, the difference between admiring the joyful moments of their choice and anticipating the joyful moments of ours is the difference between watching kids build sand castles or watching them skip rocks. Even realizing this, I know at times their grass will seem greener, as at times perhaps our grass will also seem to them.
I should also clarify: Even though we’re homeschooling, we’re doing so in a rather untraditional sense. It sounds a little redundant, doesn’t it? Erin recently used the term “hybrid homeschooling” to describe what we’re both doing. It’s a perfect description. Two days a week Luke will attend a school designed specifically for homeschooling families. There he will have a teacher and classmates and a routine completely distinct from what we do at home. This school will supply his curriculum and a teacher will be there to guide us through this process in every grade. At this school, we’ll also have the benefit of the sense of community we’ll gain as we meet other families who’ve chosen this same path. As our tribe of support gathers through the years, I imagine it’ll feel a little bit like befriending the families who set up their towels and chairs beside ours on a river day.
Though the bulk of Luke’s academic work will take place at home, he’ll still have many standard school memories: First days, school picture day, field trips, recess, the joy (and work) of new friendship, games of playground tag, the thrill of new teachers and fresh school supplies every fall. He’ll also participate in many extracurricular activities–academic and otherwise–over the years. By no means do I believe–nor have I ever believed–I am qualified to give Luke and Sam a well-rounded education alone. I’ll rely on many teachers, coaches, and instructors of all sorts over the course of their education.
I should also say, it is not my hope to replicate what happens in a traditional classroom of 30 or more children in my living room with curriculum tailored to the needs of my child, nor do I believe this is ever the aim of a homeschooling parent. I see homeschooling as qualitatively different approach compared with what happens in a traditional school–for better and worse–and I am thankful to live in a location and at a time where the experience I envision is possible.
In light of everything else I could say and all of the intricacies I could name when it comes to the arc of this giant topic of education, I will add my “moi aussi” now and bow out here. Homeschooling is a choice I did not take lightly, a choice I have absolute confidence in having made, and a decision I am both daunted by and excited about as we stand at the entrance to the path I’ve been anxiously anticipating for three years. While I’ve had Kevin’s support in the process of finalizing the decision to homeschool, I realize–as the one home with Luke and Sam most days–the weight of this does fall primarily on my shoulders. This weight can feel too much at times, especially when I forget I am not holding it alone. Sure, the thought “Hey, maybe I can homeschool, too!” became this pile of books heavy in my hands and I wonder if I planted a seed that grew into a fruit of something maybe I’m not strong enough to carry. Then I see Luke at my side, eager and proud in his snappy new school clothes. He’s holding the handle of a wagon provided for just this purpose. I’ll lift the thing as best I can, then stand back and watch him bump the wheels across the dirt. I’ll do my best to balance the universal tightrope of parenting, the one we all have in common no matter where our kid goes to school: I’m here if you need me; I’m over there if you need space.
I know this isn’t going to be easy. Just like a more traditional schooling approach, it might not always feel fun or fulfilling or even possible. Just like parenting can feel sometimes, it might not always seem like I am or am even capable of doing the job well, and it may not always feel like I’m living up to the ideal I projected in these first days. Even so, the decision to homeschool Luke feels as right as the day we chose “Luke” for his name. Especially now that we’ve met with his new teacher twice, and have a solid week of curriculum at home under our belt, I am certain we’ve made the right choice. It fits like a puzzle piece. One day I’ll look back and realize familiarity and routine have transformed what began as a shaky decision into the stable act of doing it, 
and the best choice for our family. I imagine it’ll feel the way it does when I consider the other names on our short list as we chose Luke’s name six years ago. Even if I know it fits him due to the simple nature of the fact we’ve said it a million times, I still say there is no better name than “Luke” for this kid. In the same way, I know familiarity and time will give our decision to homeschool the same feeling.
Despite the pages of quotes I’ve combed through, searching for those six or seven words to say simply what is a very complicated decision with so many aspects, I’ll leave you instead with this from Samuel Butler. It’s one of my favorite quotes, having more to do with life in general than parenting or the education of a child: “Life is like playing a violin solo in public and learning the instrument as one goes on.” Appreciating the truth of this, now we take deep breaths and begin the journey. As we step our first apprehensive steps onto an unknown path, I hold tightly the intention to always seek–no matter what–the greenest things about our grass.
