By Steve Walden
The room was brightly lit and cold. She was sitting there across a table from an empty chair. She knew the questioning would begin any minute. The door opened and a man bearing a remarkable resemblance to Hugo Weaving walked in and sat down in the empty chair.
"Mrs. Anderson," he began, "we've been monitoring your homeschool. Apparently, you have been living two lives. In one life, you're Katherine A. Anderson, homeschooling mother and wife in a respectable community. You have a homeschool curriculum. You have a schoolroom. You volunteer … to help out with your homeschool support group. The other life, Mrs. Anderson, is lived in your pajamas. Your kids are unable to complete their assignments, and if you can get them cleaned and dressed before your husband returns from work, you consider it a good day. One of these lives has a future, Mrs. Anderson. The other does not."
She just stared across the table at this man. Who was he? she wondered. Why was he accusing her of these things?
The man opened up a folder and began leafing through it. "As you can see, we've had our eyes on you for some time, Mrs. Anderson. I think that you should look long and hard at how you are failing in your role." He singled out a sheet of paper. "Your son is 6 years old and yet he cannot read. Your 11-year-old daughter spends half her time daydreaming and staring off into space. She hasn't gotten more than a D on her spelling quizzes all year. Your teen, this … Melissa, I believe her name is … she hasn't studied for her SATs. If you really loved your children, Mrs. Anderson, you would have your children at their desks and hard at work by 7:30 each morning."
Tears started to well up in her eyes. Was she really that bad at homeschooling?
"Your curriculum has changed from A Beka to Saxon to Bob Jones and back to Saxon again in just two semesters. I have to wonder, Mrs. Anderson, if you are teaching them correctly. How can you jump from curriculum to curriculum without your children becoming hopeless, blathering idiots?"
She made no effort to wipe away the tears that were flowing down her cheeks. She knew that all these accusations were true. There was nothing she could say against them.
"Tell me, Mrs. Anderson. What's it like, living in your pajamas? Do you enjoy being a slob?"
The words began to cut deep, and somewhere deep inside her a wave began to form.
"How many times did you yell at your kids yesterday, Mrs. Anderson? Can you really say you love them if you treat them this way?"
The wave began to build into a surge. Anger was pushing up over the shame and fears this man was exploiting.
"Your best friend, Laurie, doesn't have any problems having her six children ready to go to eight different activities each week, yet you always manage to run late …"
"That's ENOUGH!" Her anger broke over the dam and began to pour out through her mouth. "I don't have to listen to these accusations. I am a loving wife and mother, and I care deeply about my children. We may not get to every activity on time or complete every curriculum, but we are trying. My children are well fed and clothed, and they are learning so much more than they would anywhere else. My son is a gifted engineer. He dismantled three phones last week to understand how the buttons work …"
"You consider that school?"
"Absolutely! He is learning mechanics and science. If I could get him to put things back together so that I can answer the phone, I'd be all set. By the way, Melissa doesn't need to study for her SATs right now. She's 14! We will study for them when the time is right.
"Another thing. My daughter may not always study with perfect concentration, but she draws the most beautiful pictures. She understands forms and shapes so much better than her brothers or sisters do. She is a very bright girl, no matter what your files say."
The man was taken aback by these bold statements. Her tirade, controlled though it had been, was clearly not what he had expected.
"You say I yell at my kids, and that's true. I do lose my temper when I clean a room and come back in 30 minutes to find it in worse shape than it was before I cleaned it. But your files don't show the breakfast we had yesterday when we sat around and talked about three things we like about each other. I enjoy my children so much more than you could imagine. And we truly love each other.
"I stay in my pajamas some days, that's true. But we are at home and comfortable to do our work. Learning is more important than appearances."
"But are your children really learning, Mrs. Anderson? I show that you have fallen behind every time you've set a schedule. How effective are you if you can't keep a schedule?"
"We may struggle sometimes. We don't hit the mark with schedules, but we do a good job setting goals. We know what direction we're going, and we do a good job, even if we don't end up completing our workbooks. If anything is wrong, it's my own expectations." An idea began to form in her mind.
"What? We are not to blame, Mrs. Anderson!"
Of course, she thought, it all makes sense now.
"I know who you are. You're my own expectations. You've been trying to trap me."
"Nonsense. We don't trap what we already own."
"You don't? Then you would have no problem if I made pajamas the standard school uniform?"
"Uh …" The man was suddenly very anxious.
"And you wouldn't mind my going to thrift stores to buy more phones and other things for my son to dismantle?"
"Wait … this isn't what we wanted. Stop!"
"Why? Don't you want to hear about how we're going to stop going to so many activities and start spending time together as a family? I've got some great ideas, including a bug collecting expedition and a board game night."
"Board games don't constitute an education! They …"
"Oh yes they do. Colors, numbers, counting, reading, and strategy all work together to educate my children. And the best part is that they don't even realize it's school."
The man was becoming transparent, and he was fading from view. "But what about your curriculum? You can't change in the middle of the year! It's …"
"I can change curricula whenever I think we need to. If something isn't working, we can try something else. That's the benefit of running your own school. I would rather find something that works than have my children suffer through an entire year of work that doesn't meet their needs."
She could see that the man was livid and shouting, but his voice had faded along with his appearance. He was almost gone from view when she said, "Oh, by the way, school starts at 10 AM from now on."
With that, he disappeared. She was about to scoot away from the table when she woke. The end credits for a fantasy film about people fighting the forces of artificial intelligence were rolling past the screen on her TV. She clicked it off and headed upstairs to bed. After all, she had a bug hunt to plan tomorrow.
Steve Walden lives in Colorado and together with his wife, Karen, homeschools their three children, ages 10, 7, and 3. He is a freelance writer and editor with articles appearing in The Old Schoolhouse Magazine, Focus On Your Child: Discovery Years, and Familymanweb.com. He also serves as editor for TOS's Free Science E-Newsletter. When he's not blogging at www.HomeschoolBlogger.com/SteveWalden, he's searching for new opportunities to write about homeschooling, parenting, and connecting with God. He is president of Tree of Life Ministries, a retreat ministry for families and especially those in ministry.
You can email him at srwalden@gmail.com.
Copyright 2006. Used with permission. Originally published in the Summer 2006 The Old Schoolhouse Magazine. Right now, 19 free gifts when you subscribe. Www.TheHomeschoolMagazine.com
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