“I did not plan to home school. . . . But among innumerable problems and eye-opening irritants, what put us over were the constant parental ‘involvement’ demands, ‘homework’ etc., intrusively dictating and co-opting many hours of family and parental time each day.”
Yes, yes, yes.
Last year, it felt like the precious hours of my days were constantly held at the mercy of a young, inexperienced single lady known as The Third Grade Teacher. Because they were.
The volume of homework was sometimes quite burdensome. Hours of constructing models and insane crafty things, like the clothes hanger book report (don’t ask). Then, there was the mandatory 20 minutes of daily reading. And don’t forget to sign the Reading Journal every day, Mom, or your kid will lose ten minutes of PE! Oh, your son must be the one to fill out the title and number of pages read. Just a little reminder, because I can tell it’s your handwriting lately.
I would think to myself: why am I sending this child to school all day? It would be easier if I just kept him and taught him myself.
I battled the entire year long with ever-growing feelings of irritation and hostility. At some point I realized it wasn’t just because of personality differences.
I was chafing under the yoke. This woman . . . this school . . . the whole educational institution had the power to control hours upon hours of personal family time, each and every week. They had absolutely no right to dictate what we did with our own time, in our own home.
And yet, they did.
Tougher still was the fact that most other parents didn’t chafe like I did. Why don’t they care? Why don’t they notice? Maddening.
Oh, and have I ever mentioned? I really, really hate doing crafts. I much prefer making a dirt mountain in the back yard and using the hose to simulate the effects of flooding. Or making Ziploc baggies explode, that was a blast.
I wanted to share that Legal Insurrection comment with you all for another reason. He (She?) did more than just echo my sentiments. He gave me a jolt of excitement by opening my eyes to future possibilities:
“So we yanked them out of the public elementary school, still a little nervous, but figuring that down the road we’d place them into a fancy private high school. No need. They started college at age 15.”
Uh, yes please. I’d like some of that.