Most of you reading this are parents of very young children, I
suspect, but I have been wondering about several things that I am guessing we
began when ours were little and elaborated on as they grew. We based our early
years of homeschooling on one quote alone by John Holt, the guru of home
schooling or UN-schooling as some call it. He said that all that
children need to learn is an environment consisting of "an extravagance of
creative space." I didn't need to stand up in front of them, all relegated
to individual desks, and pour (or shove) information down their throats. I
could step back and let them discover the world at their own pace. Each one
would be free to explore and exhaust each new thing they chose to study or work
with. I didn't even have to offer various topics. I could trust them to be
curious about the world around them and give them the freedom to delve into
whatever interested them without my interference. When did adults decide that
children would only learn from us and not from what they could taste, see,
smell, hear or touch?
So, I would begin each day
doing what chores I needed to do. Sometimes one or the other child would follow
me around and even help, doing whatever I did. Other times I would find them
picking up where they left off the day before and continue playing in the
stream, creating a whole world out of twigs and mud and acorns, little cities
with bridges and castles and whatever else they imagined, often things taken
from books we had been reading to them at night, or things they heard us
discussing. I was careful not to clean up their projects at the end of the day;
I couldn't bear to destroy all that hard work. I would clean the house around
them, reminding them if we were expecting visitors and suggest they move to "help"
me cook or bake, sometimes getting helpers, sometimes not.
I realized as they grew that
perhaps some if not all of the problems with American teenagers stemmed from
them not being genuinely needed. If we look at other cultures, both
third-world and so-called first-world, children were and still are desperately
needed to help on the farm or help support the family, though often,
unfortunately, to the extreme of child labor. But they were depended on. They
didn't have to check a roster on the refrigerator decorated with stars and
stickers, relegating the daily nominal chores: dishes, laundry, garbage, walk
the dog, clean your room. They need to be needed more than that. There must be
another dimension, perhaps spiritual. They belong to a larger unit. They aren't
little pawns waiting to be launched, putting in their time, dreaming of the
next adventure. Rather, each one has gifts that we have to discover and put to
use, to make us all better, stronger.
A very wise Quaker granny once
told me that the promiscuity we can observe in American teenagers is a direct
result of the lack of affection bestowed on them at home. If they are no longer
cute and little and cuddly, do they suddenly not deserve hugs and pats and
kisses? My granny friend said, "You just watch. They will find their hugs
elsewhere if not at home."
High school presented the
biggest challenge for me yet. Books were coming into the house at an alarming
rate, faster than I could approve them while other moms in our church were
daily adding banned titles to their lists. That didn't quite jive with me. If
they are banned at home, and we request alternative assignments from our
children's teachers, how do we justify that to the kids? Is it OK because I am
an adult to filter everything they see, but get to read whatever I want? Are
the arguments worth it? Won't they just sneak the banned books, curious to see
what all the fuss is about? I know I did when I was their age, though my
parents were intellectual atheists and trusted (or allowed) us the freedom to decide
for ourselves what or what not to read. I certainly didn't want them to lose
their innocence as early as I did.
In the end we came up with a
plan. I got to see what they were reading in school and would read it too. Then
each night we'd see where the other was in the book and discuss it - all of it.
I could give them my take, why I thought something was sad or racy or whatever,
and they could share their thoughts. It only brought us closer and I hope
helped me retain some respect in their eyes.
They all still read
voraciously. I even get books in the mail from New York and California with
little notes: "Ma, you'll love this one!" (I hated it but didn't tell
them that.) But some are really winners. I think it helped keep the lines of communication
open. I am glad.
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