This timeline has been revised and updated. View the new timeline here.
Author: HA Editorial Team
Our Journey to Unschooling: Cindy Foster’s Story
Our Journey to Unschooling: Cindy Foster’s Story
HA note: Cindy’s story was originally published on her blog Baptist Taliban and Beyond. It is reprinted with her permission.
I was expecting my fifth child when I had to make the decision to either send my two school-aged children to school or to home school. They had been attending a tiny A.C.E. school where I worked as a supervisor/monitor two days a week to help pay their tuition, but it was closing, and I would no longer be able to work in another school in exchange for tuition since I would be caring for a newborn. This presented a dilemma.
There was an evangelist who had eight children, seven with which he traveled the country, preaching and singing at revival services and other special meetings. They were a home schooling family who testified of the merits of educating children in this way everywhere they went. Their children, several who were teen-agers, were impressive examples to the effectiveness of this strange, new alternative to conventional schooling. This was my very first exposure to the home schooling concept. It was a strange idea to us, but our life was already venturing a few steps *outside- the-box* of our earlier existence anyway, so this seemed the most valid option.
Neither my husband nor I had much confidence in public school since much of our own school experiences were negative. We could not afford to send the kiddos to a Christian school; public school was out of the question, so home schooling seemed to be the perfect solution. We took the plunge and started the very next semester.
I was charmed by the whole notion of a little one-room school in our home—complete with little school desks, teacher’s desk and school-room ambiance. I determined that I would give my student-children a one-on-one, tutoring-style education which I believed to be the very best method. Full of idealistic zeal and energy, I felt I was embarking on an exciting new adventure—one that included the challenges of a new career as well as the comfort and satisfaction of being at home, nurturing all my little charges to their full potential.
It was a new purpose beyond the youth ministry of the church, beyond just being a wife and mother—one that involved more of an intellectual pursuit. I liked the whole idea of being a ‘home educator’. Besides the many benefits this would provide for my children, it would also give me a greater sense of importance and significance.
And as for the kids?
What was there not to like for them? What kid would rather not have to get up at the crack of dawn, rush to eat, rush to get dressed, spend endless hours listening to boring lectures, do work at school, then come home only to do homework, day after day, month after month, year after year for twelve plus years of their youth?
Certainly not my kids.
Since their dad and I didn’t enjoy those things, they surely wouldn’t either. Surely, they would rather stay up later at night, wake up when they were ready to wake up, take their time getting dressed and eating, finishing all their work early making more time for fun things and not having to put up with bullies, mean teachers and all the rules. Surely, they would love being home schooled!
Well, I doubt they really loved it, but they didn’t seem to mind—at least not until they were older.
At the beginning of her teen years, my oldest began to wish that she, like some of her friends at the church, could go to “real” school. By this time, we were far too inflexible in our beliefs to even consider allowing that. We made it clear, early on, that “school of any kind” was a non-negotiable, so she did the only thing she could do—she complied.
Through all my years of home schooling, I read many books on the subject. As each child grew into their “school” age years it became obvious that my cozy, relaxed-but-efficient “school-at-home” vision was just not materializing. Imagine that! There were hungry babies, noisy toddlers, a constantly ringing phone, and children who would rather eat worms than fill out workbooks or listen to me read from textbooks. I so wished that I could find some way to make learning as desirable to them as eating or playing.
All the books that I read gave glowing reviews of revolutionary materials and methods which promised to make hungry learners out of even the most disinterested children. So, I tried nearly everything. The girls would work pretty well on their own in the workbooks. But those little boys! There were four of them as well as four quieter, more compliant sisters and they ALL had a dedicated aversion to sitting in a chair for any reason! I have memories of drilling spelling words and multiplication facts to the beat of bouncing balls, floor surfing, and headstands. Now, imagine trying to chisel “structure” out of that!
Thankfully, I never had to school all eight at the same time. My first two were ready to graduate by the time my last three were old enough to start, but I did have five to teach at the same time and three younger ones who needed attention also. We muddled through, somehow. A relaxed home schooling family we were indeed! ‘Relaxed’ was the only reality for me.
A little over a year after we left the Baptist Taliban, we sold the house that we built and lived in for eighteen years and relocated to another town forty minutes away. Our lives seemed to be spinning out of control, and we were constantly coping with issues resulting from the fall-out of being forced to leave everything and everyone associated with that life behind. Needless to say, that was a difficult time to maintain some semblance of school, but we hobbled along.
None of the five I was trying to teach had temperaments compatible with school-work, so, I was getting a bit disillusioned with the whole “school-at-home” model for educating them. I tried several different approaches—the literature approach (the boys hated reading), the video approach, the hands-on approach, the little of everything approach, hoping something would take hold. I tried sending them to home school co-op classes. I sent one to Christian school (which didn’t work), and even sent one to public school (didn’t work either) relaxing the expectations more and more with each failure.
Finally, I stumbled on the book, “the unschooling handbook-How to Use the Whole World As Your Child’s Classroom,” by Mary Griffith which led to much more research on the subject and eventually renovated my whole pattern of thinking and feeling about everything educational—especially as it pertained to my seemingly UNeducable kids.
Gradually, I felt myself letting go of the school-at-home paradigm and accepting a different set of ideals—ones that would free us all from societal expectations that were not a good fit for us and free us to embrace the intellectual freedom that life-led learning offered. Finally, an approach to learning that we could all be enthusiastic about; especially me! Somehow, they actually liked viewing every aspect of their lives as opportunities to learn!
Truth is, I had no other choice — unless you believe that mother/teachers should adopt the drill sergeant persona during school hours and force the little “maggots” to learn. Call me weak, call me negligent, call me a sissy parent or even a non-parent, but I didn’t want to trade in my nurturing mommy hat for the drill sergeant/teacher uniform no matter how many completed work-sheets that would accomplish.
Giving my younger (by now growing older) kids the responsibility for their own education back to them where it belongs was the best thing I ever did. It is a bit uncomfortable at times as it always is when you operate outside the norms and it may not be evident to outsiders that anything profitable has been gained by this, but my family has noticed very positive results.
They are:
• much improved relationships
• a return of natural curiosity
• livelier conversations
• opportunity for self regulation instead of parental controls
• choices not motivated by resistance to arbitrary rules and pressures to perform
• capacity to think much improved when focus on filling brain with facts for a test is removed
• value as a person not based on how one compares to *the ideal* student or even the *normal* one
• increased opportunities to discover one’s own unique gifts
• increased opportunities to specialize in areas of interest and ability as opposed to acquiring only surface knowledge in many areas
• sense of self respect and image not destroyed by the prejudices of unkind peers
And this….only to name a few.
Now, I am at the end of my 22 year career as home educator. As I look back and consider what I would change since retrospect always reveals what should have and could have been done better, I would do these things differently:
• Allow those who wanted to go to school, to go
• Trust my instincts concerning what is best for my kids instead of conforming to the consensus of my peers
• Trust my kids more to make choices about what they learn
• Spent much more time going, doing and playing with my kids to learn with them instead of trying to teach them from books and schedules
• Expecting them to do right instead of suspecting they are doing wrong
• Looking for the causes for their restlessness instead of making hasty judgments
• Being more available to them to support them mentally and emotionally instead of just physically and spiritually
• Really listening to their complaints and being willing to change what needed to be changed
• Encouraging and supporting their dreams and aspirations, even if different from what I dreamed for them
• Recognizing and respecting their need to try new things
• Allowing them to make mistakes without judging them
• Letting them go when appropriate in order for them to grow
This is not an exhaustive list, but it does summarize the predominate deficiencies.
It has been a long, winding road that led me away from educating to facilitating their learning. I do wish I had taken that route from the beginning, but I am so thankful that it is never too late to change. It has been a source of deep satisfaction to see my resistant-to-book-learning-kids return to the intense curiosity that they were born with so much that they are now seeking out the opportunities to learn themselves.
With that, there is no limit to what they can accomplish.
Silence Isn’t Golden: Kierstyn King’s Story
HA note: The following is reprinted with permission from Kierstyn’s blog Bridging the Gap. It consists of two separate posts that HA has combined. The first, “The Cult That Changed Everything,” was originally published on March 18, 2013. The second, “Silence Isn’t Golden,” was originally published on March 10, 2013.
*****
The Cult That Changed Everything
When I was between the ages of 5 and 7 my parents joined a bible study group through a family in our homeschool group. I guess it was less of a bible study and more of a home-church, because we went to their house for hours every weekend (I can’t remember if it was Saturday or Sunday, probably Sunday). This was not very long into homeschooling, maybe a year or two – my parents, I think, had been pressured by some of the group who had an incredibly spiritual persona that they weren’t godly or spiritual enough *or* homeschooling for the right reasons (but that’s a different discussion entirely). Anyway, My brother and I, we went along to this group with our parents and sat around being really bored, eating weird tasting food, listening to whatever it was we could understand and spending the rest of the time looking at the animals and wondering why it smelled funny at their house (they had a farm, and were into healthy/organic/self-sustaining life and for some reason that has a particular smell).
I don’t remember how long it took before my parents and the other couples at the group were introduced to this program called “Cleansing Stream.” Wanting to be godly and whatever, everyone hopped on board – they “learned” how to study their bible, use a concordance, expel demons (no, I’m not kidding), and we all had to make sacrifices (my brother and I lost many a loved plushie in the name of demon expulsion, and family heirlooms which didn’t matter to *me* as much) to make sure the demons didn’t have any “footholds”. There was a little red book, and any work by the Beveres’ makes me run the other direction. A lot of this now is instinctual, I don’t remember exactly what was taught (besides that demons could inhabit christians if they sinned, and apparently my stuffed tiger) but the ramifications have lasted…well they haven’t stopped.
My parents “left” or dropped out of the cult when they realized that the whole demon-inhabiting-christian-thing wasn’t actually biblical, but they never exited. They learned how to interpret the bible (according to the cult) and this is what became harmful. I was too young to understand anything happening at the bible study (that, or the memory is just blacked out), but the price that came with the things they learned there and after cost a lot:
Somehow god had turned from a loving being to an angry, vindictive, bastard who sent bad things to people for the fun of it, to “test” them, and “try them by fire” and somehow you knew you were loved by how miserable your life was and how much you suffered. The years following the cult were packed with much “love” from this deity.
We became increasingly isolated, we were drilled on the family beliefs, we had unassisted home-births (two of which resulted in stillborn babies – that *could* have been prevented by cesareans), we were constantly told that suffering was a good thing, that we should expect to suffer, even that not suffering was a bad thing (so anyone who good things were happening to? doomed. Anyone happy? obviously not loved by god). I was so scared to leave (and get married)because I thought for sure that after living through my own version of hell, the cycle would start all over again with my husband and our inevitable family.
We never had friends that lasted for more than a year or two – when I was finally able to make my own friends (on the internet!) I built myself a group of people I could trust, most whom I’m still friends with. The friends my parents “made” usually end up having a falling out over some doctrinal issue. We were kicked out of churches and widely hated (or so it felt) by anyone my parents disagreed with.
It grew worse as I aged, in ways I don’t yet have words for. I went from believing and being told that I could hear from god, to being told that he spoke to me through my parents (from my parents – it was convenient and self serving). I was less because I was a woman, my god-ordained-job at home was to be a caretaker to my siblings; I was brutally reminded of that pregnancy after pregnancy, child after child. I was told that my god-ordained-job as a woman, when I was married, was solely to reproduce and homeschool and give my husband sex when he wanted it (because otherwise, he’d find it somewhere else don’t ya know?). Not only that, but I had to let god plan how many kids we’d have, because “he wouldn’t give us more than we could handle” – don’t dare interfere with any kind of protection because that would be getting in the way of god’s will and that would be sinning.
I was a little self-conscious (I resisted as long as I could), but not of my own volition. My mom freaked out about facial imperfections – I have hereditary upper lip hair, my acne was worse than hers at my age, my teeth weren’t straight (supposedly, we could pray my teeth straight. true story), I didn’t wear makeup, I wore clothes a size too big so I’d “grow into them” (with a large family, you do that sometimes) even though I stopped growing when I was 15. The modesty culture was rampant, though admittedly my parents had little to do with this themselves.
Image and appearance were everything: we had (had) to look perfect and perfectly happy on the outside to everyone. We had to be good examples and witnesses, we could never complain, or have a less than perfect moment whenever we left home – if we did, there would be consequences. I can’t tell you how many times people have come up and commented to me about how perfect my family is and how “I bet you help out a lot, huh?” and I just had to stand there and smile politely, and nod, and say “yes, I don’t mind” (or a better variation) even though everything within me was screaming “no! everything is NOT okay! my family is NOT perfect!” There was no room for human moments or authenticity (which is why I treasure them so).
We had to attract people (those poor, ignorant sinners) to our lifestyle, so we had to seem perfect. I have a great smile.
The version of christianity/god I knew, “loved”, and served was egotistical, demeaning, self righteous, superficial, and fear based (much of christianity I’ve seen so far is fear based, don’t you dare say love!). If my parents didn’t like someone, they’d rip them to shreds as soon as they were out of earshot, if I was less than perfect I’d get dragged out of bed and made to sit through several hours of Kierstyn-is-evil-thus-saith-the-lord lecturing until I would finally give up and act how they wanted (usually it was for minor infractions, like not hearing or understanding something correctly – sometimes it was for *gasp* wanting a life) I never knew when this line would be drawn or what the boundaries were.
*****
Silence Isn’t Golden
I’m tired of watching abuse. It happened to me, it happens around me – it’s the reason I can’t run away and escape from my past. The reason I can’t forget, the reason with every core of my being I become so angry that I lose words and start to breakdown.
In 2005, 2006, and 2007 I was a blogger, an NCFCA-er, a Rebelution moderator, a Regenerate Our Culture board member, a Student Project campaigner, and a TeenPact Alumni – if you recognize any of those (*except NCFCA outside region 8 prelims, I didn’t get far), then my name, Kierstyn Paulino (or variations thereof) will ring bells. I contributed to the amount of hurt I and many others who grew up in this radical/evangelical/conservative/christian subculture endured and continue to endure. I’m sorry for that, and ashamed. A large reason I don’t write about it here, and am vague at best is because I’m so ashamed of my past and who I used to be. I didn’t know any better, I was 15 and growing up in a spiritually, psychologically, and emotionally abusive environment. I was trying to do the “right” thing, to be a good girl, to be approved of, and I was. I was looked up to, and even World Magazine noticed. I succeeded for a while, before it all fell apart.
I am not that person anymore. I’ve spent the last 4 years of adulthood learning things most people learn in their late teen years, trying to heal and reach a sense of normalcy, trying to discover who I am because I lived a charade my whole life just to survive, grieving for everything I’ve lost, putting the pieces of myself back together with my best friend who’s been beside me this whole time. I have grown and evolved. I’m not whole, or healed, or perfect, or awesome, or anything. I’m still remarkably borked, but my past keeps casting a shadow and I’m so tired of being quiet, scared, and ashamed. It happened, it was wrong and abusive on so many levels, and I can help it stop.
I am a geek, artist, actress/filmmaker, and activist. I am a paladin, a champion, a defender of the defenseless. I am strong, determined, defiant. I am a protector, a safe place, a warrior, a sister. I am done being silent. I will fight to help the scores of us who are coming out of the woodwork to right the (unintended) wrongs and heal the fellow broken souls. Maybe that will help me heal too.
I doubt that I’ll ever be able to be completely normal, to live a life without the pain and reminders – because my past is a part of me, and it’s the reason that I rage at injustice, and it’s the reason I’m so strong. But maybe, just maybe, I’ll get better at balance, and I’ll be able to embrace all of it and accept the things I’m ashamed of, and help the ones who need it, and live an epic life.
Right now, I just need to cry.
Facing the Stereotypes: Brittany’s Story
Facing the Stereotypes: Brittany’s Story
HA note: The following is reprinted with permission from Brittany’s blog BAM. It was originally published on March 26, 2013.
Scene: Walking home from dropping the boys off at school. I stopped to chat with a fellow mom.
Other mom: Hey there! Are you on Facebook?
Me: (thinking, Who isn’t??? I LOVE FACEBOOK!) Yes!
OM: You should join our new group, the Perrymont Parent. It has the picture of the school as the profile pic.
Me: Awesome! I’ll join.
OM: Great! By the way, we are looking for parents to write a brief note about their child’s teacher, what you like about them, or whatever, to put in the school newsletter.
Me: I love my kids’ teachers! I’ll be sure to write a little something.
And I did. I joined the FB group and I spent 7 minutes composing a short love note for each Pre-K teacher for my twins. Because I do love their teachers. I love their school!
I love their Public School.
And the fact that I love their Public School is a little surprising to me. Here’s why:
As a former homeschool student, the prevailing thought was that all public schools were “bad.” Public school students were only “a number” in the classroom, would get lost in the crowd, and would therefore get a “bad” education. Public school kids were a “bad” influence because of their “worldliness” and bad attitudes. All the teachers were some combination of atheist/evolutionist/Marxist/liberal/lesbian/tree hugger and that was “very bad.”
Growing up, I was deathly afraid of public school.
Fast forward 20+ years and I am much smarter, wiser, more logical, and less silly.
I also have twin boys who are school age.
Last year when I launched my blog series about Adult Homeschoolers, the drive behind the project was my overwhelming, agonizing, paralyzing decision about whether or not to homeschool or send my kids to public school (private school wasn’t an option). All those fears from my childhood were blunging my brain, making my stomach cramp, and keeping me awake at night.
So I dove into exploring my educational past, and the educational experiences of so many other homeschool students. I talked the ears off my husband (who went to public school) and my best friend (who went to private school). I accosted to every mom I came in contact with (friends, strangers–whatever!) who happened to mention that she had school age children and threw out that loaded question: “So, public school?….how do you like it? Have you had a good experience?”
And, amazingly(!), all of those moms who sent their kids to public school answered, “YES!”
I had to face my fears with Truth:
My husband, a product of that “bad” public school system, turned out perfectly fine. In fact, as far as I’m concerned, way better than “fine.”
Through writing my homeschool series, I realized that I, as my children’s parent, will still be the #1 influence in their lives. I could still have a great relationship with my boys. I could still teach them about God and having a relationship with Him. I could still raise them to be respectful, grateful, loving men.
Even if I choose not to homeschool.
Even if I sent them to Public School.
So, we enrolled them in the small neighborhood Public School that is literally right across the street from us. I nervously asked my husband, “So, what is registration?” and then filled out all the forms, crossed all the T’s, dotted all the i’s. And they started school in August.
They loved it.
A few weeks later, I nervously asked my husband, “So, what is a ‘parent/teacher conference’? What do I say? What do they say?” and then went to have a one-on-one with my sons’ Public School teachers.
And I loved them.
They are wonderful women: kind, patient, creative, loving, and darn good educators. My children are learning so much in a loving, creative environment. My husband and I are constantly saying that each teacher is perfect for the personality and learning style of each of our sons. During one of our parent/teacher conferences, I told one teacher that she had been an “answer to my prayers.” She then shared about her relationship with the Lord.
Yep, the public school teacher.
The uncharted waters of Public School have been far from “bad.” They have been good, so good for our family.
I do know that all the stereotypes that I encountered as a homeschool student were probably not completely unfounded. Many parents have had justifiably bad experiences with public school classrooms, teachers, and their child’s peers.
However, stereotypes are just that: stereotypes. They are not true in every instance, or even most cases. And after our experience in the Public School system, I now take those stereotypes with a healthy grain of salt. As a former homeschooler, I am more than happy to shed my fears and add “Public School” to the list of viable options for my children as my husband and I continue to make conscience decisions about what is best for their education.
Homeschool or Public School – What’s Worse?
HA note: The following is reprinted with permission from Heather Doney’s blog Becoming Worldly. It was originally published on March 5, 2013.
I was talking with a homeschooled friend the other day who was raised fairly similar to how I was, with a more structured and less impoverished environment, and we were sharing stories. This and a few other things got me thinking. We both went on to higher education, got our masters degrees. The conversation between us turned to whether homeschooling was preferable to public schooling. While the homeschooling environment was very oppressive and abusive for us both, we each had access to classic literature and read voraciously as a coping mechanism. Favorite books would be read 3, 4, 5, sometimes 6 times over. I think this intensive, almost obsessive, consumption of the written word is one reason why a number of former homeschoolers who have had neglectful educational environments can often write eloquently, in an almost old-fashioned way.
Still, I am sure there are many more who did not get into reading like this and whose voices are not being heard. I knew a homeschooled kid who could barely read or write when he was a preteen, but could repair everything from lawnmowers to electronics just by self-taught tinkering. I often wonder what became of him. I would like to find some of those people too, and feel that those of us who write stories should help them write theirs, share theirs. (Then maybe they can help us fix that jammed door or the broken old-school Nintendo game set in the basement.)
Anyway, so my homeschooled friend and I discovered that despite the problems and the loneliness, we both cherished certain aspects of what we learned as homeschoolers, largely left to our own devices, and we both felt that if we had been sent to public school as little kids, we would not be who we are today, that we wouldn’t value the same things. He was homeschooled the whole way through, so he also expressed concern that he would have been bullied for a health condition in a public school. I told him that I was bullied when I started high school initially, not for any health condition, just for being socially backwards. A few aspects of the bullying I experienced were rather bad (like someone putting gum in my hair once), but most of it was just incredibly awkward. There were many gaps where I tried to connect and failed painfully, many awkward and lonely times before I found friends to eat lunch with and learned social norms. (See Lindsay Lohan’s movie Mean Girls, which accurately captures the feeling on homeschool to high school culture shock.) It lasted almost a year and by then I was seen as properly integrated so it stopped.
So I told my friend that I thought the bullying would have been a bearable phase for him and that the main risk I saw from public school was absorbing the lack of enthusiasm about learning and knowledge endemic to a typical middle-of-the-road public school. He would have learned a lot of different things, but he wouldn’t have likely read all those books that have informed his hopes and dreams because they would not have been assigned, and if they had, depending on what kind of school he went to, by then he might have already been trained into not caring.
Most people I knew in public school only did the assigned work and the bare minimum at that. I guess this is normal, but it was shocking to me – I fought so hard to get an education, then ran into others’ lethargy about learning, an expressed desire for good grades without putting in the work, and widespread dependence on the grade book and teachers’ expectations for self-worth. I think it was much more a problem with the system than the people, although some people certainly stood out in both good and bad ways.
I took honors and advanced placement classes because I had the drive and ability to, so I met and became close with friends who felt similarly about the value of knowledge as I did. I had some good teachers who taught me a lot and who I still love and respect, and a principal and an assistant principle who supported me and tried to integrate me as much as they were able. I also had a terrible guidance counselor, one who knew I grew up poor, and after I’d taken the ACT and made a 25 (a good score), crisply noted that being on the B+ honor roll didn’t mean I was in the top of my class, and then she told me “college isn’t for everyone. There’s community college and trade schools.”
I sent my guidance counselor’s negative comments into the same mental trash bin I reserved for my parents’, so I naturally assumed other people wouldn’t take her seriously either, only later realizing they might not have had a lovable old military grandfather talking to them about degrees and high-powered careers, counteracting her negative message.
Maybe it should not have surprised me back then that certain classmates of mine who also grew up poor but were by all standard metrics very good students (certainly better students than me), went on to work at Wal-Mart, or Waffle House, or enlist in the military, and forgo college altogether. It did come as a pretty big shock to me though, as I’d absorbed the idea of a “meritocracy,” the idea that your skills and abilities are what set you apart. Whenever I see it being something else that sets people apart it still sucks. It just plain and simple sucks.
It also makes me angry when I reflect that I wasn’t the only one who heard this not-so-subtle tune of low expectations while in the guidance counselor’s office. I feel that my fellow students from low-income families deserved better. The truth is maybe she was right though, since the statistics indicate that only 11% of students who grow up below the poverty line complete college. However, the fact is I am now one of that 11%, and I expect that if I’d been in public school the whole way through, absorbed more of the social values on what being poor meant, perhaps the bar for my own dreams would have been set a bit lower.
Overall I am really glad I got to have my Grandad’s intensive tutoring (a form of homeschooling) and I am glad I got to attend public school. Attending public school helped me to familiarize myself with social norms, connect with classmates and make friends (a number of whom I still have), and do all those lovely things like go to prom and have an awkward 10 year class reunion. I have good memories of passing notes in class, volunteering in the concession stand, and cheering my high school football team as they won the state championships.
However, there are a lot of things that do make me want to hold my nose when I consider the entire public school system across our nation, with all the inequality, discrimination, busywork, and reinforced social stratification it brings. That’s why people like John Holt advocated homeschooling as an “underground railroad” away from it in the first place. He saw this and he felt that highly structured authoritarian classrooms were generally not the best learning space and I think in many ways he is right.
Considering where I am today, a person with a master’s degree who is kicking around the idea of going for a PhD, I also realize I need to take a fuller view beyond my own experience. I could say “oh, it turned out fine for me. No harm no foul.” However, although I can speak to what educational neglect is like, ultimately my experience has not been that of the average educationally neglected homeschool kid. My trajectory drastically changed. If I had been left there without outside help, I doubt I’d be writing here today, plain and simple. It would be beyond my sphere of knowing. I would be keeping my head down, working a low-wage job somewhere. That’s what too many kids from poorly run, under-resourced, low-performing public schools also do. The neglected homeschool kids and the neglected public school kids are both neglected kids. They are ultimately the same group.
So this debate of public school versus homeschool that keeps cropping up seems really silly and often rather irritating to me. Homeschool and public school are both options — chicken and fish, apples and oranges, paper and plastic. Sometimes, given the circumstances or personal preference, one option is obviously better than the other, sometimes it isn’t. It is important to have the best versions you can available so people can make the most of the choices.
So why do people keep talking about homeschool or public school being better or worse when the real question is, “How do we get kids, including kids from families living in poverty, to reach their full potential?” I don’t know. But I think we need to think about why we do it and then think how we can fix it.
Like I said in my recent guest post for Libby Anne (which I am pleased to say was chosen as an Editor’s Pick for the whole Patheos website), I think it ultimately comes down to children’s rights. If the needs of children are seen as being important and the voices of children are seen as being important then both homeschooling and public schooling must work to improve the experience of kids who struggle, live with few resources, and who have seen and dealt with hardship beyond their years. There are cracks in both systems and there should be no “throwaway” children in either. Pointing fingers does nothing to erase what is going on for these kids.
So if you want to pick a dichotomy, if you really need one, then think about the “haves versus the have-nots,” the kids who have people in their lives who truly care about their education and wellbeing and have high expectations for them versus the ones who don’t. Those groups exist in both homeschool and public school and they are pretty serious problems in both worlds. That is the variable that educational success is dependent on, not whether you are sitting in a classroom or a living room.
Looking Down Their Noses: Jamie’s Story
HA note: The author’s name has been changed to ensure anonymity. “Jamie” is a pseudonym.
I have been mulling something over for about a month. Pieces of this for much longer. There is something I have noticed and it’s kind of driving me bonkers.
As someone who has taught in Christian/private schools, home schooled, been home schooled and now a mom of a public school student, I feel like I have a bone to pick.
Growing up home schooled and going to a billion home schooling conferences, I heard tons of “horror stories” of public school kids/classes/teachers. Looking back, I am surprised that some of these speakers didn’t dim all the lights and put a flashlight under their chin while they spoke. Parents leave these conferences determined not to let their kid go to a public school ever. So they keep home schooling, and honestly? Some home schooling families have no business “teaching” their kids, because they are learning nothing. (Those are the ones that give the “good” home schooling families a bad name.)
Even if these poor moms are ready to quit home schooling, they can’t. There’s fear. There’s judgement. There’s a pile of canned, self-righteous answers for all their reasons. Generally speaking, there’s no money to send their children to Christian school, public school is “out” (in their minds) and so they muddle on. Done, but not done.
When I taught (in several) Christian schools, there would be comments from the admins and staff alike that would poo-poo the other Christian school in the area. Basically, gossip:
“ABC school handled such and such poorly, we would have handled it so much better.”
“XYZ school allows such and such to go on, we would never allow that here.”
It all pretty much follows the pattern of “they are bad because ___, we are better because ____”.
Building yourself up with examples that may or may not be true (or based on truth) and tearing another down. It’s kind of a manipulative way to keep your staff and students right where you want them, all the while jacking up their tuition so much, it’s almost (if not impossible) to send even one child, never mind more than one. But still looking down their noses at public school families and rolling eyes at home schoolers.
I’m pretty tired of the whole scene.
There are fabulous teachers in the public school system, just like there are fabulous teachers at the little Christian school down the road, and fabulous mothers teaching their own children. And, news flash —
There are horror stories coming out of all three.
The public school system is not the enemy. It makes a convenient target, because it’s big and vague. And just because you assign too much home work, make your students wear uniforms, and have Christian in your title doesn’t make you “better.” And there are home schooling families that need to put aside their fear and the lies they have swallowed for years and admit they are in over their heads. The bottom line should be your children’s education. My oldest has learned more this year in public school than she has the last 3 years I have taught her. It’s been the best thing for her. I can “just” be her mom, and it’s taken a lot of pressure off of me.
It kills me when I hear people say, “I got to hear my child sing praise songs while cleaning their room. Ah, the benefits of home schooling.” Or, “I just got to see my child read a chapter out of the Bible. Ah, the benefits of home schooling.” Really? Somehow my children will never read the Bible or sing praise songs because they are in public school? They will never play nicely with their sisters or practice the piano or go to AWANA because they are in school? Just because it happens at 10:30 in the morning at your house, doesn’t mean it can’t happen after 3:30 in the afternoon at my house.
However you choose to educate your child is your business.
But there is not one way to do it. And there is not merely one way for each family. Kids are different, their needs are different, and situations change. Being fluid isn’t being weak. It’s being open minded and honest and putting your kids first.
And isn’t that what parenting is all about?
To be continued.
Home Is Where The Hurt Is: Mary’s Story, Part Three
Home Is Where The Hurt Is: Mary’s Story, Part Three
HA notes: The author’s name has been changed to ensure anonymity. “Mary” is a pseudonym. The following series is an original non-fiction story that spans 33 pages of single-spaced sentences. It will be divided into 10 parts. The story begins during the author’s early childhood and goes up to the present. At each stage the author writes according to the age she is at.
Trigger warnings: various parts of this story contain descriptions of graphic, often sadistic, physical abuse of children, apologisms for religious abuse, deprivation of food, as well as references to rape.
*****
In this series: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Conclusion
*****
Part Three: I’m Not Going Back
…things are about to get worse.
Finally Dad comes and calls us into the living room. He has the belt in his hands and Mom is sitting in the chair looking like a martyr. We all sit and wait to see what punishment Mom has decided that we should have. She always has the final decision even if Dad is the one to tell us what it is. If Dad doesn’t give us a punishment that she thinks is bad enough then she will start yelling at him and we will end up getting what Mom has decided.
Dad has the belt in both hands with the two layers together. Then he separates the layers and then pulls them flat again very fast to make a loud crack. It sounds like he just spanked someone very hard. I shiver but try not to look scared. He’s done this before and now I am terrified because I know what’s coming.
Dad looks like he is enjoying our reactions and has a slight grin on his face. To me it looks like an evil grin and I yell at him that this is not funny. Mom jumps up out of her seat and rushes over to slap my face and yells at me not to ever yell at her husband. She sits back down and Dad gets up and starts walking around the room in circles in front of us over and over. While he is walking he keeps cracking the belt very close to us changing the person who he does it in front of.
He is talking the whole time about our rebelliousness and our bad attitudes and making Mom miserable. He has been around the room at least four times now and now he is starting the fifth. This time he starts swinging out the belt towards us. Abby just screamed. He hit her across the front of her legs. John is next; he got hit on the knees. I am trying not to show how scared I am but I can tell that Dad knows I’m terrified. He gets closer to me and I hold my breath and then slowly let it escape as he starts to pass me. All of a sudden he turns back around and catches me with the belt across my lower arms and stomach. I can’t control the scream of pain that comes out.
I look over at Mom and she is looking quite satisfied with what is going on. Dad keeps going around the room, someone gets hit every time he goes around but we never know who or where. Sometimes he hits the sofa beside us just to scare us. By the end of it he had gotten the fronts of my legs, shoulders, arms, chest, knees and stomach. Abby got hit everywhere too. I wasn’t paying attention to John because he was on the other sofa. Dad finally sat down but he cracked the belt one more time just for effect.
I am so angry now I am trembling. I know Mom and Dad think I am trembling because I am afraid but I’m not. I am screaming at them in my head, screaming at Dad asking him how he could do this to his daughters, screaming at Mom for making him do it.
The lecture is finally over. We are going to miss supper tonight and we are so hungry. Mom has a home school meeting tonight which means we get a little break because Dad always falls asleep on the sofa after supper. As soon as he starts snoring I go to my room and pack my duffle bag. I pack some clothes and my favorite blanket and Rita. Then I sneak in the kitchen and get some apples and put them in the duffle and head out the side door.
I sneak around the back of the house to the woods that separate our house from the road. It is the middle of summer so I know that the leaves on the trees will hide me. I have to be careful though, because there woods are full of poison ivy and I don’t want the poison on me.
I start to head for the road. I just got to the road and now I hear Dad calling me. I don’t answer but I start to walk faster. As soon as I get to the road I start running and I run as fast as I can all the way to the stop sign. I am going to run away and I’m not going to let Dad find me. I turn around when I get to the stop sign to make sure he isn’t following. I hear a car coming on the main road and run up the hill into the trees so they won’t see me. When I see the car I almost throw up. It is Mom.
I lay down as low as I can and I know she didn’t see me. As soon as I see the van turn into our driveway I take off down the main road. I know where I am going. There is a lady that goes to our church that does not live very far away. I know I can make it there by morning time.
This is the third time I have tried to run away and Dad always caught me before I got off our road. Now I have made it farther then ever and I’m not going back. Every time I hear a car coming, I get off the road very fast and hide in the trees. I am almost to the end of this road now all I have to do is get onto Broad River Rd and go till I get to the lady’s road. I hear another car coming up behind me and I hide as best as I can. There are not good trees right here so the best option I have is to hide in the ditch.
I get down as low as I can and hold my breath but this time the car doesn’t keep going it slows to a stop. I hope that is because the car is about ready to turn but it isn’t. I hear a car door open and the Dad yell at me to get into the car. I know I am caught again but this time I get up and yell back that I’m not going. He yells at me again to get in the car and I yell back no!
I start to try to run in the other direction but he is faster and catches me. He drags me back by the arm and shoves me in the car. He gets back in and takes me home.
I know I am in big trouble.
We get back to the house and Dad tells Mom where I was. She grabs my bag away from me and dumps every thing out on the kitchen floor. As soon as she sees Rita she grabs her away from me and tells me I have lost her again. She sees the apples and tells me that because I took them, I am going to miss every meal tomorrow and I have a twenty page paper to write on stealing. I don’t know how long she will keep Rita this time but I refuse to let them see me cry. I pretend like I didn’t care and leave the room.
Abby asks me if I am upset and I tell her no. I will try to run away again one day.
*****
It is finally bedtime and we are all relieved.
Abby is so weak from being hungry that she can hardly walk and all she wants to do is sleep. John somehow always manages to sneak food out without getting caught, but Abby and I are too afraid to try. Abby and I climb into bed and talk for a few minutes trying to ignore the nawing hunger in our stomachs. Abby goes to sleep very quickly but I have a hard time going to sleep while I am that hungry.
I finally start to go to sleep when I hear stomping down the hall. They are Mom’s footsteps and I know that this means she is coming to our room. She bangs open the door and turns on the light screaming for us to get up.
What possessed you to think you had permission to sleep?
She yanks us out of bed and yells at us to get into the living room. She tells all of us to stand on the rug until she gets back and stomps out of the room. Abby looks like she is going to fall over. In my head I plead with her not to sit down because I don’t want Mom any madder. Mom finally comes back in carrying one of the hard wooden desks. Dad is following with another one and puts his down and goes back for the third one.
Mom then tells us that we have not done a bit of school work today. So now we get to stay up until that day’s school is done along with as many undone assignments that she tells us. We each sit down at a desk and I feel total despair. I am so hungry and so tired that I cannot think. She lays down on the sofa with the belt across her lap and says that if she finds us sleeping, not working fast enough, or doing sloppy work than she will start spanking.
I work for a while and steal a look at Mom and see that she has gone to sleep. I prop my head against my hand with my other hand holding my pencil so it looks like I am writing. I tell myself that I’m only going to sleep for just a minute so that I can get a little more energy.
*****
I wake up to a slashing pain across my back.
Mom is standing over me and strikes again.
I stand up as fast as I can so that she can hit my bottom instead of my back but I all of a sudden feel sick and dizzy and fall to the floor. Mom keeps swinging the belt and hits my sides and my legs and my back again. I curl into a ball to try to protect myself while she keeps swinging. She hits my side so hard that I jerk out straight uncontrollably leaving my front exposed. Before I can curl back up she swings the belt again and this time it catches me on my chest. I scream in agony and she finally stops. She reaches down and grabs a handful of my hair and yanks me off the floor and forces me back into the desk.
Her face is in mine, I see in her eyes that she hates me. She screams that if I dare fall asleep again then I will stand in the corner till devotion time the next morning.
For the rest of the night we all fight sleep and try our hardest to get some school work done. We are never working fast enough when Mom wakes up. So periodicly we are all getting many spankings.
It is finally 6:15 am and time for family devotions.
To be continued.
Home School Marriages: Shadowspring’s Story, Part One
Shadowspring’s story was originally published on her blog Love. Liberty. Learning. She describes herself on her blog as, “a home school mom near the end of my career home schooling and looking forward to what life has to offer next. I am a follower of Jesus and a lover of freedom, as it is for freedom that Christ has set me free (Gal 5:1).” This story is reprinted with her permission.
*****
In this series: Part One | Part Two | Part Three
*****
Today I plan to post about some home school marriage disasters of which I have personal knowledge. As I freely admit, my own home school marriage was in deep trouble, and I fully intend to tell that story. I guess I’ll give a brief synopsis of my story at the end of this little post, just to be fair.
Also before I begin my laundry list of half a dozen bad marriages, let me point out that I know dozens if not hundreds of home school families that have perfectly fine marriages as far as I can tell. No doubt some are even great!
I am not posting any real names. I know that some will accuse me of making these stories up since I will not post any verifying details. That is okay by me, accuse away. I know that these stories are all true, even though I will not reveal the details. Each story represents real flesh and blood people that I have seen.
Please keep in mind that all the names have been changed to protect the identities of those involved, innocent or not. Also each of these families was very active in their church leadership during the time that I knew them. They are all Christians with a capital C.
The Founders were a family that proudly started the first home school support group in their area. To everyone’s shock and dismay, their oldest son secretly married another home school girl as soon as he turned eighteen. So began the unraveling of their whole family.
I remember the Dad telling me puzzled that he did not understand how this could happen. He and his son and discussed it and his son agreed to wait until after college to marry. (Get the feeling Dad did all the talking and none of the listening? I do.)
Shortly after, Dad was arrested for sexual misconduct. Mom divorced dad, and the other children were enrolled in private school. Dad later confessed that there were marriage problems going on for a long time before the divorce.
But all this time the Founders were very involved in what was to become an exclusive Christian home school support group. Their son was prepared academically for any Ivy League school. I don’t think he ever even made it to college, though. Last I heard he was working at an entry level job to support his wife and young child.
The Excluders were a very loud and opinionated family that was largely responsible for that home school support group’s “statement of faith”. Their idea was that we needed to protect our children from associating with other home school children that didn’t share our Christian values. They won that battle, and so the only home school support group in that county became closed to all but Christians.
The father of the Excluders is now a registered sex offender. Seems while he was away on business he would chat online with young ladies in need of “spiritual guidance”. A police officer, posing as a fourteen year old girl, agreed to meet him at his hotel to discuss this all in person. According the the prosecutors and law enforcement, he was guilty of soliciting a minor. His wife did not leave him. They are still married and I think still home schooling. But I don’t for one minute believe that everything is fine in that marriage.
Then there is the Serial Adulterer family and the Refuses Work family. Incidentally, in both of these families, friends of mine, the fathers fancy themselves preachers called by God. And preach they do, every chance they get. Though why anyone wants to hear anything either of them has to say, I could not tell you. They must keep their private lives hidden, or put on an amazing spin to it all.
Mr. Refuses Work is also an adulterer, though not as practiced at it as Mr. Serial Adulterer. Both claim their latest woman are finally God’s true calling for their lives and now their ministries will really take off!
Mr. Refuses Work is now divorced. Believe it or not, his wife put up with him refusing to work for three years. Once he finally returned to work, he met his current girlfriend and left his wife. Yes, after she gave up home schooling and supported the family on her part-time wage for three years! Always the submissive wife, I don’t think she would have ever left him (though she should have years ago!).
Mr. Serial Adulterer’s wife is still praying and trusting God to heal her family, though as her long time friend, I wish she would divorce him and move on with her life. Her children have been in and out of public school/home school as mom has had to work off and on. She is a great teacher and loves to bless her children with the freedom to home school when possible, but Mr. Serial Adulterer is not the most reliable provider.
I promised you half a dozen families but I have deleted at least three of my examples because, even though there was moral failure and broken hearts galore, not every reader understands the connection between teens acting out and the state of their parents’ marriage. I see it clearly, but it would take too much time and a lot of research and footnotes to make the connection plain to all. So I have only chosen to write about the crystal clear home school marriage failures.
Others I have left out because as best as I can tell the people in the marriages appear to be resigned to an unhappy life. I suppose if they are willing to accept a crappy marriage, that is a disaster in itself, since Jesus wanted our joy to be full. But they would claim they are okay, so I won’t post their example.
Which brings me to my story in brief. I was also in leadership in the home school community. My husband has a perfect religious pedigree, though he never fancied himself a preacher or teacher. To the outside world he has always been a great guy, little shy maybe, but a great guy. He was friendly, knew a lot of Bible verses, held to the right doctrine plus he was a great provider.
The hidden reality? My husband was an abusive man. Not only abusive. He has many good qualities. Not always abusive. In the first ten years of our marriage I hardly noticed it at all. Abusive moments were rare and easily excused. It wasn’t until our children were older that he really began to grow cold.
But he had hidden hatred and resentment in his heart that grew to poison our marriage and our family. And there is a reason Jesus told us that hating someone is akin to murdering them. Hatred leads to violence. It is inevitable.
I can’t end this post without letting everyone know that my marriage is healing and growing stronger every day because my husband is healing and growing stronger every day. Once he admitted that he was an abusive man and started getting useful help, things began to turn around.
I’ll save the rest of the story for later.
To be continued.
Post-Fundamentalist Marriage
Crosspost: Post-Fundamentalist Marriage
HA note: The following is reprinted with permission from Latebloomer’s blog Past Tense Present Progressive. It was originally published on July 4, 2012.
If I had stayed within the constraints of fundamentalism and Christian Patriarchy, my husband and I would absolutely not be happily married today. Our relationship from the very beginning consisted of many departures from the teachings I grew up with. Each of those departures furthered the development, health, and mutual happiness of our relationship.
The first departure: As a single woman, I moved out of my parents’ home to get a college education. What is a completely ordinary step for many North American women was a desperate and terrifying leap for me. My family’s homeschooling church, led by Reb Bradley, promoted a very restrictive view of gender roles along with a strong suspicion of the “liberal bias” of higher learning institutions. Within the church culture, daughters were obligated to stay home under their father’s authority until marriage; once married, they would be housekeepers and stay-at-home mothers. For daughters, a college education was dangerous (because it removed them from their father’s protection), risky for their faith (because it exposed them to non-Christian ideas), and wasteful (because it was not practical for their duties at home).
However, despite my church’s reservations about college, only good things came to me through my experiences there, far away from home. College helped me grow socially, intellectually, physically, and spiritually in ways that have benefited me in every area of my life since then. But of all the good things, I am most grateful for the chance to meet my husband; we were definitely meant to be together. Without college, we would never have met.
The second departure: My boyfriend and I dated instead of courting. According to Reb Bradley’s teaching of “Biblical” courtship, a daughter needed the protection and guidance of her father to find a spouse. This was because women were supposedly easily deceived, just like Eve in the Garden of Eden, swayed by their emotions and easily taken advantage of. Through the courtship process, a father could “guide” his daughter by screening any suitors for “correct” religious and political beliefs; he could “protect” his daughter by making rules about displays of affection and enforcing those rules through constant supervision.
My experiences away from home at college convinced me that my church was completely wrong about women. In fact, it was denying women experience and education that caused them to be so dependent on men; it was not an innate quality of women. As I was working hard to increase my self-confidence and independence that my church and family had damaged, I made a goal for myself: I was not only going to date, I was also going to ask out the guy.
The first and only guy that I asked out turned out to be my future husband. As it so happened, we lived several hours apart from each other, so we only had one meeting and one shot at a relationship. If I hadn’t taken the initiative to ask him out, we would never have ended up together.
It is absolutely critical that my husband and I found each other without being pushed or restricted by our parents. We were not playing a role of trying to please our parents and stay true to our parents’ beliefs; we were free to be ourselves, and we could see more clearly what our life would be like together if we got married. We were adults, taking responsibility for ourselves and our well-being in the present and the future.
The third departure: My fiance and I cohabitated before getting married. It goes without saying that cohabitation was forbidden in the culture I was raised in, since even the alone time of dating was considered unnecessary and hazardous to “purity”. In fact, cohabitation was seen as one of the great evils of society and a major contributor to the decrease of marriage and increase of divorce rates in North America.
My fiance and I never planned to cohabitate. The circumstances of life simply made it the best option for us. It was only later that we saw that cohabitation itself benefited our relationship. It gave us confidence that we were making the right decision to get married, because we could more clearly envision our future married life together. What were the gaps like between structured activities and conversations? What were we like as introverts, when we withdrew from our pseudo-extroversion in order to recharge? What was it like to take care of mundane tasks together, like keeping up an apartment, cooking, cleaning, and shopping for groceries? What did he act like, first thing in the morning before he’d had his coffee? What did I look like, first thing in the morning before I’d put on makeup? The fewer surprises, the better–especially when it’s a lifelong commitment you’re talking about.
Besides that, cohabitating without having premarital sex allowed us to horrify absolutely everyone in the world.
The fourth departure: He pushed me to freely express my opinions and disagree with him. As we developed a closer relationship, we began to experience some communication challenges. Specifically, I found it extremely difficult to express my opinions, even when we were just making simple decisions such as what movie to watch or restaurant to eat at. A lot of this was due to my emotional repression from authoritarian parenting, but there was more to it than that. It also came from a serious misunderstanding of healthy relationships, which I had learned from my church and family. I felt, deep down, that having and expressing my own opinions was selfish and would cause my partner unhappiness. I thought we would have a better, stronger, and happier relationship if I buried my preferences and played the role of a supportive wife.
To my surprise, the opposite was true. Due to my “unselfishness,” I rarely felt loved or understood, and my partner constantly felt frustrated as he tried to guess my wants and needs in order to make me feel valued.
It turned out that he wanted to have a relationship with a real person, a person with feelings and thoughts. He did not want a “yes man” or a deferential subordinate; he wanted us to learn from and challenge each other. Improving our communication skills beautifully affected our relationship; we began to understand ourselves and each other much better. With that greater understanding, we were able to begin making better decisions as a team, compromising and compensating each other when necessary, so that we experienced the most mutual benefit.
The fifth departure: We don’t separate our responsibilities based on gender. Within fundamentalism and Christian Patriarchy, your role in life is based on your gender, with no regard for your personality, strengths, weaknesses, or preferences. If you are a man, you must provide and lead. If you are a woman, you must take care of the house and children and defer to your husband’s decisions. Any unhappiness that arises from this gender-based arrangement is merely a sign of your need to depend on God more and try even harder to fulfill your gender role properly.
That approach to life is blind to the huge amount of variety in the world and even the variety in the Bible. Instead of acknowledging variety and diversity, everything is black and white, neatly categorized, and stacked in little boxes. All the misfits and in-betweens are either ignored or labeled as sinful.
My husband and I realized right away that we would both be unhappy if we just automatically followed traditional gender roles without adapting them to suit who we were. In some ways, we appear very traditional at first glance; I quit my job to be a stay-at-home mom, and he supports us financially by working every day. However, we are only doing that because we both happen to be happy in those roles right now, and we do not feel trapped because we know we could choose another arrangement at any time.
In many other ways, we have chosen to depart from traditional gender roles to promote the greatest mutual happiness and success. For instance, he loves cooking and experimenting in the kitchen, while I find cooking to be a monotonous chore. We are both happier when we share the cooking responsibilities. Also, organizing and planning comes naturally to me, but he has a lot of difficulty thinking of and keeping track of the details. That means we are both happier and things run more smoothly when I take charge of managing our plans and vacations. Over time, we have recognized that we each have areas of expertise, so the person with the relevant skill or knowledge naturally takes the lead at the appropriate time. Each of us is unique, and together we make a unique team; it would be a shame to damage that dynamic relationship by trying to force ourselves into roles that don’t fit us.
These five departures are risks that I took, doing the very things that I had been warned about for my whole fundamentalist youth. In the end, it turned out that they were stepping stones from my depressed past life to my satisfied present life. They were an escape route surrounded by scary shadows and “maybes”, but I’ve finally made it out into the light. I feel extremely lucky. I hope for the same happiness for each person who reads this; just realize that happiness doesn’t come from formulas and rules, and it will probably look different for you than for me, because of the beautiful variety of life.
Home Is Where The Hurt Is: Mary’s Story, Part Two
Home Is Where The Hurt Is: Mary’s Story, Part Two
HA notes: The author’s name has been changed to ensure anonymity. “Mary” is a pseudonym. The following series is an original non-fiction story that spans 33 pages of single-spaced sentences. It will be divided into 10 parts. The story begins during the author’s early childhood and goes up to the present. At each stage the author writes according to the age she is at.
Trigger warnings: various parts of this story contain descriptions of graphic, often sadistic, physical abuse of children, apologisms for religious abuse, deprivation of food, as well as references to rape.
*****
In this series: Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Conclusion
*****
Part Two: The End of Happiness
Tomorrow is my birthday and I will be eight years old!
I am so excited because Mom said that I can make my own birthday cake. I feel like such a big girl. Mom has been yelling at us a lot for the last few weeks but I know she won’t yell at me tomorrow because it’s my birthday!
I am so excited about tomorrow that I don’t pay attention to my mopping after supper. Now Mom is mad at me again because I missed so many spots. Why can’t I get it done right? I tell Mom I’m sorry and I’ll try harder next time. I hope this doesn’t mess up tomorrow. It’s finally bedtime and I know that the faster I go to sleep the faster tomorrow will come. So I am a good girl and don’t talk to Abby.
*****
It’s my birthday! Mom says that, as soon as the kitchen is cleaned up from breakfast, I can start making my birthday cake. I am going to make a carrot cake. That is one of my favorites.
I get out all the ingredients from the recipe card and put them on the counter just like Mom does. Then I separate the dry ones and the wet ones like she said. I tried to be very careful to make sure I had each one right but somehow I got the flour and the baking soda mixed up on the card. I put in two cups of baking soda instead of two cups of flour. Mom came in just as I put the second cup of baking soda in and saw my mistake. She is yelling at me now and all I see is her angry face almost touching mine. She says that I’m stupid and lazy and can’t follow directions. She says that I just wasted a lot of ingredients and that she should never have let me bake anything.
I try not to cry but I don’t do a very good job and tears start flowing. She yells at me to shut up and get out of her kitchen. I run to my room as fast as I can to get away from Mom and grab Rita and curl up on my bed and keep sobbing. Why did she get so mad? I tried so hard. I guess I am stupid and shouldn’t be allowed to bake anything. Rita’s yarn hair is very wet with my tears now but I know she doesn’t mind and I know she loves me.
Mom just called me back in the kitchen. I don’t want to go but I know I better or she will get even madder. She is still very angry when I get back and says that I have to make my cake and that she is going to be standing over my shoulder to make sure I don’t do anything wrong. I am scared now because I know she is looking for me to do something wrong and now I don’t want to make my cake. She makes me get back on the chair so I can reach the counter and start measuring. It is so hard because I still can’t make myself stop crying and I know she is getting madder at me. She tells me that I’m a crybaby and to shut up. I really try but it is so hard!
I finally get everything done and the batter mixed and in the oven and she finally lets me go. I am angry but I am careful not to show it. Everything is ready for the party now and Mom is back to happy again. I pretend I’m not mad at her so that I will have a good birthday party. John and Abby say that the cake is very good and I am very proud of myself and I hope that next year Mom will let me make my own cake without her watching me again.
I forget that I’m mad at Mom because they gave me such a nice card and present and I tell them I love them. I do love them. They are my parents. I am happy as I go to bed and hope that maybe tomorrow I will start to be loved again by Mom and Dad. After all they had made such a sweet card and I knew they meant it.
****
It’s now almost my ninth birthday and I really don’t care. I have so many undone school assignments that I know I won’t have a good day. Mom says I’m lazy and stupid. Mmaybe I am, I don’t know and right now I don’t care. Every school assignment that she gives me I can’t do it right, so why should I bother? She has a clipboard hanging up on the kitchen wall that says Mary’s undone list. John and Abby have one too. I hate that clipboard! There are several pages on it. All of them are filled top to bottom with assignments that she says aren’t done. Most of them I already have done but she didn’t like the way that I did them or said I didn’t try and ripped them up for me to do over. I also have a whole bunch of chores that Mom says I haven’t finished. That means more trouble and more spankings.
I know it will not be a good birthday, so I pretend I don’t care. Inside I am so angry at Mom but I dare not show her.
Shame
Fear and shame grip me as soon as I wake up.
The bed and my pajamas are cold and wet again. I am terrified.
The last time I wet the bed only a couple of nights ago, Mom got so angry. I am a big girl. Why can’t I wake up when I need to go?
I shake Abby awake and tell her I’m so sorry because I know that she will have gotten wet too. We jump out of bed very fast and take the sheets off the bed and I take them into the laundry room for Mom to wash, then Abby and I run to the bathroom to get cleaned up as fast as we can. We run water in the tub and take a bath as fast as we can and get dressed to go clean up our room.
I don’t make it back to our room before Mom is yelling for me to get in her room. I hate her room and am scared to go in because I know that she knows. She yells at me that I’m a big baby and that I’m lazy. She screams at me that I’m causing her more laundry and that from now on, if I wet my bed then I have to wash everything I messed up. I am crying now and I don’t understand why Mom is so angry. I want to wake up when I need to go but I just can’t. She is still yelling at me and I try to listen just so she will finish and let me go, but she keeps going. She says that if this doesn’t stop, then she is going to tell everybody at church what a baby I am.
Now I am really terrified. She finally finishes but I know I am in trouble. We only have an hour to finish all of our chores and she yelled at me for almost 20 minutes after I had already used up about 15 minutes to get the dirty clothes in the laundry room and get cleaned up. I now only have about 25 minutes to clean the two downstairs bathrooms, empty the dishwasher from last night, vacuum all three bedrooms and the living room, and fold laundry. I know I am doomed.
I work as fast as I can but it is no use, I am only able to get the dishwasher empty and clean one bathroom before the timer goes off. Mom yells at all of us to get to the kitchen and we trip over each other to get in there as fast as we can. She goes down the list starting with John. His chores are not signed off neither are mine nor Abby’s. She yells for us all to line up outside her door for our spankings. John goes first and we listen outside as the belt hits him over and over again. I try to count them so I know how many I’m going to get but I’m so scared that I loose count.
I’m next. I don’t seem to be moving fast enough for her so she grabs me by the hair and drags me to the side of her bed. I try not to scream as she yells at me to pull my pants down. She starts spanking and I start counting to try to pay attention to something besides the pain. I don’t want to scream and I try not to make a sound but tears are running down my face by the time she reaches spanking number fifty.
She finally stops and yells at me to get out of her sight. I pull up my pants as fast as I can and get out of her room. I run into my room across the hall and grab Rita to hug her and cry into her while Mom gives Abby hers. I am counting Abby’s so that I can put Rita down and run into the living room before Mom comes out of her room so I don’t get caught and Mom doesn’t take Rita away from me again.
She took Rita from me a while ago for two weeks and I just got her back. I can’t lose her again.
As soon as the rounds of spankings are over, she yells at all of us to go into the living room for a family meeting. We all know what that means and it means we are going to have a miserable day. Of course what is different than all the others? Even if they don’t start out like today did, they are all miserable.
We have now been sitting on the sofa for about two hours while Mom has been lecturing and lecturing and sometimes reading parts of Proverbs. Because she had been yelling at me first thing this morning, we missed family devotions so she decides that now is a good time to have them while she is lecturing. She finds the Proverbs about the foolish and lazy person and about the wicked. She tells us that it is in the Bible that the foolish man needs to be punished until his wickedness is driven out of him. She says that we are the wicked and foolish people that God is talking about us in those chapters. She tells us that she cannot let rebellion go unpunished because she is God’s representative to us. If we rebel against her than we are rebelling against God.
She says that God gives people the authorities in their lives and that she was ours, therefore we are supposed to obey her without grumbling or complaining and especially without question. Then she starts down the same thing that I have heard almost every day for as long as I can remember. She says that she is in a war against us and that God is on her side in that war. She says that she will not lose the war and we will be judged by God for not obeying her. She says that she will keep fighting till she dies, we die, or we are finally broken of our will. Then she turns to Deuteronomy and reads some in there and tells us that, if we would only obey her, then there would be so many blessings. We would be happy as a family and God would not be angry with us.
I listen to her ramble for a little while and then I just start tuning her out. I listen just enough so that if she asks me a question, I will be able to answer it. I tell myself that she is wrong. I do try to get my chores and school work done.
Right now I am getting angrier and angrier because I am watching the clock and I know how long we have been sitting here. We have already long since missed breakfast and now we are only an hour away from lunch time and she is still talking. I know this means that we will miss lunch, too, because we have to have half of our school assignments done and signed off before we are allowed to eat lunch. I can’t remember the last time I had breakfast and this is the third day in a row that I have missed lunch.
Last night I only was able to have one of Mom’s five-minute, one helping meals.
I am so hungry right now that even if I wanted to listen to Mom I would have a hard time. Mom is still very angry and is making herself angrier as she is talking. She tells us that in the Old Testament rebellious children were stoned to death and that’s what we deserve. Now she is doing her fake crying and asking why we are all out to get her and to make her life miserable. She asks us why we can’t be good children like all the children in the home school group. She’s too tired to keep going so now she throws us all outside until Dad gets home to “deal with us” because she says we are out of control.
We are not allowed to take anything outside with us even our school work and we are not allowed to leave the back porch. I know this means that we will either miss supper too or only get a five-minute meal. It’s so hot out here and I am so thirsty but I know better than to ask for water. When we get thrown outside, Mom says that we lose all the privileges of living in the house.
I hear Dad’s car pull into the driveway and am not sure whether or not to be scared or relieved. Dad comes in the house and goes straight back to his room. We can hear him and Mom talking through their bathroom window next to the deck. Mom is talking very mean and is yelling.
We know that means things are about to get worse.
To be continued.
Homeschoolers Anonymous 