18Sep

Schooled

Today marks one week back at school for the girls. Summer lasts long in Italy, and I can no longer contemplate freshly sharpened pencils in the same month when all our neighbors are headed to their beach homes, or apples for the teacher when we’re still in the syrupy peach haze of August. No, the backpacks come out of storage with the skinny jeans here, and this, my fifth back-to-school as an expat mother, is the first time I haven’t been afraid of it.

You have to understand that few personalities are less suited to the learningcoastercrazyspiral of expat life than mine. Two words: shy perfectionist. I’m easily intimidated by the challenge of opening my mouth in my own language, much less a foreign one, and I desperately want to do every last little particle of life right. Moving to a new culture where I am 100% guaranteed to make mistakes every time I a) step out my door, b) open my mouth, and c-z) try to pass myself off as a confident, capable adult who knows what the hell she’s doing in line at the post office has been an ongoing exercise in recovering from mortal embarrassment and pinning my worth on something other than social finesse. (Baked goods, perhaps?)

The girls’ back-to-school transition is particularly prone to trial and error because parents are expected to know through a combination of telepathy and strategic neighborhood networking who to register with, where to order books, how to stock up on supplies, which uniform is required, and what day and time of day school starts. I am inordinately grateful each year when we manage to show up before the bell and with a majority of the right supplies. This year, however, my gratefulness was due less to beating the telepathy game and more to having a great group of friends we can hit up for details. I didn’t have to worry that my child would end up the only second-grader without 5-millimeter graph paper or that my other child would be kicked out of kindergarten for lack of a sun hat. I really didn’t worry at all, which was a welcome departure from tradition.

This lack of anxiety was significant for another reason too, another kind of cultural divide overcome. See, I was raised in a hyper-fundamentalist Christian lifestyle based almost entirely on fear. First and foremost, we were afraid of God; he was demanding, judgmental, and vindictive, and he dangled the threat of hell above our heads like a sword hanging on the gossamer strand of his patience. We were so afraid of incurring his wrath that we accepted every passing religious do and don’t at face value and left critical thinking to those damned (literally) liberals.

We were almost equally afraid of “The World,” the term we used to describe any society or person who did not share our beliefs. The World was the government who collected taxes and redistributed them as welfare and failed to enforce our country’s founding values. The World was secular media, with its television programs and feature films and news bulletins all designed to glorify sin. Most of all, The World was public school, Satan’s greatest ploy for corrupting young hearts and minds. The only times I set foot in a public school as a child was when my parents went there to vote, and despite the empty classrooms and quiet halls, I was terrified that the godlessness of the place would seep into my pores like an airborne disease.

I’m a parent of school-aged daughters myself now, and I understand more than ever what my parents feared about sending me off to school. When I pass my girls into the waiting arms of their teachers, I relinquish a very large measure of control. I no longer act as filter and gatekeeper to my children’s minds, and yes, it is incredibly scary to imagine what ideas and mannerisms they could absorb away from home. My kneejerk reaction would be to protect, protect, protect, to turn our home into a bunker of parental-approved thinking and only let in whatever wafts of the outside world won’t disturb our family ecosystem.

I know from deeply personal experience, however, that mind control is a losing game for everyone involved. Discernment can’t grow in an environment where only one side of an issue is ever presented. Conflict resolution can’t be learned where conflict is never allowed. Grace can’t thrive in a relational or ideological vacuum, nor can compassion, courage, or humility. We were designed to live in a multifaceted world full of wonderfully unique people who hold diverse opinions, and I want my children to experience the horizon-expanding beauty of this design instead of hiding from it in fear.

Beyond the fact that I would be a terrible homeschool teacher (seriously, the worst), I don’t actually want to be the only adult my girls look up to or learn from. I don’t agree with everything that their teachers and Sunday School leaders and even relatives tell them, but those differences in opinion have a way of sparking great conversations with the girls, conversations we wouldn’t get to have if they were getting a single-minded stream of information from me. Besides, facts aren’t everything. The girls also get love from the “outsiders” in our lives, and part of the joy of their return to school this year was in their reunion with much-beloved teachers and classmates.

How could I be afraid of that, I ask?

First grade done

(I can’t.)

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4 comments

  1. That sentence in bold? Is awesome. And you would not be the worst homeschool teacher ever: that would be ME. I’d be hiding bodies by day 2.

  2. Liz–at least you would make it to day two. I might make it an hour. Either that or I would go lock myself in my room.

    I agree…that bolded sentence, wow.

    I am so happy that you had a great start to school! YAY!

  3. What about the families who don’t homeschool out of fear? (Granted, they may be few and far between, but still . . .)

    Or, the families who so intentionally integrate with all different kinds of societal spheres so there isn’t a lack of conversation and experience shared around the dinner table at night?

    Or, the families who live purpose-fully in certain cities for certain reasons, but one of the reasons NOT being that they have great public education (in fact, the poorest in the region)?

    There are so many variables in each families story/choices and I LOVE how you brilliantly and humorously articulated your reasons for not homeschooling! Brava!

    For me, the paragraph with the highlighted sentence made the whole conversation of homeschooling a touch generalized? Unless I TOTALLY read the whole thing WRONG! Which has happened MANY a time before . . . Maybe because I was homeschooled. 🙂

    Love you Lady,
    Me

  4. Liz and Megsie – I dunno, hiding bodies sounds about right for me too. 🙂 I love teaching my girls whenever it’s completely unrecognizable to any of us as teaching. Spontaneous conversation about the life cycle over dinner? Sure! Math lesson? NO!

    Erika – I’ve been mulling over your comment ever since you posted it. I’m so glad you chimed in; there’s always a kind of wonderful dissonance for me when I hear about families doing homeschooling well, and I don’t doubt for a second that you are rocking it with your boys! I didn’t mean for my post to come across as an across-the-board criticism of homeschooling. I was really just writing about my experience coming from a fear-based background and finding a new perspective, but I’m glad you let me know how it came across. There might just have to be a Part 2 in the future. 🙂

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