On Choosing Public School

I always assumed that Glendon & I would be the kind of parents who would make an educational plan for our kids and THAT WOULD BE IT. I viewed our decision sort of like a tragically arranged marriage: Before our children were born, their future schooling would be determined. We would sign a legally binding contract and no matter how terribly incompatible said choice might be for our kids, there would be no turning back. We would simply endure whatever path we chose for them.

How foolish of me for being so entrenched, so strangely committed to one way of educating. I’ve become the parent I didn’t expect: open to whatever schooling best meets the current needs of our family.

 

 

Since The Big Kids (ages 9 and 7 now) were three years old, we’ve homeschooled, with one exception: Selah went to our local public school as a second grader. She had expressed interest in a more traditional school setting and after ample time to pray and consider her request, we gave her that opportunity. In the fall of 2015, she hopped on the big yellow bus, waved a tearful good-bye, and handled her first year in public school LIKE A BOSS. She loved her teacher, made some great friends, endured playground drama, and learned a few hard lessons. Could the public school curriculum be stronger? Sure. Are there some things I’d change about the system? Abso-freakin’-lutely. Am I concerned about bullying (especially my kiddo with special needs)? Yep. (And don’t even get me started on the funding issues, especially as it relates to race and poverty and special programs. That’s another post for another time.)

 

 

Months of prayer, seeking wise counsel, and wrestling with the question, “What is best for all of us?” eventually led us to this decision. We’re simply choosing one good option for our family. There are lessons The Big Kids can learn in school that we cannot orchestrate at home. There are opportunities for them to grow as students that we cannot provide right now. And The Little Kids at home need me more engaged and ready to meet their demanding stages without the added time and pressure it takes for me to plan lessons and teach. I’m grateful for the gift of choice, especially when I consider the many families struggling with their only option.

I confess: I’m weary of the negative stereotypes surrounding our varied educational paths:

If your children are homeschooled, you must be sheltered and culturally ignorant and hate public schools.

If your children attend public school, you must be godless and lazy and surrendered to the state’s ideals.

If your children attend private and/or Christian school, you must be rich and spiritually exclusive and elitist.

I’ve lived each stereotype, where wrong assumptions were made about my family—about me—and now our kids. I spent 11 years as a student in a private Christian school. Certain public school kids used the term “preppy snobs” to label me and others who attended. Their words stung, especially since my dad was a teacher at that school and I knew how committed he was to his students, how little he made, and how hard he and my mom worked to keep me and my siblings enrolled. We lived simply (without cable TV—we had rabbit ears with foil, though.) We wore hand-me-downs, and drove around in used cars, like our 1983ish station wagon (the hood flew off en route to school one morning) and our 1990ish Ford Aerostar minivan. Such status-symbols they were. (May they both rest in peace.)

When we homeschooled, I noticed the furrowed brows and heard these comments, “Homeschool is terrible because you never make any friends…It’s not really school, is it? Are they getting enough socialization?”

Now that we’ve chosen to send our kids to public school, I see the pursed lips and hear, “The quality of education isn’t great…As a Christian parent, you are called to homeschool…I’ve seen the village and I don’t want it raising my child.”

 

I think we can all agree that no educational system is perfect. Can we also agree to be kind to each other in how we respond? To refuse to burden each other with guilt and shame over the choices we’ve made for our children? To find ways to encourage each other in our educational endeavors?

Instead of [silently] criticizing, let’s support one another. Instead of deeming our choice best, let’s connect with those who educate differently and discover what works for them. Instead of making assumptions, let’s ask questions and learn from each other. Perhaps most importantly, let’s remember that many families around our country and in our world do not have the luxury of choice.

So, here we are—bidding good-bye to homeschool—at least for now. The Big Kids will soon walk out the front door, away from my lesson plans and into a setting where their wonderful teachers will instruct them. They will be welcomed into a more formal classroom rather than scootching their chairs up to our old Ethan Allen table.

This transition is bittersweet for me. I’ll miss The Big Kids each day but we are at peace with how God has led us. We’re learning, as a family, how to walk by faith, to let go of our need for control, while trusting God to use this season—as He has every season—for His glory and our good.