Stephanie Dorman
For October 2019, the MWBG is reading Educated (2018) by Tara Westover. Dr. Westover’s memoir describes her journey transitioning from an extremist, isolated, violent childhood to a globe-spanning historian disowned by much of her orthodox family.
I am anxious about discussing this book with our group tonight because, once again, it hits close to home. Two months ago, it seemed like I silenced the room when I asked my fellow readers to be empathetic to the perspective of a white supremacist’s ideals about how to be a good parent. His motivation wasn’t far away from mine – I want my children to receive specific kinds of care in environments that reinforce the values I hold close to my heart.
Last month I fear I drained the air from the room when I broke down in tears in reaction to our assigned story. The author’s actions mirrored relatives who abuse the trust and meager resources of my extended family. For days before our group meeting, my stomach knotted with anger and grief. During our meeting, when I was finally able to breathe again and dry my eyes, I noticed a group member lightly rubbing my shoulder. Many caring faces offered me warmth and concern.
The tension I am carrying for tonight’s discussion relates to homeschooling. I am a product of the public school system, all the way through a Master’s degree at a state university. I taught middle school and undergraduates in a university teacher development program. Success in traditional schools paid for my degrees and certifications. Until 15 years ago, I held a strong bias against homeschooling, the label Dr. Westover chose for the type of education her parents offered.
In summer 2005, my perspective shifted dramatically. Because my child was approached sexually by another kindergartner, and disregarded by administrators when she reported seeing a gun on her school bus, my spouse and I wanted to remove her from the neighborhood elementary. After considering several options, with my child’s input we decided to homeschool.
Researching the requirements and resources available, I found Alison McKee’s Homeschooling Our Children, Unschooling Ourselves (2002) at the public library. From McKee I learned an instructional method that blended well with my professional interest in social constructivism, a learning philosophy stressing our need to connect new information and skills with prior knowledge to be able to grow. Constructivism is typically interactive and learner-driven. In the homeschooling community, this type of learning is found in unschooling, because it is not based on the traditional subject-based lesson plan followed by an assessment. Instead, learning is more organic, based on interests and needs, and may take seconds or years in an unending process. There is no summer vacation or spring break, nor is there distinct homework or irrelevant reading. We learn constantly and from everything. While my children choose the topics, I contribute ideas, resources, and “you need to know this” where appropriate.
Some might say Tara Westover’s early education was unschooling. She learned skills and information useful in her lived environment. She could drive heavy machinery, look out for her personal safety, blend natural remedies, and determine when she could test limits versus when it served her better to be demure and private. To give some comparison, my unschooled younger child at an equivalent age is learning electrical code, how to weld, blacksmith, and sew, and how to cook frugally because he wants to build a tiny-house self-sufficient community with his friends in the Pacific Northwest. Like Dr. Westover, my teen is preparing to take the ACT and is considering higher education.
My fear for our group discussion is I won’t be able to articulate clearly that unschooling doesn’t have to stem from religious extremism (we’re agnostic), equal the educational neglect Westover endured, nor be used to indoctrinate fear and paranoia. Unschooling does not have to inherently reject institution-based education. Schools and faculty do not need to be the enemy to be blamed and persecuted for society’s ills. And unschooled children do not have to be the awkward, socially inept people portrayed on popular TV and movies. (It has never made sense to me when people question my children’s socialization. They visit and play with others constantly. In contrast, can you imagine how many times as a classroom teacher I told kids to STOP talking to each other and quit playing around?)
For tonight’s discussion, I am scared our family’s educational choices will be lumped with the horrifying decisions Westover’s family made. I am worried that once again I will force the spotlight on myself and potentially overuse the mental and psychological energy of my fellow readers. Yet isn’t this the purpose of reading together, to reflect on our reactions together? Is it a compliment to our book selection team that their choices resonate so deeply with me? Isn’t it an exquisite feeling to know these ladies have signed on to being in relationship together as we process our responses to the written word? We are adults growing together, life-long learners constructing meaning socially. Isn’t that ultimately the point of education?