Homeschooled Does Not Equal Socially Inept

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homeschooling, homeschool, Home, school, Weird, discussion, homeschooled, public, homeschoolers, debate, normal

The other day I asked a teacher friend of mine how she felt about homeschooling. I already knew her answer but I asked anyways. I then asked her if she would believe me if I said I was homeschooled. That answer wasn’t so forthcoming. I don’t fit the stereotypical homeschool formula: I’m not humorless, I’m not weird (okay, maybe a little weird), and I know how to form relationships and have conversations with others. I’m pretty “normal” by most standards, and any ways that I’m not “normal” have nothing to do with my being homeschooled, and more to do with my individual idiosyncrasies.

But, let’s talk about “normal” for a second.

A common reason many feel that homeschooling limits kids is because homeschool kids won’t be exposed to “normal” social experiences, ideals, and interactions. Most of this is simply not true. But some of it is. I wanna talk about what is true about that first.

Teen pregnancy is out of control these days. There are countless reality shows dedicated to this tragic social “norm” and what I observe when I watch these shows is most, if not all, of these young women were not homeschooled. Most, if not all, went to public school, with a smaller percentage in private school. As a homeschooled kid I never felt compelled to fall into peer pressure. I did in my own smaller ways, but when prompted to smoke, or drink, or try drugs when I reached high school, I never partook. I. Just. Didn’t. Care. What my “friends” thought of me. The only area I really “failed” in as far as peer pressure goes is losing my virginity as a senior in high school. And even then it happened only a few times, and I was always very adamant about using protection. My boyfriend understood this was the law as far as I was concerned and only pressured me once to try without protection. And I refused. Because I knew that the risk was far too great.

You see, talk of sex wasn’t a norm for me until I was a senior because I was homeschooled. Most of our nation’s children begin discussing sex and glorifying sexuality and sexual activity in middle school (and in some cases, elementary school). I was homeschooled during this time period. I was focused on school work and having friends. Having sex was the furthest thing from my mind because I wasn’t around anyone talking about it constantly. My parents gave me a firm foundation to stand on and that foundation gave me the courage to realize that youth is more than sex, drugs, and rock and roll.

So, in that way, yes…I was different. And sometimes it was hard. Most of my peers had been sexually active since 14 and 15. (And this was in the early 2000′s, mind you.) When I did reach high school I was left out of my share of conversations because when the discussion turned sexual I had nothing to offer, and further saw it as stupid, and avoided situations where sex was brought up. That sucked sometimes. But looking back, I am so glad it was this way. I didn’t get knocked up as a teenager. I didn’t contract any sexually transmitted diseases as a teen. And I never had to deal with the drama of numerous sexual partners as a teenager. Now, I had my share of that as an adult, but as an adult I was better suited to handle these things. Getting knocked up at 22 with a car, a job, and an apartment is a lot different than getting knocked up as a teenager living at home and going to school.

The other reasons to be against homeschooling is this idea that we are socially inept. In part I agree with this. But not in the way you may think. It is true that it was often difficult for me to relate to peers but this isn’t because I didn’t know how to have conversations. It’s because what my peers were discussing seemed really…well…juvenile. I didn’t care about fashion, or shopping, or makeup, or boyfriends, or Britney Spears, or other forms of pop culture, or gossip. I didn’t hate my parents. While most of my peers wanted to pretend they were already adults, I was the only one with actual adult friends. To this day most of my female friends are in their early to mid thirties. I was the only high school girl with college friends. And eventually the only high school girl with a 24 year old boyfriend.

Yes, I was different. Contentedly so. We often perceive homeschool kids as poor, little souls with no friends and we pity them. But the truth is, many of them don’t really care as much as you do. We homeschool weirdos haven’t been programmed by years of Same Peer Bonding to care if we’re “normal” by today’s standards.

The other thing is this: when I was homeschooled my interactions were limited because I lived in a small town with a very small homeschool group. Times are changing though. The homeschool group we belong to has 200 other kids, a band, a chorus, and permission to compete in the area public school sports of their choice. This group meets twice a week to homeschool together, and that doesn’t include extra curricular activities like sports. Many of these kids are also members of the same Girlscout and Boyscout troops. Or members of the same dance/tumbling/cheer groups. These are “normal” kids, with “normal” friends, who grow into “normal” adults.

The last reason I ESPECIALLY take issue with is this idea that homeschooled kids won’t be exposed to other cultures. THIS IS BUNK. I live in a rural, mostly white, subdivision in a rural Alabama town. Um…how many Muslim kids will my daughter meet in public school? None. Seriously. Not a single Muslim family in this area. How many Jewish kids? None. How many Hispanic kids? A few, but not many. How many black kids? Again, not many. And how about kids with same sex parents? Or kids with atheist parents? None. NONE. NONE. NONE. Public school does not automatically equal diversity. However, by involving my daughter in activities in the major nearby city she’ll actually meet kids from other cultures. And simply by being vocally accepting of other cultures, she will be as well. As a homeschooled kid my parents taught me tolerance and acceptance. I didnt meet a Muslim person until I was out of high school. And yet I wasn’t racist or a bigot. I wasn’t friends with a gay person until I was a junior in high school. And yet I’ve never been a homophobe. Going to public school wouldn’t have influenced me in one way or the other. My parents, and the courage to have my own ideas about people, made me this way. Parents can NOT expect the public school to bring their kids up right. Homeschooled or not, parents are the ones responsible for teaching their children about the beauty of diversity and how being “normal” doesn’t really mean much.

I love referring to my generation and the ones immediately following as the Facebook Generation. I just love that term. It fits. We’re all so worried about how many “likes” we have, how many “friends” we have, and how high our Klout score is. My god, people. Talk about codependence. I’m totally guilty of it too, but not as bad as some people. I’d even go as far as saying not as bad as most. This just goes back to being homeschooled and learning early on that people liking you is completely irrelevant to your ability to be a decent human being. Lots of people really liked Hitler. If Hitler were on Facebook he’d have millions of friends and likes. And he was totally an asshole. Obviously having lots of friends doesn’t mean a whole helluva lot.

Now, it sounds like I’m being judgey towards people who don’t homeschool. But I’m not. Each family has to do what’s right for them. And each kid is different. I would NEVER tell you that not homeschooling your kid will land your kid in teen parenthood and drug abuse. In the same way it is really unfair to tell someone who does homeschool that their kids will end up friendless and socially backwards. I’m not. As a matter of fact, none of the kids I was homeschooled with are friendless or failures. One is a student at an elite music college in Memphis, one is the owner of several coffee shops and music venues in Alabama, and my siblings and I are pretty okay too. Both my siblings went to college, both married well, both have served, or currently serve, their country, and both are nice people. And I’m not so bad either. No one can even tell we were homeschooled. Because maybe? Not all stereotypes are accurate or justified.

I don’t expect everyone to feel as we do. But, I don’t think it’s too much to expect others to respect our decisions, and not pity our children. Our children are just fine, thank you.

None of it is fair.

Some people just do everything right.

They love their parents. They’re good friends. They marry good people. They pay their taxes. They work hard. They do everything right. They do it all right.

But it doesn’t matter. For reasons I can’t comprehend, and can not bring myself to accept, they are made to suffer.

Yesterday my former neighbor’s 4 year old son passed away in his mother’s arms. He had cancer and was only diagnosed in 2011. It came so fast. And it took him so fast.

These are good people. They did everything right. But this happened to them. Their precious little boy was taken from them and there’s no real answer why. Only flimsy excuses of “It’s just God’s will” and “Sometimes these things happen”.

It isn’t good enough. It will NEVER be good enough.

I did everything WRONG. I slept around as a teenager and young adult. I was rebellious. I was a bad friend. I was often a bad daughter. I betrayed. I lied. I stabbed in the back. And at 22 I got knocked up by my boyfriend of 4 months who I was planning on dumping. I did everything backwards and wrong and stupid and mean and ignorant. I did it all.

But I have my daughter. She’s healthy. She’s safe. And I have my husband, who loves me desperately and dearly. I have friends. I have family. I have everything I don’t deserve.

Why???

I look at people like my sister who did everything right but can’t carry a baby to full term. Why????

I look at this precious family, my former neighbors, who suffer a miscarriage in the midst of losing their son to cancer. Why?????

I deserve punishment for my wrongs! And yet I am blessed? And here so many seem to deserve good lives and they are punished? I cry out to God on nights like this and I demand answers. But get nothing but silence. I beg Him to take my blessings and bless those who truly deserve them. People who are not wicked like me.

But I am blessed. And it isnt fair. None of it is fair.

And tonight I am so heartbroken I can’t even speak. I only weep, and weep, and stain my pillow with tears, and strain against the arms of Mr. Awesome, holding me tightly while I convulse.

I’m so angry. I’m so angry at God right now. I’m thankful for the blessings in my life. But I don’t deserve them. And sometimes…I feel so damn guilty.

Tonight I feel guilty. And I just want to scream.

Jenny Lawson Smells Real Good

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ATL, Atlanta, book, jenny lawson, let's pretend this never happened, signing, the bloggess

“I think I should probably not go to Atlanta”, I texted Mr. Awesome. “It’s going to rain, I think, and I’ll be driving all day, and gas is so expensive, and I just think it’d be best if I pass this time. I’ll go next time.”

I expected a weak “okay, whatever”, or “sure” in response. But got nothing. No answer. All day. When I called him on the phone he made no mention of my text, and when I brought it up he muttered “hmmm” and changed the subject.

I was so screwed.

You see…he knew what I was doing. I knew what I was doing too, but he really knew and that never fails to piss me off. He knew I was trying to back out of going. But not because of the weather…or the gas money…or the myriad of other reasons I could think up. I was doing it because this is what I do.

I hide.

The next day (Tuesday, the day before the book signing), I concede to him that I should probably go anyways. Suddenly he was a wealth of responses. Much to my disgust he laughed loudly, started to say something, stopped to laugh some more, and took all the time in the world to come down from the hilariousness of my anxiety issues. “OH HA HA, YEAH, LAUGH AT THE CRAZY GIRL”, I grumbled. He calmed himself just enough to say, “Well, I agree you should go. You need to go. You really need to spend some time around people you AREN’T trying to piss off.”

I don’t even know what the hell he means by that.

Actually I do. He means I should try to be around people who like me. People who won’t troll my blog, or leave nasty comments on BlogHer posts, or dedicate their own blogs to my demise, and recommend counseling so I don’t rub my crazy off on Kid Awesome. (By the way, nothing is wrong with being crazy. Jerks.)

So, I went. I did it. And it was great. I mean, I already said all that in the pitiful post I wrote before this one. That’s not even a real post. It’s a lengthy Twitter confession. Which I do often. So, here’s a real post about the actual trip and about how I’m going to allow myself to be happy about it.

I was ready to leave for my trip over two hours before I had to actually leave. I’m really good at doing that. When I finally did get in the car, I flew to Birmingham, where I would be stopping for lunch with my favorite cousin, Sara. I temporarily got lost attempting to find her god-forsaken flat hosted in a big historic house, and drove by the same dog walking couple four times trying to find her driveway, prompting her to stand outside in her socks, on the phone with me, sighing heavily and saying, “No, Tamara. You just passed me. Again. I was waving. I was literally waving.” Upon finding her tiny driveway and pulling in, we spent the next hour talking about our cats (because that’s what we do), then went to Whole Foods for healthy eating and talk of agriculture and politics. We’re so cool. It ended with a hug and “I love you” as it always does and I’m constantly reminded how lucky I am that we’re related. Because otherwise Mr. Awesome and her special Mister would never believe the stories we tell them about our white trash family and penchant for trying really hard to be cool but failing miserably. Sara’s existence legitimizes me. And thankfully, she’s also crazy. And I got hit on while I was in Birmingham. So that was fun.

Then it was on to Atlanta. A trip that’s supposed to take about 2 1/2 hours ended up taking nearly 4 because EVERYTHING BETWEEN BIRMINGHAM AND ATLANTA IS UNDER CONSTRUCTION. I drove 180 or so miles going 55 mph, with only two lanes of traffic. By the end of it I tearfully said goodbye to several other cars who did the trek with me. We bonded over nods, the courtesy to let the other merge, and by occasionally blocking in an asshole in a sports car trying to weave in and out of traffic. I love people in cars.

When I finally arrived at our meet up point, I was barely out of my car, when a fellow big girl came bounding up to me squealing and hugged me scary tight. I’m totally a hugger but my anxiety issues left me temporarily terrified of her exuberance and for a moment I almost jumped back into my car. That would’ve been a mistake. Because Mandi is awesome.

So Mandi makes cakes. And she’s loud. And opinionated. And crazy. Dude, she is so crazy. I laughed the entire time we rode together to Barnes and Nobles for the book signing. The parking lot was PACKED and the road turning in was also packed. FULL. OF. VAGINAS. There were so many women. SO MANY WOMEN. We ran (as fast as big girls can) to the store and headed back to the Children’s Department (fitting?) where the signing was being held. I was in such a flustered state I didn’t realize that JENNY LAWSON WAS STANDING 5 FEET AWAY FROM ME FOR 20 MINUTES BEFORE I NOTICED.

This is my life.

When I finally did notice I was floored. My first thought? “She’s so short. Awwwwwwws.” Then I saw a lady who looked like Mary J. Blige and I was all “WTF MARY J IS HERE” but that turned out to be ridiculous, and instead THE AUTHOR OF “THE HELP”, KATHRYN STOCKETT WAS THERE. YEAH GUYS. SHE WAS THERE. For realz, y’all.

I tried not to stare at Jenny but it’s like being really close to…well…a celebrity. You *know* they’re real, but seeing them *with your own eyes* changes the game. You stare to make sure they really are real. Like, they really breathe your air, and smile with their mouths, and have only two arms and two legs. And no tail.

Kathryn got up and introduced Jenny, which made her tear up by the bookcase she was hiding behind. That made ALL OF US who could see her tear up as well and quietly whisper shushed “awwwwwww!” under our breaths. She had this awesome little entourage with her at all times, and I’m assuming one was her mom. Because she looked like someone’s mom and I wanted to believe she was Jenny’s.

Jenny read a section of her book and we all laughed and cheered and hooted and hollered and it was fantastic and then she sat down and JESUS CHRIST THERE WERE SO MANY VAGINAS THERE WAITING FOR HER AUTOGRAPH. And we were some of the last in line. But this turned out to be awesome.

So, my friend Mandi is a baker. She’s super swell at it too. And she made Bloggess themed cupcakes for Jenny and brought them all the way from Opelika, Alabama. She stood holding that damn box all night waiting to get her spatula signed (BRILLIANT.) and it proved worth it. BECAUSE JENNY LOVED THOSE CUPCAKES. She took a pic WITH HER OWN PHONE GUYS. AND THEN SHE TWEETED IT. Mandi nearly cried, but instead jumped up and down and smiled huge and it was awesome.

The rest of the evening was spent eating deliciously, horrible food from The Varsity in Atlanta, and random spurts of “OMG THE BLOGGESS LIKED MY CUPCAKES AHHHHHHH!!!!!” thrown in every few minutes for good measure. We hugged and hugged some more before going our separate ways; she headed for Opelika, me going back North to the Tennessee Valley.

Magically I made it home in one piece and crawled in bed by 2am. And when I awoke this morning had an inbox of pics from our adventure in Atlanta.

Which leads me to my previous post. I was disappointed by how I looked in those pics. I know we all hate how we look, but man…I really did. I called Mr. Awesome a few minutes ago and told him I’d been depressed all day. I explained that it looks like Jenny is at risk of being eaten by a large, banged whale, which he thinks is crazy talk, but she did actually smell really good (NOT THAT I WAS SMELLING HER…PROBABLY) but just in case you ever wondered, Jenny Lawson smells good. You heard it here first.

I’m okay now though. I think. I still hate those pics. But it is what it is. Life isn’t perfect. But despite my insecurities I did something big yesterday. I ventured out, on my own, far away from my comfort zone, and I had a good time. I did it. I didn’t back down. I didn’t surrender to my fear. I just went for it and I am so glad I did.

So, fuck insecurity. I did it. And that’s all that matters. That’s all that will ever matter. When the weight is gone all I’ll remember is that yesterday I took another step in the direction of conquering my issues. And I’ll remember that Jenny Lawson smells good. Because she really, really does.

So, I Met THE BLOGGESS.

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ATL, Atlanta, book, jenny lawson, let's pretend this never happened, sign, signature, signing, the bloggess

I went to Atlanta.

I met Jenny Lawson aka The Bloggess.

I ate at The Varsity.

And I didn’t have a single panic attack.

SUCCESS.

Jenny is every bit as charming and gracious as we all want our idols to be. Well…she is. She’s real. She’s REAL, guys. There were easily 300+ at her signing last night, and getting your book signed took a little over 2 hours of waiting in line. That was exhausting but worth it in every way.

I made it home in one piece despite being miserably tired and miserably sick from breaking my diet and eating at The Varsity. (Which by the way is SO SO FUN.) I have Jenny’s book here and I’m about to read it, but before I do I have to deal with some emotions.

I. Hate. My. Body.

The pics of myself with Jenny were…horrible. Sometimes I still forget that I’m obese and no longer a “skinny girl”. I hate that for the rest of my life my memories of meeting her will be tied to my life as an obese woman. I hate that I hate it. I envy those women who say they love being big or are so secure in themselves despite their size. I am simply not one. It’s still so foreign for me. It came so fast. I look in the mirror and I think, “Hey. I look good.” and then I see pics and remember that I actually don’t.

I think I’m going to sulk a bit for the next few days. Not just because I was around A LOT of people yesterday and need a week of hermit living, but also because I think it’s going to take me a few days to wrestle all this negativity and self loathing out of my system. I’ve already lost weight eating the way I’m eating, and I still have the surgery in the future, but today I feel very defeated. What a terrible thing. Yesterday was a perfect day. And today all I can think about is how imperfect I am.

I wanted to write a funny, positive, uplifting post about the experience. And in truth…it was one of the best days of my life. But for now we’ll have to settle on this messy post. And hopefully I’ll come to my senses in a week and write a decent post about yesterday.

Teach Your Children Not To Hit

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attack, awkward, bad, brat, bully, child, children, defend, help, hit, kid, parent, parenting, parents, push, violence

I’m having one of those difficult conversations you dread as a parent, but can’t avoid. And I can’t be as honest with her as I want to be because she’s at that age where she repeats everything she hears, with horrific, lightening fast clarity, and what we’re discussing can’t be mentioned to anyone else…especially not the person it’s about. She’s crying on my lap, releasing her sorrow, and my heart is breaking along side her’s…in more ways than she’ll ever know. “Why can’t I play with Eric?” she demands over and over again. “Because, honey”, I gently confide, “he hits you. And he won’t stop.”

You hear horror stories about ill-behaved children but when you meet one, and that one inflicts repeated pain upon your child, something inside of you shatters, and is rebuilt with an unbreakable steel. In Abbi’s short four years of life she’s met two of these such children. And both children have been boys.

A few years ago I had a dear friend whom I knew for years; long before our children were born. But when her son came into the world, two years before our daughter, my family was thrust into a situation we simply weren’t equipped for: she was a terrible parent. Her children were spoiled, violent, cruel, and vicious. Playdates were wrought with attacks from her son against my toddler daughter. These actions were scary enough, but his parents refused to address his behavior or curb it. He was never forced to apologize of suffered any consequences for his behavior. One night he pushed my then two year old into a coffee table maliciously. She was no match for his four year old build and came down hard onto the corner. And when my husband picked her up to check her head and calm her screaming, the four year old remarked, “She’s just fakin’!” That was the breaking point, and shortly thereafter our friendship dissolved.

Two years later we find ourselves in a similar situation. And once again, it is a boy. And once again, the parents are our “friends”, but they won’t stop him from hitting her. For a season, though we’d all been here before, I wanted to wait it out and see if his behavior would change. But on the day of her birthday party he opened one of her presents, then slapped her hard across the face with one of her toys, making her cry and leaving her with a large bruise on her right cheek. We were mortified at his behavior, but more so that his parents never apologized to us for it happening, nor did they force him to apologize. They simply shrugged and said, “Sometimes he does that.” Once again a little boy was attacking my daughter. And he made her cry at her own birthday party. Enough was enough.

So now I’m sitting on our couch, trying to console my darling daughter, because she can’t understand why they can’t be friends. She doesn’t see what we see. She doesn’t realize that Eric will always hit her. Her heart only sees a friend, an equal, a playmate. But my heart sees a bully in the making, and an abuser if left unchecked.

Right now she doesn’t understand, but one day she will. Her tears tear my heart into pieces, but I know we’re teaching her that she never deserves to be hit. We’re showing her that true friendship doesn’t involve violence and bullying. I hate the awkwardness when we see them out and my daughter asks if they can play and I have to say “No.” but it’s worth it. Protecting her, teaching her, and giving her the courage to walk away from people who hurt her is worth it.

Parents, I beg of you to do whatever it takes to stop your children from hitting. Sometimes we like to use the cop out that they’re “just being kids”, but kids who hit become adults who hit and adults who believe that they can behave however they so choose, without fear of consequence. Our children are precious to us. My daughter is precious to me. Teach your children well. Teach them it’s wrong to hit.