My family went out to eat tonight and after we placed our order I went to retrieve drinks for my mother and husband. On the way back to our table, I heard a woman's voice off to my left say, "Excuse me, ma'am, is that your little boy?"
My heart skipped a bit as I pondered how my son could have gotten in trouble within the space of literally five minutes. My toddler was asleep over his dad's shoulder, so there was only one other boy to whom she could be referring.
As I turned in the direction of the voice, I came face to face with an older woman and a young boy sitting in one of the booths.
"Is that your son?" she asked again, pointing straight at my five-year-old. "The one with the homeschool t-shirt?"
My son happened to be wearing a t-shirt from the Texas Homeschool Coalition, the statewide advocacy and support group for those of us who've beaten a different path through life.
The shirt reads on the front, "I homeschool in Texas . . ." and on the back, ". . . where people are free."
I nodded. "Yes, he's mine." And then I waited for the other shoe to drop because with my darling boy there's always another shoe.
"Do you, do you homeschool?" the woman asked hesitatingly, the last word barely slipping out of her mouth, as if saying it too loudly might bring on a hail of fire-tipped arrows.
"We do and we're in our fourth year," I replied. "Is it hard?" she asked, "because I've been thinking about homeschooling my grandson. He's ten." She gestured towards the boy seated across from her in the booth. Her name was Grace and she told me how she was tired of haggling with his teachers over everything from falling grades to name-calling.
"It's usually hard the first year, but that's because it's all very new and different," I said. "Once you find your groove it gets easier."
And thus began the conversation I've had now with countless strangers -- a lady at Half Price Books, another in the waiting room where my daughter goes to speech therapy, still another at the dentist's office. So many, I've lost count.
Something we do or say or have in our possession usually gives us away. Sometimes it's my THSC tote bag, other times I'm reading a magazine for homeschooling parents. The lady at Half Price Books figured me out just by the kind of books I had stacked next to me on the floor. "I thought you probably homeschooled," she said, "because it's usually people like you who buy books like those for their kids." My pile that day consisted of a variety of topics in science -- zoology, oceanography, astronomy, prehistoric animals and the Ice Age.
Even though I don't wear it on my sleeve, I always appreciate the opportunity to encourage someone who's considering what looks from their end like the scariest step they could ever take. I was there once -- it seems like a long time ago now -- and I remember the feeling of free-falling and the almost unbearable fear of failure.
Grace's grandson spoke up. "Do you know what happened to me on Monday?" he asked me. "No," I replied. "What happened?"
His round face twisted into a frown. "I was having trouble with my math homework and when I brought it to my teacher she told me I was pathetic," he said. "Do you know what that means?"
I told him I did and asked him, "Do you know that it was wrong for her to say that to you?" He nodded. "Everyone has trouble in math sometimes and just because you need extra practice or don't understand something doesn't mean you're pathetic." That made him smile.
I turned to his grandmother. "You, of course, know what his teacher said is wrong, don't you?" She nodded and told me she'd spent half the next morning going from one school official to another demanding satisfaction. "Did you get it?" I asked. Rolling her eyes, Grace replied, "You know, school is so much different than it was when I was his age. I have two grown children and I never had the problems I'm having now. My grandson is a good student, usually A's and B's, but it's the teachers he's had who have made him so miserable."
I pointed out that a lot of good teachers are working in much more stressful environments than they did 20 or 30 years ago, and she nodded. "It's the testing, the teachers are always worried about the testing because they don't want to lose their jobs. I think they get burned out faster than they used to," Grace said.
I gave her my name and e-mail address and told her to contact me if she wanted more information on the local homeschool association to which we belong.
"Shifting gears is hard," I said, "and homeschooling is not the cure for everything that might ail you or the child, but it's a valid option if you've run out of others." And with that we parted ways, me to my Italian supper and Grace and her grandson out into the dark and misty night.
I don't know whether she'll contact me, but at the very least I like to think I've given her hope.
Sometimes all you need is to know you have a choice.
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