“Let’s try it for a year,'” we said. And so, in 1979, when our oldest was seven and we moved to a new house in a new town, it seemed a good time to give it a try. We set up a school room in a tiny sunroom off one of the upstairs bedrooms complete with little school desks  and bookshelves full of just-out-of-the-box curriculum and in that room, flooded with sunlight, we began our homeschooling journey.  A journey filled with small victories and major breakthroughs, with tears of frustration (from both students and teacher), with forgiveness and grace and hours and hours and hours spent reading and learning and living. For the next twenty seven years, in one form or another, we would be a homeschooling family. We only had a “designated school room” for those first couple of years – after that school happened at the dining room table, under the dining room table, the living room floor, on Mom’s bed and for one glorious month one spring – at the beach. We always took it one year at a time, one child at a time. Sometimes we had one in public school, sometimes we had one in private school, but always there was somebody sitting at the dining room table with books and pencils and paper. And snacks.

For twenty seven long years. . .  

. . . it was the best of times

• The  day she went from sounding out each letter to reading a word and then a sentence.  “THIS IS GREAT!! I CAN READ AND LISTEN AT THE SAME TIME”  
• Watching the caterpillars spin their chrysalis and hatch into butterflies
• Unpacking the books each fall and buying new school supplies and starting a new year with high hopes and expectations
• Going for slushies on the last day of school and packing away the school books
• The day I realized the four year old had picked up the letters of the alphabet and their sounds by listening to me teach them to her brother and figured out how to put them together into words – basically teaching herself to read
• Wednesday mornings, when Paul would take the morning off and teach school and I could go for a walk or a cup of tea or sit in my room in silence and read a book of my own choosing. . . or sleep
• Fixing cinnamon toast on homemade whole wheat bread for lunch on a cold winter day
• Reading the entire Chronicles of Narnia Series every time we had an eight year old – and loving the way no matter how many times they had heard it, they listened as though it was the first time
• Watching the toddler frantically collect all of his toys for the morning and throw them into the playpen before he climbed in to entertain himself while school was in session
• Hearing the words from my mother’s mouth “Okay, maybe homeschooling wasn’t a TERRIBLE idea.” 
• Organizing and helping them perform their “Christmas Programs” which they performed for me, their dad, and anybody else we could bribe with homemade cookies to come and watch them

. . .  and it was the worst of times

• Drilling math facts again and again and again and again
• Trying to explain why someday they would be glad they had taken algebra (I don’t think the day ever came)
• Finding the whole week’s Language Arts workbook pages had been left undone because “I couldn’t find a pencil”
• Coming to grips with the fact that there are two kinds of people in the world:  those who can spell and those who can’t.  And I had some of each
• Knowing that there were no sick days or personal days in my contract
• Repeatedly being asked:  don’t you think they will be socially awkward? (like asking a complete stranger this question about her children doesn’t make you socially awkward)
• The days I really was afraid I was ruining them (and there were many)

In those early days in the little school room on First Street in a midwestern college town,  homeschooling was not yet mainstream. There were no co-ops, no classes, no field trips with other homeschoolers. You didn’t even know of anybody else who was crazy enough to try this weird approach to education, To homeschool your kids, you  had to hide them during the day lest you be discovered by Child Protective Services. And so for the first two years, we diligently kept them inside during school hours, hidden away from anyplace where they would be asked for the name of their school, and lived in fear of being found out. But after we had a couple of years under our belt, we were done with such nonsense. We wanted to put them in scouting and the programs offered by the local library and other activities and we were done hiding. So we loaded up all of their work, all of their school books, all of my lesson plans, and every other scrap of paper we could find and made an appointment to meet with the superintendent of schools and explained that we wanted to homeschool our children and thought we could do at least as good a job as the public school. After a two hour meeting, he agreed and gave us a signed document stating that our children were legally allowed to be taught at home.  

The next day they were playing at the park across from the neighborhood school and were approached by a teacher. What were their names?  What was their address? Their phone number? Where did they go to school? And just like that, when the pressure was on, they gave it all up. Names, ages, phone number, address and I’m sure they would have surrendered their social security numbers if they had known them. The next day the truant officer knocked on my door (Yes, really.  A truant officer!).  We produced the document and were never bothered again. Our children became a novelty at the library where they became favorites of the librarians who would pull their favorite books for them before each week’s visit and then talk to them about what they were reading.

Those were the Pioneer Days of homeschooling and while we got a lot wrong, I think we got some things right.  Maybe the thing I am most proud of is that still today all six of them can get lost in a good book and that they are all critical thinkers.

Am I glad I did it? Yes, I am. Would I do it again? I’m not sure.

Eventually, the Pioneer Days gave way to the Settler Days of homeschooling; the movement became more visible and more acceptable  More and more people were jumping on the bandwagon and they were looking for help. By 1991 we had graduated two from homeschooling, one was enrolled in public school and we had three still at home:  a freshman, a 5th grader and a first grader. In that year I went to work for a homeschooling umbrella school to start a high school program for them. I took the job to build a community for my own kids – one that my older ones had lacked growing up.  

I had no idea what the next 28 years would hold. But that’s another story for another day.