homeschooling

From Family Room to Zoom Room and the 30 Years In Between

~ Sharon Abbott ~ Leave a comment

I graduated from college in the spring of 1972 with a degree in Speech Communication and a teaching certificate that qualified me to teach grades 9-12.  I chose this route largely because of the impact my high school speech teacher and coach, Mr. Ham, had on me.

 I also graduated college with a four month old son on my hip. 

So because I wanted to be at home with him, my teaching was limited to substituting in the high schools around town now and then. In 1979, now with three littles in our home, we decided to try out homeschooling – an educational option not widely recognized or accepted at that time. And so, from then until my youngest graduated in 2006, I was a full time teacher – teaching everything from pre-k to high school algebra – admittedly I was better at some subjects than others. 

But then in the fall of 1991, I was asked to teach a Speech Class for some homeschooling kids ages 12 and up. The only thing I really remember about it is that it was in somebody’s family room in their basement and we did a Reader’s Theatre unit. I think there might have been four kids in the class – when they all came. Maybe somebody else taught a Biology Class and someone else a Spanish Class, but no two at the same time because we were using the same room. We met on Thursday afternoons. And that was the beginning.

But what began as a fledgling little experiment grew and we needed more space. So we found a church willing to rent to us, other gifted and committed teachers joined the staff – teaching everything from Watercolor to Chemistry to Yearbook to Physics – and at its peak we were offering dozens of courses (both Academic and Elective) and hundreds of kids traipsed through First Alliance Church every Thursday. It became a place of learning, of character building, of community. And I began to anchor my week for nine months of the year around Thursday. Because “Thursday Classes”.

 Over the years my course load rotated and shifted:  I taught junior high and senior high Speech, two different Improv Classes, Drama, Composition, Storytelling, Jr. High Language Arts. I remember the days of Dessert Theatre and Improv Hour in the gym at First Alliance which eventually gave way to Occassion For the Arts  in the auditorium with the Improv, Storytelling and Choir all performing. The red ink of Composition Class which I understand still causes nightmares for some who have gone on to write their Masters Thesis. The nervous and jittery attempts at the first speech of  the year which grew into confident and convincing persuasive speeches by the end of the year. The “Mr. Tumnus Tea” – always the highlight for the 7th and 8th graders who read The, Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe with me in Language Arts. And the awkwardness of the first day of Improv which gave way to hilarity and true entertainment as the year progressed.

And then of course there was the MainStage Play. For twenty years we met for two hours on Thursday mornings and then hundreds of hours after classes ended in April. Tech week at Smith Theatre at Howard Community College and Olney Theatre, and then finally some pretty spectacular performances starring some very talented and committed students. It was magical. Watching a high school boy transform into an old man so convincing that even I forgot he was acting. Or a sighted girl covered with bruises from her head to her toes as she thrashed about the set – falling, and getting up and falling again – as she so believably told the story of a blind and deaf girl named Helen Keller and her teacher Annie Sullivan. The con man who was so convincing that the five year old boy in the cast really believed he could play the trumpet in a boys’ band. Working through the emotions and backgrounds of twelve jurors confronting their own prejudice and biases. The grueling hours we spent exploring these characters together and bringing them to life. It’s where my mind went during the week when I wasn’t in class:  what if we tried this?  what if she said that line more like this? what if we changed the blocking in that scene? what can I do to make that character more three dimensional? – and sometimes all the what ifs kept me awake late into the night. But in the end it was always the kids who made it work – they always found the way.  And on opening night I sat in the audience and wept (even if it was a comedy) for the sheer beauty of it all.

What I loved most about Thursday Classes though was the community. Sometimes I would duck into the Study Hall between classes ostensibly to grab a Diet Coke from the snack bar or give a quick hug to Bonnie the Study Hall monitor who became my confidant and my friend, but really I loved listening to the hum of it: the chatter from the senior table where they laughed easily at the inside jokes and counted down the days until they were done. I loved watching the group playing chess at another table, quietly studying the board and anticipating their next move; the groups of two or three huddled on the floor, notebooks opened, cramming for their biology exam later in the day, I loved it all. I loved watching students walking down the hall, arms around each other, making plans for the weekend not realizing that their older selves would look back on these days as some of the best of their lives. I loved watching them execute their “senior prank” even when I was the brunt of it – which was often. I loved seeing a group huddled around one of their own, hands on his shoulders as they prayed over him for a sick parent or some other sorrow. And it will be this, more than anything else, that I will miss.

Because today it ends.  

I have known for four years that this week would be the last day for CBA Thursday Classes. We made that call early so that we could work towards ending the Academy well. So I had time to think about what we might do on the last day. Maybe we would decorate the building with pictures of years past, maybe we would hang banners outside, maybe we would bring in donuts, maybe we would cancel classes and have a big party, maybe we would bring in alumni to share in the day and to say good-bye.  Never in my mind’s eye did I imagine that it would end in a Zoom Room with each one isolated in their own little box on their computer screen with no hugs, no real contact, and nobody in the room with me to share this landmark. Who could have imagined this ending? But Covid.

To any VBA/CBA students who might one day read this, I want you to know that you are a part of the some of the best days of my life (okay – maybe some of the “not so best” days as well but we’ll save that for another day ). Thank you for being a part of the experiment that was Thursday Classes and for making them work. Thank you for your patience and your good will when I was trying to figure it out and especially for the times I got it wrong. Thank you for your generosity of spirit when I didn’t get what you were trying to say – or you felt not seen. Perhaps the most well quoted line about my tenure at CBA came from a student in her Yearbook Senior Quote – “Mrs. Abbott is sort of like God. You really love her. But you don’t want to make her mad.” JM

I remember one day years ago when I said in perhaps a too loud voice to the students who were milling about in the gym. “I don’t know where you people are supposed to be but it isn’t here. You should either be in class or in study hall. So leave!” As they were scurrying off I heard one of my daughter’s friends say to her, “I’m sure glad she’s not my mother.” My daughter replied not so much to defend me but more in a yeah, she’s weird way, “Yeah, she’s not really like that so much at home.” So yes, I know there were days, but I would not trade one of them.

There were other things that made CBA what it was, but Thursday Classes helped to make it a thing. There are many who think, and I count myself among them, that those hours between 9:00 a.m. – 5:00 p.m. on any given Thursday were the best hours of the week.

But on this last day of CBA Thursday Classes here’s what I want to say:  thank you to the students who stuck it out to the end – even on Zoom!!  You amaze me! 

Thank you to the ones who came before who taught me how to be a better teacher and a better human being and have provided enough memories and stories to last me a lifetime. Thank you to all the other teachers and the staff who helped to build this amazing community. Thank you to the parents who supported and encouraged us over the years. Thank you to my own kids who got drug along every Thursday before they were even old enough to be in classes and thanks be to God for an incredible 30 years. 

It was quite a ride.

(Home)School Days

~ Sharon Abbott ~ 3 Comments

“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.