How We Got Here, Part One

I didn't set out to homeschool, and in fact my first experiences with it further soured me against the idea.

Once upon a time, there was a father who swore up and and down that under no circumstances would he homeschool his child. He would be terrible at it, he assured everyone who would listen, and no matter what happened, his five year old would go to kindergarten in the fall of 2020. In a building. That was not his house.

These are what we call “famous last words,” but let’s back up a little before we really delve into the fun of 2020 again, shall we?

When I was in High School, nearly every adult in my life told me I should be a teacher. It wasn’t just that, for my working class family, teacher was seen as a respectable job that probably wouldn’t be outsourced overseas or replaced by robots. It was also that my great grandmother had been a teacher. And, I was a young artist, and since I was also assigned female at birth, the “precocious art kid to public art teacher” pipeline was the path that made the most sense… at least it made the most sense to everybody but me.

I hated the idea. For one thing, I had been the type of kid who didn’t love being around big groups of kids, and I couldn’t imagine I’d like it more as an adult. For another thing, what I wanted to do was paint every day for the rest of my life. My high school art teacher, who I adored, often sighed heavily and said she never had time for her own work anymore. Thinking I would escape from all that, I instead decided to go to New York for art school. There I learned some about painting and drawing, and that simply being there would not give me a meaningful carrier in art. One day, in the studio, a friend and fellow student said “you’re going to make such a great teacher someday!”

I was aghast. It turned out that by going to art school I had not escaped the idea that I would be a teacher, only the idea that I would teach children.

All through my twenties, while I worked odd jobs and painted at night, I was certain I would never want to teach. When I became disillusioned with the world of fine art and started working as a freelance writer, I knew I would never teach. When I became a parent, I was certain that I would never teach.

And when my parent friends who homeschooled asked if I had ever considered it, I was absolutely certain that it wasn’t for me. Remember, as far as I was concerned, I knew for a fact that I would be terrible at it. I also, frankly, was looking forward to my child being out of the house some of the time. I further reasoned that school was important for socialization, and that public schools were institutions worth supporting!

Then it came time for preschool. Having once listened to a podcast about The Perry Preschool Study, I was pretty sure that preschool was important. However, I was also just crunchy enough to be concerned that said preschool be play based and not push “academics.” We applied to two schools. One was a public Montessori program, the other was a private Waldorf school, which several of our neighbors sent their children to and we were assured had a generous financial aid program.

My kid wasn’t offered a spot in either program. She was devastated that her best friend was going to school without her! Faced with the idea of keeping her home for another year, while continuing to try to freelance very close to full time, I did some research of the Pinterest variety, into “homeschool preschool.” It seemed like an oxymoron, wasn’t the whole point of preschool to get her around other kids and out of the house? But if it was going to make her feel a little less left out, and maybe keep her busy so I could work, I was going to try.

So I bought some wooden trays from Target, and got some other supplies for dirt cheap from a local second hand store. I decided to create a bunch of “Montessori at home” materials, my thinking being that it would be great independent work for her, she would be learning through exploration, and it would avoid what I was afraid of, which was pushing academics. There were carefully made lowercase letter cards (watercolored and then, once dried, made three dimensional with a layer of hot glue), rice dyed different colors that could be scooped and mixed, lacing cards, a felt chain that could be taken apart and put back together by fastening and unfastening little buttons, beads to be put on strings, number cards, and more! I devised a plan for rotating out the options so they would remain somewhat fresh. And I lost many hours of sleep creating, sorting, and planning it all. My partner was impressed.

”David, you’re so creative! This is all so thoughtful and loving.”

It did not go well.

Look, my four year old didn’t hate it. At least, she did not hate it the first day. Like most four year olds, she thought getting new stuff was pretty cool. And so, preschool began. I explained to her what the schedule would be. We would do “circle time” (Aka sing three songs) together, and then from X time to X time she would have time to “work” with her “school stuff” whilst I did my own work. It all sounded exciting and grown up to her.

The problem was, she didn’t want to do any of it alone. She wanted me to sit on the floor and play with her. And then she hated the rotation schedule. She wanted to the rice, which was fun to scoop up with a truck, every single day. When she had the rice, it got everywhere. During the time I had designated for “school time” she wanted to play with her toys. During the time I had designated for “play time” she wanted to get out her school trays. And increasingly, she was angry with me for “not teaching her anything.” What she wanted was for me to sit her down and teach her directly. But remember, I felt unqualified to do that, felt she was probably too young for that, and really did not have time.

And then we got a puppy and decided to take some time off while dealing with the absolute nightmare that is having a second infant, who just happens to be a dog, in the house. When I tried to reintroduce the concept of “doing school” after a month, there was a minor mutiny.

By January, I was so burned out that the careful rotation of trays was impossible, and all structure was abandoned. I turned to my partner and said “the only thing that gives me hope is the fact that she’ll definitely be in school next year.” My experiences seemed to confirm both my earlier assumptions about homeschooling, and my beliefs about myself. Come hell or high water, she was going to go to school.

Since we live in a district where you have to apply for all schools, even at the kindergarten level, I began to make a list of first, second, third, and possibly fourth choices.

We scheduled time to tour one of the schools in mid March. As the date of the school tour approached, there was talk about a new virus that was causing lockdowns in some other countries. Opinions about how it might impacted the United States varied wildly. Some people even thought, imagine this, it might be a good idea to stock up on toilet paper!

We went on the school tour. Masks were not yet common place, but there was hand sanitizer in every classroom. Me and one other dad took a squirt every time we saw one. Days before, the first case of covid 19 had been reported in our state. No one knew what was going to happen, it was possible they may even temporarily close schools! Maybe even for as long as *pause for dramatic effect* two weeks! It was almost unthinkable.

But no matter what, we were certain it couldn’t impact our plans for the fall. No matter what else happened, in the fall of 2020 my child was going to go to kindergarten. In a building. A building that was not my house.

Keep your eyes out for the second part of the story.