I thought this about my youngest son. Awhile back, I thought my teenaged son "needed" to become more a part of the big world. At the time, I was happily (and sometimes NOT so happily) homeschooling him, but I thought I needed to give him more of the world...allow him to see what he was missing by sending him to a traditional classroom.
So I did. I put him into a private Christian school and watched like a mother hen. Why not? For the first time in his life, I wasn't the one teaching him. I wasn't the one deciding how many times he could drop his pencil and what the consequences would be if he did it one more time. I wasn't the one who decided if this answer was acceptable, or that "q" resembled a "g" too much to make that spelling word correct. And for the first time, I had to bend to the decisions of someone elses disciplinary methods used on MY child. I had to let go of the apron strings. This wasn't my "little boy" any more, right?
So began my inner mantra, "Let go. Let go. Let go. It's good for you. It's good for him." And the mantra became a prayer. And the prayer became desperate sometimes, but it was for the betterment of all.
Then one day, he has a request:
"May I attend public school?"
"Why?" I ask, with a sinking feeling that I'm about to relinquish even more of my child---my baby.
"Because I won't be living in a purely Christian world when I grow up, Mom. Going to school in a purely Christian environment isn't reality."
Okay. There's got to be a good arguement here, but for the life of me I can't find it. So, being the spineless creature that I am, and digging around and failing to find a clever enough arguement, and wishing for my child (as we all do) whatever his heart desires, and with some small, secret desire that he "gets what he deserves for requesting public school," I give in.
There you go, son. He's enrolled, and the full reality of public school, 7th grade hits him full in the face. Injustices ("But HE put the gum there, not ME! What? I have to do two more laps?"), peer pressure ("No, I DON'T smoke, and NO I don't want to!), abuse ("Oh my gosh! Did you hear? They beat him up right under the bleachers! And the coach was on the field the whole time!"), teacher abuse ( "Mom...if Mr. ____ had yelled in MY face like he yelled in HERS, I would have got up and left!")....I could go on and on.
After a while, I began feeling ashamed. I was hearing these stories each night and I found myself smiling, inwardly. See? SEE? I told you so, I thought smugly.
Then it was as if God was tsk-tsking me from Heaven. Oh, no, Elaine. You don't get away so cheaply. Here you go.
"We'd like to make an appointment with you concerning Andrew's grades."
Now, I know I shouldn't feel responsible for something that's clearly the responsibility of the school, more directly, my son's teachers, but suddenly I'm on the hotseat. Suddenly, I'm the one who's responsible for his failing grades.
However, within a moment or two, the conversation's topic, namely Andrew's grades, takes a backseat in my heart and mind.
She sits smug and snug behind her desk in her rust and burgundy "seasonal sweater," sporting a fall pin of three smiling orange pumpkins....her salon-fresh hairdo, and her short, practical, perfectly manicured nails. She looks down the length of her nose to locate me, sitting there with my faded "house blouse," my worn down nails, and my hair that badly needs a dye bath. And the conversation goes like this....
"How are you today, Mrs. Strain?"
Like YOU care.
"Fine, thanks."
"Well, we're beginning to think Andrew may have some underlying problems. He may be acting out and trying to get attention by purposely pulling bad grades."
So, am I to understand, you aren't just a teacher, you're a child physchologist?
"Oh? Has he discussed anything with you about problems he's having?
"Well, even if he did, Mrs, Strain, we can't discuss with YOU what he says to US."
End of conversation. His grades ceased to matter at that point. Straight, RED, Upper Case "Fs" for every subject wouldn't have mattered to me. The dire threat of failing 7th grade fell onto deaf ears. All I could hear echoing in my ears was her last statement. I left her office without a resolution to Andrew's failing grades.
As I walked to my car, I knew one thing as clearly as I knew the face of my child: I had reliquished to the world the heart, mind and soul of my child. I was no longer the person who knew what he was thinking, feeling, plotting. Further, those things were not to be my concern any more.
More subtle messages come from God.....
"Andrew won't be in to school today. He has a toothache and I'll be taking him to the dentist."
"Of course. Umm..can you get a note from the dentist...a verification of the appointment?"
Now, how is a parent to translate this? Here's how I translated it: You, school-that-owns-my-son, do not believe me, parent, when I tell you something. Wait! Aren't I the last word concerning my child? Doesn't "the buck stop here?" Why is the dentist suddenly the voice of authority?
And it gets better....
I love late night conversations with Andrew. The house is quiet...the lights are low...the day is at an end. Andrew and I are the only ones up. He's rolling quietly on the floor with the dog...feeding me little tidbits of his day....prolonging the inevitable bedtime.
"....soooo....you're saying some of the kids don't pay attention in class?"
Oh...naive mother!
"Oh, Mom....you don't know half of it...."
And he continues to play with the dog...quietly....
"So....what goes on instead of listening?"
I'm tired, of course, sleepy. Just curious. I know he's trying to prolong bedtime. Then his casual, quiet words hit me like a glass breaking in slow motion.
"I actually sit between two gang-bangers in my history class."
He chuckles low, like it's an ordinary thing to sit between two gang-banger in a history class. The proverbial glass hits the floor of my heart.
"They pass drugs back and forth and talk about who they're going to "cap" later on."
The glass shatters and so does my heart. And my resolve.
I'm going to get my child back.
So I do. Actually, the economy does it for me. ROP classes begin to drop. Now there's no summer school, no remedial school, and classes are getting suffled around. And all the while, my son's grades are consistent "Fs." At least he's consistent.
After a short battle with my husband, I fill out the affidafit and file it with the state, and Andrew doesn't walk out the door and out of my life the next morning.
And this begins the reclaimation of my precious son.
There are books...standard curriculum, but more, there are conversations. Long conversations.
Do you know what The Theory of Environmental Determinism is? It's an erroneous, evolutionary theory that we are a product of our environment. This theory teaches, for example, that if a person is surrounded by alcohol all their lives and influenced by it, they too will become an alcoholic. They can't help what they become. This is a direct opposite to what the Bible teaches---that drunkenness is a sin and Jesus is the cure. The person that stoops to alcoholism had a CHOICE. He could drink or NOT drink. No one is a product of their environment.
This is one of the topics covered in his Christian biology book. We had a long conversation about environmental determinism. About whether it was true or not (after all, it is in a Christian biology book. Isn't it supposed to be true??) And it's interesting to note that we found something we couldn't swallow.
Even though environmental determinism is supposed to be a false theory (and I won't lump it in with the OTHER false theories of evolotion), I beleive it's true to some extent.
Left in a public school environment, my child will (would have) become a product of that environment. Hard, calculating, selfish. Thinking only of those things that benefitted him. Believing that we all climbed out of an ancient pool of ooze as single-celled creatures and evolved to the top of the foodchain and now ponder the things of eternity. Worse, believing that the earth was not created by a caring, loving God, but began as a swirling, exploding accidental ball of gases and rock. No God. Nothing after being lowered into the ground. The worms go in, the worms go out. Nothing more. THAT is the product of a public school education. And THAT is, in my opinion, perfect proof of envorinmental determinism. By the way....one of the questions in the book's end-of-section review was, "What is envoronmental determinism." I crossed ot off. He didn't have to answer that one. And because of our lengthy conversation, we didn't get the whole section done. Thank God!
I did---DID suffer with regretful relinquishing. I no longer suffer from that. I feel like a healing is taking place. Our day begins with an academic subject, and sometimes we accomplish even more than I expected us to accomplish for that subject. Many times, we don't get through even half the topic. A sentence...a thought...a word...brings something to mind. We pause over that sentence, that thought, that word. It's no longer important to continue. What is important is the conversation...the pause....over whatever it is that stopped us. If we continued for the sake of covering a cetain amount of material, we would loose that pause. That conversation. And we would loose the thoughts, opinions, and insight surrounding that pause.
Now, I have to confess something here. I am the one that benefits from these pauses. I'm selfish. I want to hear Andrew's voice. I want to hear him talk about that thought we paused over. If it brought to mind a humorous comment, I want to hear him laugh. If he dissagrees with the thought, the word, the sentence, the idea, I want to hear him tell me why. I want to ask him questions and get his responses. I want him to share his heart with me.
And each day that goes by, he does. It's been about a month now since he woke and did not go off to "school" in the morning. And each day, he shares more and more of his heart. His opinions, his thoughts, his ideals, his dreams. Each day I learn more and more about my son. Of course, as with so many times when we waste huge chunks of our life engaged in something that we look back on with regret, I look back with regret on relinquishing Andrew to the world. But I don't dwell on this wasted time.
No longer can he claim he wrote down the wrong assignment. No longer can he claim the teacher gave the wrong assignment. No longer can he claim he lost his assignments. No longer can he say the teacher was unfair and assigned too much work. And no longer can he say he didn't have the time for doing his homework....he doesn't have homework. And he gets "As."
And I can't claim any gaps in communcation between the school and myself. But that's okay. I don't need any more excuses for Andrew's grades. His grades won't need excuses anymore. But the most important thing is not his grades. The important lessons are clear....
Does he know who God is? Does he know he is loved beyond belief and his death is not the end? Does he know, beyond a doubt, where he's going when he dies? Does he realize that life has worth and he has purpose? Does he feel comfortable in his own skin? Does he feel supported and accepted for who he is?
Then he is educated in all that's important.
