I got a doctorate before figuring out that my strongest calling is to raise a family. We had to live in this town a long time before we felt anything like certainty that this was our home. And on the relationship front? Before we met each other? Well, let’s just say that we both made decisions that lacked wisdom. My guess is that most (all?) of us feel this way. No matter how clean it looks from the outside, finding one’s way must usually feel like a complicated, experimental mess full of failures and missteps and confusion. That’s one of the things that’s been such a blessing about this space: how much it has (you have) helped me sort out the mess.
Because I have learned this about myself, I’ve been wondering a lot about discernment lately, praying about it and wondering. But it finally occurred to me that this time, I actually think I have it. This time, things feel sort of clear. Only here’s the funny thing: I think they also seem a little nuts. A bit absurd. Out there. Wackadoodle as (for some reason) Bram likes to say. What’s been holding me back is not a lack of discernment but a fear of being misunderstood and questioned and assumed to be crazy.
I mean, in less than half a year’s time, we have fallen in love with an Episcopal church, with (I can only imagine how laughable this seems to lots of our academic friends) God, and with the service to which we feel newly called. I have fallen in love with my wife, again, on the other side of breaking apart to make space for a new family member. And I have fallen in love with the possibility of homeschooling.
There’s a lot to write about the God piece, but I feel bumbling and inept when I try, so I guess I’m not ready yet. But the homeschooling? It is thrilling to consider. I find myself daydreaming about things we could do.learn.explore.build.create.discover. Daydreaming and smiling a lot of the time. In February. In Michigan. Which you have to know is saying something.
Learning has never been anything but deeply pleasurable, inspiring, and delightful to Bram, and I feel overwhelmingly protective of that privilege. We’ve recently cut B back to just three mornings a week of Montessori preschool because we all just thrive when the pace stays slow. So cutting way back – and next year taking the formality of school completely out of the equation – could mean that when we’re really focused on reading, or letter work, or puzzles, or storytelling, or drawing, or building, or just PLAY, we can do whatever it is until it’s natural to stop. The days when we pull that off – when we’re just not on a schedule – bring us few meltdowns and lots and lots of belly laughs and glee. And sleep (the boys wake up on their own every day, so they’re well rested). And food (which deserves its own post). And interests. Can I tell you how much Bram’s interests are not mine? And not J’s? He has no pop culture under his belt (I mean, I think he thinks that Johnny Cash and Pete Seeger and Jesus and Harold (with his purple crayon) are the world’s biggest celebrities). He asks everyone who enters our home (with absolute adoration): “Have you read Journey and Quest??” Right now we’re reading Rushdie’s Haroun and the Sea of Stories and he is over the moon about Haroun, and Rashid the Ocean of Notions, and Butt the Hoopoe, and Iff the Water Genie. When he’s into something – whatever it is – he is all in: he wants to draw it, perform it, read about it, create new stories about it, ask questions about it. He never tires. So my sense is that he’s well suited to a kind of unschooling model in which we can immerse ourselves for a week or a month or two months into whatever it is: instruments, or American folk history, or geography, or oceans, or carpentry. Even broad topics like quests and fencing and stained glass and God.
I have this dream. We homeschool. Three kids. Jax teaches them French and money management and political geography. All kinds of other things. I teach, well, whatever we want to learn about. Whatever. We take community classes when they come available: we learn plumbing and electrician work and construction. We learn about solar panels. We build small things. And when each kid is around fifteen, the whole family builds them a tiny house. A small home on a trailer. We build the whole thing. We just: we buy the wood and we build. And when they go off to college, or to live off the land in North Dakota, or to learn a trade like farming, or even to travel for whole months at a time? They just take their home with them. A place they built. And all the knowledge of how to build. And the confidence of being people who can build. And the memories of growing up a family that let them see all of that about themselves, that discovered it alongside them. They live rent-free until they’re ready for a home. They could get through grad school only paying a small fee to park the thing in someone’s back yard. They could be that much nearer self-sufficiency in case the world, or this country, or their own peculiarity ever required them to be. It’s a nice dream. And life doesn’t usually play out the way we think it will, but this one feels worth at least walking towards with a big heart and plenty of hope, doesn’t it? I mean, even if it seems like I’ve gone a little mad?