Why this was the right choice for us!

There are numerous reasons why a family will choose homeschooling over the traditional society standards of education. Some I don't necessarily understand, yet my respect for the choices of other families may be a huge reason for my personal decision to take this path.

My son, let's call him “Monkey” to protect the innocent, spent a large portion of his educational time struggling. Before he had even entered kindergarten, he had proven himself to be clever beyond his age's expectations. Yet, why was it that he came home with poor marks, and behavior problem notes? Why was I having to attend conference after conference to discuss action plans and possible solutions for his behavior?

Maybe it was ADHD. I knew other kids who struggled with that, and after receiving the appropriate tools, whether medication or alternative methods, they seemed to if not flourish, at least stabilize. Yet, his behavior didn't quite match, and after several doctors visits, we ruled that out. Along with learning disabilities, and autism. Talk about frustration! I only wanted what was best for my bright Monkey, but all we were doing was stressing him out.

He loved the social interactions of public school. He was popular and seemed to make friends with everyone around him. His quirky personality and helpful ways made him well liked with even the adults around him. He retained information, breezed through his homework and aced his tests. So what was going on?

By first grade, we had a teacher who really wanted to help. I appreciate the effort she put into it, yet it just wasn't working. He would have crying fits, temper meltdowns, then revert back to normal for days as if nothing had even happened. His work was exceptional, and he realized that he was causing problems, understood the effects of his actions, and showed heartbreaking remorse.

Then, finally, a breakthrough!

After numerous meetings with school officials, I was willing to agree to anything. More doctor visits, testing, specialists. None of these seemed to pan out by the way. My assessment quizzes for the doctors varied dramatically from the teachers. This boy they had in class all day was not the son that came home to me.

I was at work one day when I received the phone call. She sounded extremely young, with a southern accent so thick and syrupy I could have poured it over pancakes. Oh no, not this hick child, please. Yet, in the spirit of cooperation I agreed to let her come in from the larger city an hour away to observe my Monkey. She did this for a few weeks, popping in unobtrusively into the classroom with no explanation as to why she was there so that she could observe him naturally. Finally, she called me back for a sit down.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is why you never trust first appearances. Or phone voices. She wasn't a hick child, by any means. She was young, yes, but so very clever. Even though her accent rolled over me, her words resonated and brought me to a whole new understanding of my son.

Anxiety.

One word with so many ramifications. She asked me the most random questions about his behavior at home. Each one had an affirmative answer. She had found our problem, and here we had the first actual tools to utilize towards correcting it.

Apparently, all the tools the teachers had been using were better suited for kids with ADHD or autism. Things such as fidget tools, bands on his chairs, extra exercise, more freedom of mobility. These were wonderful tools, and they were wonderful teachers for trying them. Yet here they were bringing more disorder, more chaos, and ultimately more attention to The Monkey. Instead of helping, they were in fact exacerbating his problems and his negative behavior.

The extra attention was halted immediately. The Monkey was given an advance warning of drastic schedule changes, and not forced to work in groups or in front of the class unless he volunteered. His work load was increased and given more difficulty. We finished first grade on a high note and by the end of second grade he was flourishing again, coming home almost every day with positive behavior notes and testing in the 98^th percentile in the county on his end of grade tests.

By the time he started third grade, we had some decisions to make. Place him in the gifted school in the next city, or the less stringent program at the school we were already comfortable with. I knew these administrators, these teachers. He knew the classmates, felt confident and comfortable in the halls. We decided to stay. Still, we walked into open house to find things weren't nearly as they had been presented when we made that decision.

Instead of spending part of his learning time in a focused gifted group, the funding had been cut so now the classes were purposefully integrated. Lowest scores and highest scores mixed. The classroom setting was such that many of the assignments were completed in groups, with one or two of the gifted students, and several of those who were struggling. Maybe the knowledge was supposed to rub off? I couldn't understand this process, no matter how many times it was explained to me.

Naturally, for my anxiety ridden son, this was an absolute nightmare. The work wasn't difficult enough to hold his attention. He breezed through his assignments, then turned to the book hidden in his desk. He became easily frustrated by his classmates who “just didn't get it” and turned angry, occasionally aggressive when they couldn't understand his efforts to teach them. He cried when he felt they held him back from completing a better project.

He slacked on his work, he didn't work well in the groups, and so, his grades suffered drastically. For the first time in his life, my third grader brought home an “F” on his report card. Naturally, I was upset that it had been allowed to continue to that point without any intervention or notification from the teacher. This wasn't a moody high school student being prepped for “the real world”. This was an 8 year old, a third grader. I had no warning signs at home since he breezed through his homework and brought home tests that were high marks.

It took me too long to get a meeting scheduled with a seemingly unapproachable teacher. It was too difficult to set up an action plan where he wasn't expected to teach his classmates, or be graded on their work. It seemed to overly complicate everyone's life when I suggested that instead of making him rehash the same basic assignment over and over, he be given time to read independently when he seemed to have a good grasp of the material.

We made it through the year, but just barely. After finally freeing him from that school, I promised him never again. Not only was it hard for him, but it was heartbreaking for me to watch my bright, happy child wilt under those confinements. Just like that, we became homeschoolers.

Trying to find the best method for my child has made me so much more sympathetic to all the other parents out there. If something is broken, don't just keep sticking duct tape on it and hoping it holds together. Fix it! Do what works for you personally, what fits your family best! If that's public schools, then go right ahead. That's your right, and your privilege, and I have to say I'll carry around a twinge of jealousy over having that easy solution. Yet, no matter why you make the choices you do, your child deserves the best that you are able to offer them. For us, it was education in a way that allowed my Monkey the most opportunities to shine.

Why do you homeschool? What's your story?