Homeschool vs. Public School

Every week I receive a free newsletter, “The Homeschool Minute,” from The Old Schoolhouse magazine. It’s a nice little email, and I recommend it, despite all the promotional emails they send you after you subscribe. (You can subscribe here.)

This week’s topic is “Comparing Yourself to the Public School—As In Don’t.” Great topic, and there are several interesting takes on it by the assorted columnists of THM.

However, I have to admit that I’ve compared our homeschool to public school many times. One of the reasons I’ve remained so committed to homeschooling, even when it gets tough, is that I remember my own years in public school, and never, not even on my worst homeschooling day, have I wanted to send my kids there.

To me, public school meant boredom, long hours watching a clock whose minute hand moved in super slow-motion. I remember staring out the window as the teacher droned on, feeling jealous of the birds that could fly freely.

Sometimes, public school meant fear. In grammar school, I was afraid of the boy who punched me in the stomach for no reason. In junior high, I dreaded the annual gymnastics unit in P.E., where I was forced to display, in front of the entire class, my inability to turn a cartwheel or do a backflip.

Later on, in high school, public school meant anger…my anger at the injustice of the situation. It wasn’t fair to be cooped up in classrooms when there were so many interesting things going on in the world. It was demeaning to be 16 and have to ask for a pass to go to the bathroom or get a drink of water. It made me mad that the school staff insisted good grades were important yet gave all the attention and perks to the varsity football team.

Homeschooling meant my kids didn’t have to go through the boredom and the fear and the anger. It meant they had far more freedom as children than I ever had. Once we had completed our daily work, they could do what they wanted.

I remember watching my son lying on the foyer floor and thinking how happy he looked, deep in thought as he drew a very detailed picture of space creatures on a huge piece of drafting paper my husband had given him. Or my daughter, inhaling books as soon as she got them home from the public library and begging for more by that evening. And even today, my younger daughter, now a teen, sits knitting while I read her Economics book aloud. She says she can think more clearly when her hands are busy; she’s an auditory learner. I doubt most high school teachers would let her knit in class.

Then there’s my youngest, the one with Down syndrome. Unlike the disabled kids who went to school with me, my son has never been pushed or tripped in the hallway. He’s never been called the “R” word. He trusts people to love him, because he’s surrounded by love every day.

So yes, I’m afraid I’m guilty of comparing our homeschool to public school many times over the past twenty years. And every single time, homeschooling comes up smelling like a rose.