When we leave the house, I usually tuck away my Mac laptop. I have a habit of sliding it into the middle of a pile of papers, magazines and a metal clipboard. More than once, one of the little rubber feet has popped off when I pulled the slim computer across the edge of the clipboard. But I continue to stash it there out of convenience/laziness.

This past weekend, Morgan noticed me cursing as I popped a foot back on the Mac. When he asked, I explained the problem. “Turn it upside down,” he suggested. I was flabbergasted. It NEVER occurred to me to flip over the Mac, feet up. As if somehow something would spill out. What? —The circuits? My files? The Internet?

Now, I don’t know if that would have been your solution. My eventual answer would have been to “Get up and hide it somewhere else.” But M’s simple pronouncement was so out of left field and it worked so perfect.

I’m not sure if that demonstrates the freedom of his thoughts or the limitation of my own.

A few weeks ago Morgan and his Dad went to an archery range. I printed out directions off of MapQuest. When they got home, everything seemed cool and M went into his room to play. Bill took me into the dining room and, holding up the printed directions, said, “He couldn’t read this. Not even close.” He wasn’t mad but he had that wide-eyed, what-the-fuck look. I felt sick.

All my questioning and belittling of other families’ home educating techniques just kinda caved in on me. I knew that some of M’s inability to read the directions out loud was the on-the-spot pressure he felt reading to his Dad. Bill can become impatient when he’s not in control, especially not knowing where he’s going. But the fact of the matter is, M’s not a strong reader. And part of that comes from my own laziness/avoidance of tackling topics that are difficult for him.

Vocabulary, grammar, science, history, even math, we tackle with relative ease. But spelling, composition and reading are toughies. And I’d slacked off making him do daily spelling tests and I let him read his latest book, Tom Sawyer, to himself and verbally answer questions about each chapter. And he could do that, but apparently not by reading every word.

So that Monday, we started on a new chapter book, The Hardy Boys, yes those Hardy boys, in a new modern detective adventure. As he read aloud, I found myself saying the exact things my Dad said to me forty years ago. “Read what’s there!” M was making the sounds of letters not even in the word. And he’d say secondary words that weren’t even similair to what was there. Example: Saying “the” when the word might actually be “of.” He gets the nouns/verbs, the important part that conveys the idea, but not the stringers that holds them together.

I feel so ashamed and disappointed with myself. I’ve got such a huge responsibility but have taken my eye off the real goals I’ve set for us. I think much of it comes from my personal discontent about MY life and have spent way too much time trying to justify my own existence by putting down others’. Including my harping on this blog. How does THIS help M?

I’m on a slow simmer and it’s gotta stop before there’s no water left in the pot. Better eat that crow now.

I know I must sound like a total crack-the-whip Dominatrix about this whole Unschooling thing. But it’s like religion; I’m fascinated by the concept yet logic prevents me from making that Leap of Faith.

So I decided to go to the source. I interrupted Morgan from chain sawing zombies in the mall to ask him if he’d like to approach his education in a different way. Okay, I wasn’t ready to totally release my grip on what we were going study, but I was willing to work within a subject.

“We’re getting ready to learn about the War of Independence,” I announced, followed by a brief synopsis of 1776. “Would you like to watch some movies or study the weapons and the battles or just stick with the book we’re using?” I know, not a very broad choice, but a choice nevertheless.

Without missing a beat or looking up, M said, “Let’s just stick with the book for now.”

Apparently getting to hack-and-slash his way through dozens of virtual urban landscapes is about as much child-directed learning as he can handle in one day.

Another homeschooling mom recently told me she attended a “relaxed” or “unschooling” networking group. She said it was primarily a social event as opposed to any information exchange between the parents. She also mentioned the afternoon get-together was held at a private home and how “nice” (translation: big and expensive) the place was. This wasn’t the first time that “nice” has been used to describe a homeschooler’s house.

With pure jealousy, bitter intent but sincere curiosity, I gotta ask—who’s paying for all this swag? Well, I’m gonna jump to the conclusion that, since most of these women don’t work outside the home, their husbands are the ones out there in the trenches digging themselves into early graves. And, gee, what kind of jobs would allow them to single-handedly bankroll these McMansions? Well, I’m gonna venture another guess and say whatever it is, I suspect it’s a career based on a solid, structured, traditional education. Basically everything unschooling isn’t.

How can a doctorial candidate write his thesis if he’s never learned how to organize a proper paragraph? You’re not gonna move up in military rank if you can’t take and follow out orders. And you certainly won’t earn those annual bonuses unless you’re willing to put on a suit and become a cog in the corporate wheel. These are the type of mindsets on which many homeschoolers frown.

So while hubby is working in that “sit down, shut up and do what I tell you” public school mindset carried over into the business world, Mom and the kids are acting on their whims in a freewheelin’ world where nobody tells them what to do. How does that make Dad feel? Does he even know his kids are being home educated? Do you think there are men out there who think their kids get on/off a school bus everyday? At this stage of the game, nothing would surprise me.

If a husband with a six-figure salary enjoys his career and all the accoutrements that it buys, does he worry about what his unschooled kids are “going to be when they grow up?” Does he resent that they aren’t preparing to following in his footsteps? And why would they want to? I’ve been in homes when Dad walks through the door, nobody even notices. Do his kids realize that's the guy who's making their lifestyle possible? What must that poor man be thinking?

Or does Dad envy their unschoolers’ freedom but accepts it comes with a price? And who’s the one really paying for it? I just hope he's taken out alotta life insurance…