Home Education Magazine

July-August 1999 - Columns

The photograph on my desk shows a winsome two-year-old snuggled in my arms, his still fire-blond hair dappled by the fading sunlight as we sit huddled together beneath an old elm tree. But on this day across a cluttered kitchen counter I see the serious face of an eight-year-old as he carefully measures the ingredients for a morning's breakfast of pancakes.
Trying to shake the night's shadows from my head, I quietly prepare a cup of tea and regard the person who stands across the room, elbow deep in flour, baking powder and eggs. When did Myles become so big? When did he loose his little-boy looks and begin to take on the visage of this older soul? And when had he learned to take care of himself, so focused and independent? For somewhere in the swirl and buzz of our daily life Myles had, among countless other things, learned to cook. Somewhere between the endless hours of play and pretend a larger life was emerging.
It might be somewhat satisfying to mark a direct cause and effect between parental instruction and specific developmental outcomes. But there are no such clear demarcations in the flurry and serendipity of our family life. Indeed, as I lurch uneasily towards middle age, I find the notions of control and predictability increasingly illusory. Nevertheless the life force that compels a child to try on and master the ways of the adult world is clearly immutable and pervasive It is a force that comes pre-wired in every single child, an indelible yearning for mastery and expansion that is perfect and complete in its expression. It can neither be added to nor improved upon. It is nature's gift as well as her sustaining tool, this inherent drive to embrace life.
And so in the quiet of this morning as I observe Myles engaged in his Epicurean labors, I am cognizant of a thread of mastery that has revealed itself in this past year. It is a mastery tied to no pedagogy in particular other than immersion in daily family and community life.
Such reflections could be construed, I suppose, as my own personal, homeschooling assessment - taking stock as it were. But it would be equally fair to view them as a recounting of my continued surprise and delight at the manner in which homeschooled children, mine in particular, come to new levels of knowledge and experience entirely of their own accord, without the aid of institutional learning. And here I use the term surprise much as one would use it to describe the experience of watching a spectacular sunrise. It's not that you didn't expect the sun to rise anew. But the sheer beauty of such a common place event can nonetheless take ones breath away. This is how I feel each time I experience my children cross a developmental milestone. It simply takes my breath away.
As unlikely as it may seem, observing Myles so intently immersed in the preparation of our breakfast was These breathtaking experiences. Suddenly, here was a person who could care for himself and others instead of needing my care. I was impressed with how Myles had methodically made his way to a cookbook, selected his favorite recipe (usually something that ends in "cake," as in pancake or chocolate cake), gathered the ingredients and performed all the necessary preparation without so much as once regarding any adult on the scene. As common as a sunrise, but stunning all the same.
Then there was the day several weeks ago when Myles casually picked up a copy of Jean Merrill's The Pushcart War that had been laying about the house. Several sittings later he had completed the story, cover to cover. It was the first time he had tackled a chapter book of this sophistication on his own. Somewhere of late he had made the leap from picture book to pure textual material. When and how he had come by this I couldn't say. For all the sophisticated, scientific research on reading and their resulting instructional paradigms, our strategy has been a simple one: reading aloud to the kids - lots of this, a library card and liberal investments in compelling literature. The rest of the process is Myles' alone. His younger brother and sister are fast on his heels and it is similarly gratifying. What is equally important, perhaps, is their ongoing thirst for new material. If a child's innate quest for mastery can not be improved upon, it can nevertheless be greatly diminished by the imposition of external incentives and institutional demands. So I am exceedingly grateful to bear witness to a child's virtually inexhaustible enthusiasm for the printed word.
And there is forever drawing. Hour upon hour, page after page. In pencil, ink and marker, Myles as well as Josh and Emma draw. Like our distant Paleolithic relatives in the caves of Chauvert, whose dramatic renderings of wild animals on the limestone walls gave witness to early sophisticated art forms, my kids seem similarly compelled to express themselves. With no more encouragement then a marker box and paper silently beckoning them from the kitchen counter, each and every day the boys, in particular, represent scene after scene. Sometimes a rendering takes just a moment. Other times the same piece will be returned to over a period of days, even weeks. I am continually amazed at the spontaneous outpouring of such creative energy. Clearly there is a profound and integral connection between this activity and the totality of their daily experience. And no less than compositions produced by adults, sometimes the result of their work can be utterly moving.
There is also something exhilarating about watching your child begin to express himself in writing. Prior to having children, I would have assumed that writing flows linearly from a mastery of reading. But at least with Myles, a recent expression of writing seems closely tied to his art and other three-dimensional representations. For instance, the other day I discovered the following text accompanying a related architectural drawing. They were pinned to Myles' wall above his bed:
The Generals house will be fohr storeres tall and 13 feet wide with white walls and red roof tyels with 8 rooms and a pool. By Myles Kelety
As it turns out, these were plans to a forthcoming Lego project. This text's only formal precursors have been compulsory thank-you notes to relatives and friends following holiday and birthday gift exchanges. But isn't it great that as a parent, it might as well be a narrative by the next Frank Lloyd Wright? And who's to say it isn't? In either case, once more, I have had the exquisite opportunity to view first hand my child's passage to a new level of mastery and self-expression. And no matter where Myles' literary paths might lead him in the future, the description of the "Generals house" may well be the most treasured text I will remember.
People, places and events in the larger world have also commanded Myles' attention this year. An eight-year-old when given the opportunity will naturally expand well beyond his immediate sphere of experience. He can, for instance, readily disclose the height of Mt. Everest, who made its first successful ascent and its location between the Nepalese and Tibetan boarders. He can identify the Army of the Potomac as the Union Army's largest regiment during the civil war, not to mention the cause of this sad conflict. He can name the principal authors of the Declaration of Independence, the names of the first two iron clad ships to meet in battle and the outcome of their engagement. An eight-year-old can discuss the significance of archeological burials at Pompeii as well as the difference between an early Roman legionnaire and a Greek Hoplite. He can identify the last six presidents of the United States and can show you a map dotted with blue stars representing all the states he has visited thus far. And an eight-year-old can speak with indignation at Andrew Jackson's exile of thousands of Native Americans on the Trail of Tears. Such is the understanding of the world an eight-year-old can garner entirely on his own. And I can't help but regard this passage into the greater world with joy and delight.
These are just a few of the things an eight-year-old comes to experience in the context of homeschooling and in the context of family and community life. In between the songs and the silliness of this age, in between the games and the pretend and the Legos, there are astounding passages into adult life and adult comprehension. They are the daily intellectual and emotional sunrises in their lives, common place, but brilliant and startling all the same. They reflect a child's innate quest for mastery and self-determination. Each passage gives me pause for celebration. And each passage serves to confirm the appropriateness of the homeschooling path we have chosen for our family.

© 1999, Jeff Kelety

....(articles list) | columns list)....

HEM General Information

Subscribe to HEM