COLUMN: A timely goodbye to the first school I ever attended

From Amanda Bergson-Shilcock's, "A Few Good Words," Fall'99 From Amanda Bergson-Shilcock's, "A Few Good Words," Fall'99Graduation is looming. All around me I hear seniors joking uneasily about being thrust out into the "real world." I smile, but I can't really empathize. I don't feel as if I'm just now moving into the real world, because I grew up there -- I was homeschooled. The word implies "school at home" and that can be misleading. It's true that for some people, that's what homeschooling is. But for many others, including my family, it's more properly called "unschooling." It's the ticket to a free, hands-on childhood of learning by doing. No bedtime, no rules about what to talk about at the dinner table. Constant opportunities for exploring the world through splashing in the creek, running errands, volunteering, mentor relationships and small business ventures. My family joked wryly that the price we paid for this great life was constant explanations. Sometimes this came in handy; we got good at doing media interviews. Other times it was frustrating and infuriating. Homeschooling was foreign enough that people felt justified in conducting a complete interrogation when they found me out. Just going out in public on a weekday was enough to start it. "Day off from school today?" I would smile politely. "Actually, I don't go to school." That was enough to launch a laundry list of questions and concerns. "Isn't that illegal, boy your parents must know a lot, don't you have problems finding friends?." Privately, I nicknamed it The Conversation. Most of the time I ended up enjoying it. Usually, once I had established that my choice wasn't a condemnation of their kids' public school or their sister the dedicated teacher, we ended up having a mutually respectful and enlightening conversation. I was often the first real live homeschooler people had met. Usually they hadn't even heard of the concept. I often felt that whatever I said and did, people would think all homeschoolers were like that. Neurotic as that might sound, it actually wasn't much of an exaggeration. As mainstream America became aware of homeschoolers, reactions began to reflect that. "Oh, there was a family near me that did that. The kid was a genius or something." In a way, it was great to come to college. I was no longer too young to be out on a weekday and for the first time nobody questioned whether I fit in. I'd spent the first 17 years of my life talking about homeschooling and now it only came up as the answer to a direct question. At college, whether or not I brought it up was more of a game I played. If I didn't say anything, I could "pass." My background could be my secret and I could make an argument in class without having to worry that people would judge all homeschoolers by me. I felt like an undercover agent. School wasn't part of my history; I hadn't even been certain I wanted to go to college. Once here, I found fascinating teachers and inspiring classes, interesting students and a whole new urban landscape. But I also felt bombarded by school priorities and paradigms. Grades, tests, required reading, diplomas -- I didn't prize these things and I resented their encroachment on my learning experience. I'll graduate from Penn in a few short months and I still feel the tension between the values of my childhood and those of mainstream school culture. College for me was less about getting a degree than choosing things to learn about but all around me people were looking at the finish line. It scares me that sometimes I know how they feel, that sometimes I rationalize to myself that grades are really kind of useful. People ask me if I'm going to grad school and usually I laugh and make a comment about money. But it's not really about that. I don't want to go to grad school because as much as I've grown and flourished at Penn, I've also started to absorb the traditional thinking about how and when learning happens. The longer I stay here, the easier it is to give up and go with the flow. To accept that it's not the learning that matters, it's the grade; it's not the people that matter, it's the piece of paper. And that's why I'm ready to leave.