The Life Without School Community Blog

Handling it Ourselves

By Shay Seaborne

New homeschoolers understandably worry about meeting state requirements and interacting with division superintendents. Even veterans may feel intimidated by the presumed authority of the school officials with whom they necessarily have contact twice a year. This apparently was the case with an experienced homeschooling mom who called me in mid-July, wanting to know whether I had already “asked permission” to homeschool this year. Shocked at hearing that phrase from a seasoned homeschooler, I uttered the refrain I repeat on discussion lists, via e-mail, over the phone and in person: “We are not asking permission to homeschool; we are notifying the superintendent that we are homeschooling.”

The following day a mom on a statewide discussion list put her finger on the crux of the problem when she wrote, “The school system did its job on me. I'm afraid to question their authority!” This is may be the reason that many homeschooling parents—full-fledged adults—feel intimidated in the face of school officials. Those old feelings return, the same that arose when we received the threat of being sent to the principal’s office. Kafkaesque specters of interrogation and a sense of impending danger may also haunt us. Being aware of this, we can choose to empower ourselves by knowing the law, by providing only legally required materials, and by learning from and joining with other homeschooling parents. Through these measures we can face our fears and respond confidently and appropriately when dealing with school officials who may ask for more than the law requires.

When homeschoolers provide more information than required by the Home Instruction statute, the superintendents can become used to the additional materials and start asking for them from others, unwittingly creating the perceived need for “legal protection.” It is a vicious cycle. As children we learned to fear school officials’ power, and when we homeschool, they present themselves as the authority, through the use of such phrases as "requesting permission to homeschool" on their documents. We are afraid, so we give them whatever they want—without examining whether the request is in alignment the law—hoping they'll leave us alone. But doing so simply shows the officials that we are compliant, and they ask for more because we’ve demonstrated that we'll give them whatever they want. They continue to ask for more, we feel threatened, and we think we are incapable of stopping the cycle without intervention from an organization.

But we homeschooling parents are our own best protection. It isn’t necessary to call in lawyers and conjure visions of lawsuits when a school district requests more than the law requires. Most superintendents are reasonable and are just trying to do their job to the best of their ability. They may simply be unmotivated to learn the complexities and details of our murky home education statutes, so why uncork the vinegar bottle before you have tried using honey? With a little support and encouragement from each other, homeschoolers can effectively respond to superintendents’ offices that overstep their bounds.

Some groups encourage homeschoolers to submit the tables of contents of books when filing a “description of the program of study.” My county, Prince William, has been asking homeschoolers to provide the tables of contents of books, which is beyond what the law requires. I responded with a simple, cordial letter stating that I had read the law and saw no provision for what they asked, but if they could point out the specific wording of the law that required me to provide what they ask I would be happy to comply. Of course they couldn't furnish wording to back up their request, and they sent the so-called "approval" letter a few days later. This year they did not ask me for more than the law requires, because I stood up for myself before.

Other local parents also responded effectively. In a few cases the county’s response was to say the papers wouldn’t be processed until the “required” items were submitted. But these homeschoolers were not waiting for that “approval” letter; they did what the law requires, and if the county fails to process the papers, that is the county’s choice. When homeschoolers handle the small encounters ourselves we prevent them from snowballing into more serious difficulties. Dealing directly with our local school divisions, we avoid falling into depending upon an organization to take care of us. We can retain our individual power and autonomy and demonstrate that homeschoolers are confident, polite and proactive, rather than fearful and aggressively reactive.

Issues such as these are often discussed on state and local homeschool e-mail lists, where members can ask for help and learn the nuances of dealing with education officials. One member of a Virginia statewide list wrote that she found her county’s erroneous form “rather intimidating,” and that, had she not been on this list and learned otherwise, she would have believed the county form was accurate.

Through individual courage and commitment to providing only what the law requires, we protect our homeschooling rights. It is in our best interest to claim that responsibility on an individual level as much as we can, and to encourage others to do the same.

A new homeschooler, filing for her first time, confessed that she is not “fearless, like you are.” But I am not fearless. Rather, I vowed, after a bad experience years ago, to avoid taking action based on fear. I still am afraid at times, but I face my fear, utilize the resources available, and trust that everything will turn out all right. And it has.

Note: Nothing in this article is meant as legal advice. For legal matters, contact a licensed attorney.

Interacting with the School Division:

• Read your state law and ask questions of knowledgeable people until you understand the law well
• Keep a copy of the current Virginia Home Instruction statute on hand
• Answer superintendents’ queries in a timely manner
• Respond politely and confidently
• Communicate with school officials in writing and keep copies of all papers, so you have documentation of  exchanges
• Consider sending mail certified with return receipt as proof of compliance
• Seek information and support from other homeschool parents in a local support group or discussion list, before looking for an organization to act on your behalf

Resources:

The National Home Education Network’s Legal and Legislative Information page: www.nhen.org/leginfo/

NHEN Legislative discussion list on legal and legislative issues related to homeschooling:
www.groups.yahoo.com/group/NHEN-Legislative.

For learning in-depth about homeschooling legal issues, peruse Larry and Susan Kaseman’s articles at Home Education Magazine:
www.home-ed-magazine.com/HEM/issue_index.html.

 2001, Shay Seaborne. All Rights Reserved. Reprinted with permission from the VaHomeschoolers Newsletter, The Organization of Virginia Homeschoolers, www.VaHomeschoolers.org

Shay Seaborne is an edgewalker, known to leap empty-handed into the void. Fun and magic are crucial elements in the design of her life. Shay filed her first Notice of Intent to homeschool in Virginia in 1995. She loves living and learning with her two daughters, who are turning out well despite being raised far from the turbid waters of the mainstream. Shay’s homeschool blog is “Anecdotal Evidence.”

Crucial Elements

by Shay

(this is a recycled post from March of 2006)

I was lucky to have an unconventional youth, during which short periods of my life were defined largely by who I was and what interested me. These were my halcyon days, upon which I still look with pleasure.  Some time ago, I made a brief list of the elements that were crucial to these idyllic periods:

• learning by following my heart and by doing
• feeling accepted and welcomed
• engaged in meaningful work
• peaceful surroundings
• having my private space
• a strong sense of self
• feeling loved
• participating in enjoyable physical activities
• enjoying a healthful lifestyle
• feeling in love with life
• feeling safe
• knowing I make a difference

Looking at this list now, I see that my daughters are far luckier than I was; their unconventional youth affords them great sweeping expanses of life defined by who they are and what interests them.

Recently I have concluded that fun and magic are crucial elements in the design of my life today. They are nearly as essential to me as air and water. Without fun and magic, it would not be my life.

My children have repeatedly demonstrated that they are much more perceptive than most people give kids credit for. They pick up on nuances, read between lines, hear between words, scrutinize the examples we set. Scanning our lives for ideas, traits, thoughts, and ways of being that they can welcome or reject, they reflect who we are by being who they are, not our little dittos. I wonder what this revelation, about the essentialness of fun and magic, will signify. How it will affect my children's view of their own lives, and how much of their lives will they look back upon with pleasure?

Shay Seaborne is an edgewalker, known to leap empty-handed into the void. Fun and magic are crucial elements in the design of her life. Shay filed her first Notice of Intent to homeschool in Virginia in 1995. She loves living and learning with her two daughters, who are turning out well despite being raised far from the turbid waters of the mainstream. Shay’s homeschool blog is “Anecdotal Evidence.”

by Shay

(this is a recycled post from March of 2006)

I was lucky to have an unconventional youth, during which short periods of my life were defined largely by who I was and what interested me. These were my halcyon days, upon which I still look with pleasure.  Some time ago, I made a brief list of the elements that were crucial to these idyllic periods:

• learning by following my heart and by doing
• feeling accepted and welcomed
• engaged in meaningful work
• peaceful surroundings
• having my private space
• a strong sense of self
• feeling loved
• participating in enjoyable physical activities
• enjoying a healthful lifestyle
• feeling in love with life
• feeling safe
• knowing I make a difference

Looking at this list now, I see that my daughters are far luckier than I was; their unconventional youth affords them great sweeping expanses of life defined by who they are and what interests them.

Recently I have concluded that fun and magic are crucial elements in the design of my life today. They are nearly as essential to me as air and water. Without fun and magic, it would not be my life.

My children have repeatedly demonstrated that they are much more perceptive than most people give kids credit for. They pick up on nuances, read between lines, hear between words, scrutinize the examples we set. Scanning our lives for ideas, traits, thoughts, and ways of being that they can welcome or reject, they reflect who we are by being who they are, not our little dittos. I wonder what this revelation, about the essentialness of fun and magic, will signify. How it will affect my children's view of their own lives, and how much of their lives will they look back upon with pleasure?

Shay Seaborne is an edgewalker, known to leap empty-handed into the void. Fun and magic are crucial elements in the design of her life. Shay filed her first Notice of Intent to homeschool in Virginia in 1995. She loves living and learning with her two daughters, who are turning out well despite being raised far from the turbid waters of the mainstream. Shay’s homeschool blog is “Anecdotal Evidence.”

Core Strength

by Shay

I have a second definition for the term “core strength.” My definition refers not to the fitness of muscles that stabilize the spine and pelvis, but to a characteristic that some might call resiliency.

I first tapped into my core strength as a teen enduring a period of sustained abuse. At the peak of abuse, I discovered what storyteller Brother Blue calls, “the Middle of the Middle of me,” which I also recognize as the part of me that nothing can harm. Tapping that core, I found the essential ability to fight back, which resulted in my being freed from that dangerously oppressive situation.

The building of my core strength from there was slow and indeliberate, but it served me well in the following years, helping me walk away from suicide, endure bleak times, mend a crushed heart, weather the grief brought by several deaths, and, most recently, withstand the painful dissolution of my marriage coupled with the daunting challenge of the enormous lifestyle change brought by re-entering the workforce, buying my own home, navigating a legal maze, and ensuring financial survival for myself and my children.

Now fully settled into a new life that I enjoy very much, I regularly hear feedback from friends and acquaintances who remark upon my strength, my resiliency, my joie de vivre. Yes, my core strength was essential through this transition, and as I drew from that strength during the shift, it increased. Examining this strength, I consider there are 3 elements to resiliency: knowledge that “this, too, shall pass”; an attitude of determination that says “I shall not give myself up to darkness”; and a strong connection to one’s self and to the larger world. These are things I have taught my children in their life without school. Being with me for long hours in their formative years, they saw how I handled the loss of three dear friends in the past decade, the way I faced the unexpected need to make myself marketable in the business world, and that I used challenges to clarify who I am, what I know about myself, and to define the kind of life I wanted to create.

Among my handicaps were the after effects of being raised in my family of origin, where  individuation was strongly discouraged. My parents' house was a place where to be one's self was to risk being shamed, shunned or even banished. Therefore, it was relatively late in life that I discovered the simple truth of what sustains me as an individual: my circle of amazing friends, periods of solitude, regular physical activity, and spiritual connection. In keeping these crucial elements close during my change of life, I learned to love myself and to accept the gift of help from friends, acquaintances, and total strangers. These, too, kept me going.

My hope is that my children learned from my modeling how to nurture their resilience, that they know the value of recognizing and holding onto what sustains them, that they build their own circle of amazing friends, and that they love themselves. If they can master all of that while they are young, then they will be saved a lot of grief and early on they can create lives that exemplify their own definition of success and their own measure of joy, and that will be priceless.

Shay Seaborne is immediate past president of The Organization of Virginia Homeschoolers, founder of the VaEclectic  homeschool discussion list and Skipper of Sea Scout Ship 7916. She lives with her two daughters in Woodbridge, Virginia, where she writes, homeschools, rides her bicycle and sails whenever she has the chance, and improves her core strength a little every day.

(c) 2008, Shay Seaborne.  All rights reserved.

Handling it Ourselves

by Shay

New homeschoolers understandably worry about meeting state requirements and interacting with division superintendents. Even veterans may feel intimidated by the presumed authority of the school officials with whom they necessarily have contact. This apparently was the case with an experienced homeschooling mom who called me in mid-July, wanting to know whether I had already "asked permission" to homeschool this year. Shocked at hearing that term from a seasoned Virginia homeschooler, I uttered the refrain I repeat on discussion lists, via email over the phone and in person: "We are not asking permission to homeschool; we are notifying the superintendent that we are homeschooling."

The following day a mom on the VAEclecticHS statewide discussion list put her finger on the crux of the problem when she wrote, "The school system did its job on me. I'm afraid to question their authority!" This is maybe the reason that many homeschooling parents - full-fledged adults - feel intimidated in the face of school officials. Those old feelings return - the same that arose when we received the threat of being sent to the principal's office. Kafkaesque specters of interrogation and a sense of impending danger may also haunt us. Being aware of this, we can choose to empower ourselves by knowing the law, by providing only legally required materials and by learning from, and joining with, other homeschooling parents. Through these measures we can face our fears and respond confidently and appropriately when dealing with school officials who may ask for more than the law requires.

When homeschoolers provide more information than required by the Virginia Home Instruction statute, the superintendents can become used to the additional materials, and start asking for them from others, unwittingly creating the perceived need for "legal protection." It is a vicious cycle. As children we learned to fear school officials' powers. When we homeschool, they present themselves as the authority, through the use of such phrases as "requesting permission to homeschool" on their documents. We are afraid, so we give them whatever they want without examining whether the request is in alignment with the law - hoping they'll leave us alone. But doing so simply shows the officials that we are compliant, and they ask for more because we've demonstrated that we'll give them whatever they want. They continue to ask for more, we feel threatened, and we think we are incapable of stopping the cycle without intervention from an organization.

But, we homeschooling parents are our own best protection. It isn't necessary to call in lawyers and conjure visions of lawsuits when a school district requests more than the law requires. Most superintendents are reasonable and are just trying to do their job to the best of their ability. They may simply be unmotivated to learn the complexities and details of our murky home education statutes. With a little support and encouragement from each other, homeschoolers can effectively respond to superintendents' offices that overstep their bounds.

Some groups encourage homeschoolers to submit the tables of contents of books when filing a "description of the program of study." My county, Prince William, has been asking homeschoolers to provide the tables of contents of books, which is beyond what the law requires. I responded with a simple, cordial letter stating that I had read the law and saw no provision for what they asked. However, if they could point out the specific wording of the law that required me to provide what they ask for, I would be happy to comply. Of course they couldn't furnish wording to back up their request, and they sent the so-called "approval" letter a few days later. This year they did not ask me for more than the law requires, because I stood up for myself the year before.

Other local parents also responded effectively. In a few cases the county's response was to say the papers wouldn't be processed until the "required" items were submitted. But these homeschoolers were not waiting for that "approval" letter; they did what the law requires, and if the county fails to process the papers, that is the county's choice. When homeschoolers handle the small encounters themselves we prevent them from snowballing into more serious difficulties. By dealing directly with our local school divisions, we avoid falling into being dependent upon an organization to take care of us. We can retain our individual power and autonomy and demonstrate that homeschoolers are confident, polite and proactive, rather than fearful and aggressively reactive.

Issues such as these are often discussed on state and local homeschool e-mail lists, where members can ask for help and learn the nuances of dealing with education officials. One member of the statewide list wrote that she found her county's erroneous form "rather intimidating," and that, had she "not been on this list" and learned otherwise, she "would have believed" the county form was accurate.

Through individual courage and commitment to providing only what the law requires, we protect our homeschooling rights. It is in our best interest to claim that responsibility on an individual level as much as we can, and to encourage others to do the same.

A new homeschooler, filing for her first time, confessed to me that she is "not fearless, like you are." But I am not fearless. Rather, I vowed, after a bad experience years ago, to avoid taking action based on fear. I still am afraid at times, but I face my fear, utilize the resources available, and trust that everything will turn out all right. And it has.

Note: Nothing in this article is meant as legal advice. For legal matters, contact a competent attorney.

Interacting with the School Division:

• Read your state law and ask questions of knowledgeable people until you understand the law well
• Keep a copy of the current Virginia Home Instruction statute on hand
• Answer superintendents' queries in a timely manner
• Respond politely and confidently
• Communicate with school officials in writing and keep copies of all papers, so you have documentation of all exchanges
• Consider sending mail certified with return receipt as proof of compliance
• Seek information and support from other homeschool parents in a local support group or discussion list, before looking for an organization to act on your behalf

Resources:

The National Home Education Network's Legal and Legislative Information

NHEN Legislative e-mail discussion list on legal and legislative issues related to homeschooling

For learning in-depth about homeschooling legal issues, peruse Larry and Susan Kaseman's articles at Home Education Magazine and at the American Homeschool Association here

Shay Seaborne is immediate past president of The Organization of Virginia Homeschoolers, founder of the VaEclectic  homeschool discussion list and Skipper of Sea Scout Ship 7916. She lives with her two daughters in Woodbridge, Virginia, where she writes, homeschools, rides her bicycle and sails whenever she has the chance, and improves her core strength a little every day.

2001 Shay Seaborne. All rights reserved. Re-printed with permission. Originally published in the newsletter of the The Organization of Virginia Homeschoolers

The Good Stuff Off the Spoon

by Shay

I love the markdown section at the back of the grocery store. I never know what I might find, and, often, when there is something good, it is very inexpensive—as in cheap enough that I will buy it, even if my kids and I don’t really need it. This is how I recently came home with a $1.00 squeeze bottle of crème de coco. We didn’t need it, but I was pretty sure my children—now 18 and 14 years-old—had never tasted it, and, for the price, I thought it worth introducing.

It was a beautiful day, and I was in good spirits, chatting and joking with the cashier, appreciating the puffy clouds in the sky as I headed into the parking lot with my grocery-laden cart, and enjoying a quick, bumpy ride on the shopping cart as it rolled toward my car, which was strategically parked next to the "cart corral," so I could have a longer coast, and easily stash the gravity-powered vehicle at ride’s end.

Whenever the opportunity presents itself I hop onto the back of a grocery shopping cart and ride it in the parking lot, unmindful of enviously gawking kids and adults. I seek and appreciate the little thrill that makes me smile. Whether in the mark-down section, at the register, or in the parking lot, I look for the lagniappe in every day, and find it in everyday opportunities and actions.

When I arrived home, my younger daughter, Laurel, came into the kitchen to help put away the groceries. As expected, she was curious about my bargain purchase. "Get a spoon," I instructed as I opened the seal on the bottle. I squirted a pile of Crème de Coco onto her spoon, and onto another for myself. Doubtful eyebrow raised, Laurel lifted the spoon to her mouth, tasted, and smiled. It felt sinfully indulgent to be eating this sweet, creamy, high-fat treat before lunch, standing there at the kitchen counter, licking our utensils, with Laurel noting that, "Sometimes, you just have to eat the good stuff off the spoon."

There are a lot of sad and angry people upon this earth. Many have survived terrible childhoods, and physical or psychic wounds. In our individual ways, we are all walking wounded, and how we choose to respond to that determines our level of happiness. I have often said that people need to know that happiness is mostly attitude and intention, that it takes the same amount of energy to be happy as it does to be miserable. I am no stranger to abuse, loss, injury, or challenge, and those who know me best say that I have experienced more than my fair share of these. However, by a path of many turns, I have come to a place where I have largely forgiven those who have hurt me, and recognized the self-empowerment that comes with choosing to use those experiences to make myself better and not allowing them to make me bitter. I recognize that a person always fashions his or her own life, unconsciously or consciously--and I choose the latter. I keep my mind and heart open to possibilities, thoughts, and experiences. I look life square in the eye, embrace the whole of it, am responsive to whatever it brings while avoiding the trap of victim and martyr roles, push beyond fear, and strive to hold onto trust in even the darkest hours. I embrace and savor the boundless goodness of life, consider it an adventure, and have a tendency to find and make fun and magic wherever I go.

As we stood in the kitchen with spoons poised, Laurel’s comment told me that over the years, my daughter had absorbed the lesson conveyed through my example of keeping oneself open to the possibilities, embracing joy and finding pleasure. Laurel understood the crème de coco moment and the concept at hand, the significance the value of spending a dollar on something needed only for its surprise luxury, and the importance of sharing a decadent moment eating the good stuff off the spoon.

Shay Seaborne is past President of The Organization of Virginia Homeschoolers, founder of the VaEclectic  homeschool discussion list and Skipper of Sea Scout Ship 7916. She lives in Woodbridge, Virginia, where she writes, homeschools two teenagers, rides her bicycle and sails whenever she has the chance.

We Speak a Different Language

by Shay

Sonja Asks:

I don't live in my home country, meaning that at home we speak a different language. What do you think about homeschooling in this situation? I am a bit unsure of what is the right thing to do - how do I teach my child a language/tradition that is not my own? -Sonya

Your question brought back fond memories of learning Russian with my older daughter when she was a toddler. The speed and ease with which she grasped that foreign language seemed a miracle, and learning with her was a delight. She is now 17 years old and still happily remembers a fair amount of what we learned together.

Language development is concentrated in the early years, and a child’s particular exposure to linguistic elements builds neural pathways in the brain. Children raised in a bilingual environment receive a great gift that provides significant advantages. They continue to hear the sounds of both languages and speak each with the fluency of a native speaker, obtain a more thorough understanding of language, and gain more practice in language processing. Research shows that much of this advantage is lost within two or thee years of school enrollment, but homeschooling alleviates that problem. With parents central in their lives, homeschooled children continue to receive support in the mother language, and thereby better retain true bilingualism.

It seems your chief worry is that you won’t be able to teach your child the second language, that of the country in which you reside. Homeschooling provides unique advantages to a family living in another land. The freedom offered by this educational lifestyle permits the luxury of exploring the resident culture, language, history and landscape in whichever manner suits the family’s needs and interests. Your children will be exposed to these elements through your friends and theirs, through interactions at the market, post office, restaurant, and rail station.

As your children grow, you will find that learning in another culture is as natural as any other learning. You do what feels right, use your resources, and learn together, learning and teaching each other, like you would learn anything else  in the grand adventure of life that exists outside of school.

Shay Seaborne is Vice President of The Organization of Virginia Homeschoolers, founder of the VaEclectic  homeschool discussion list and Skipper of Sea Scout Ship 7916. She lives in Woodbridge, Virginia, where she writes, homeschools two teenagers, rides her bicycle and sails whenever she has the chance, and frequently questions experts of many kinds.

Where Experts Fear to Tread

by  Shay

I collect quotes wherever I encounter insightful or amusing phrases. When I find a passage that is both insightful and amusing, I am doubly pleased. Therefore, I felt lucky when this gem came in an email: "Not being an expert on anything, I rush in where experts fear to tread." My immediate response was a gut recognition. I, jack-of-all-trades, or, as some of my more charitable friends say, "Renaissance woman," could relate. My delight with his concept caused me to ask the author, Robert Desmarais Sullivan, for permission to quote him, and he graciously agreed.

While my initial reaction to those words included a giggle, there is more to Sullivan's quote than meets the eye. Something deeper, perhaps even dangerous, is wrapped beneath its flippancy. That blithe remark flies in the face of expertise, and even questions the value of it. In our society, credentials validate one's experience or opinion, and experts have these; the titles and degrees to prove their claim of expertise.

The dangerous little quote also begs the question, "where do experts fear to tread?" I believe it is in the places where they feel they are not experts. You are either an expert, or you do not "go there”; your opinion and experience do not count or matter. If experts hold the trademark on a particular topic or issue, then who are the rest of us to tamper with that propriety? If we dare to question, to rush in, we are often discounted. Pointing out that "she is no expert," is a facile way to discount everything about a person, to minify her as a person, in one swift cut.

At a recent social gathering, I had a conversation with an intellectual property attorney named Bob. He said that in his experience, most people who own a trademark, URL, or other intellectual property believe their right to ownership is much greater than the reality. My reflexive response to Bob's observation was, "That makes them feel better, feel more powerful." It seems that tendency to over-extended ownership pertains to wider intellectual "property," as well.

Many experts seem to believe they have a lock on expertise beyond what they actually have. As a homeschooler, I have seen this attitude expressed by doctors, teachers, counselors, school administrators, and others who presume that their expertise extends to homeschooling, to the point that they may even be certain that they are experts on my children’s needs and lives.

Unfortunately, these are often people who know little about homeschooling, and may be set against it for some misconception they hold.

My second favorite thing to do—after homeschooling my kids—is to help other homeschoolers empower themselves, even though I lack an expert’s credentials. I am not a lawyer, but I can read the law, and so can anyone who has reasonable intelligence and interest. In eleven years as a registered homeschool parent, I have learned a great deal about my state’s Home Instruction statute, asserted myself and rallied others when my county asked for more than the legal requirement, and helped numerous parents find their courage to do the same.

When I began homeschooling in 1995, I was afraid that "they" would "come after" me, because I filed under an option that was not used by anyone I knew at the time. I was sure—for some nebulous reason—that I would be targeted and persecuted. Of course, as for the vast majority of us, that never came to pass.

Still, four years into official homeschooling, the county asked me to provide copies of the tables of contents from the books we would be using. Because the request was beyond what the law requires, I declined with a simple, civil letter that stated, "I have read the Home Instruction statute, and believe that I have met the legal requirements with the materials I have already provided.

However, if you will state the wording of the law, which requires that I provide the tables of contents, I will be happy to comply." A few days later, I received the so-called "approval" letter, and the county has not asked me for anything beyond law since. I encouraged my fellow homeschoolers to question the “experts” when the experts cross the line, and this attitude has spread. It is now common for seasoned homeschoolers in Virginia to advise frightened newbies to write the "show me" letter.

As I was wrapping up the original version of this article, I came across another pertinent quote, from Steve Kurtz of Critical Art Ensemble, who said, “Amateurs can fully exercise their rights to free speech. They can function as watchdogs to a certain degree. They can keep an eye on what is in the public's interest. Experts are incredibly beholden to whoever's doing the investing."

Kurtz’s words struck a strong chord, and brought to mind the situation in June of 2005, when a national organization concerned with homeschooling knew that the Prince William County school division in Virginia had an extra-legal regulation on the books, but did nothing, because they didn’t know- or, it seems, care that local families were being harassed. When confronted with their lack of action, the organization’s representative indicated that the group had been hesitant to correct problem due to their fear of what might happen if they “opened up” the homeschool regulation. But I, "not being an expert on anything,” rushed in “where experts fear to tread,” spearheading a grassroots coalition that worked with the school board to resolve the erroneous regulation.

Unfortunately, this accomplishment also involved standing up to the national organization, which took issue with the idea of a local group of amateur moms who dared to initiate change in the school division’s regulations without prior consent from the organization’s experts. The result was that I not only questioned the school division’s regulations, going where the “experts” feared to tread, but also questioned the experts’ involvement and their planned course of action.

The situation was complicated and challenging, but my fellow coalition members and I were committed to riding it out, and the end result was a local homeschool regulation that does not stray beyond state law. This kind of personal action empowers individuals to stick up for themselves, and makes us each the authority of our own lives, rather than relegating it to the domain of "experts." We need to be our own experts. Doing so makes us stronger, better, more courageous people who feel good about ourselves- and about what we do. Through homeschooling, I am raising my kids to be the experts of their own lives, and, in the process, doing the same for myself. Perhaps I am also creating a place where experts fear to tread.

Shay Seaborne is Vice President of The Organization of Virginia Homeschoolers, founder of the VaEclectic  homeschool discussion list and Skipper of Sea Scout Ship 7916. She lives in Woodbridge, Virginia, where she writes, homeschools two teenagers, rides her bicycle and sails whenever she has the chance, and frequently questions experts of many kinds.

(c) 2007, Shay Seaborne. All rights reserved. This article was first published in the September-October 2007 issue of Home Education Magazine.

Homeschooling to Counter the Culture of Consumption

by Shay

I came across a Washington Post article titled "Spending More for a Little Solace," which explains reasons that people buy "features they do not need and may never use," the bells and whistles on their DVD player, SUV, digital camera, etc. As a parent who taught her children consumer awareness from their toddler years on, and who views mainstream American culture as largely driven by Madison Avenue, a passage jumped out at me. It noted that interviews with children and parents show that "low-income parents do not splurge because they fail to understand the importance of delayed gratification or because they are impulsive," but because "they are acutely sensitive to how certain consumer products influence their children's 'search for dignity.'" The researcher said that, even among famlies that were extremely poor, every 8-year-old boy in her sample "had a Game Boy or Nintendo." This is because "parents, especially poor parents, tend to buy products they cannot afford because they are acutely focused on whether their children are fitting into peer groups." The parents "were choosing their child's psychological desires over their own material needs.'" That is a sad indictment on mainstream cultural identity in the US, and it gives good reason to resist assimilation.

Because consumer awareness has been a consistent part of my children's home education, Caitlin (17) and Laurel (14) are keenly aware of the psychological effect of advertising, as well as the lack of real value in most things heavily advertised. As a result, they are not materialistic; they don't feel the need to have whatever product is "in." Instead, when making consumer choices they follow their own hearts, and even then, they tend to set aside instant gratification, often spending time researching the product and reading reviews online before making the decision to spend.

Unbeholden to Madison Avenue's commands to "Collect 'Em All!" and "Get the New Improved!," the kind of things my children buy reflect a different set of values. The goods they desire are thoughtfully chosen books, music, and movies--all things that enrich them on well beyond the temporary rush of obtaining something new, and on levels deeper than the simple brief amusement from items bearing little "play value."

Although many of the myths about homeschooling have been dispelled in recent years, our educational choice is still considered by many to be a "fringe" activity, practiced by oddballs from either end of the extremist spectrum. While I will continue working to clear those stereotypes in my own way, I also embrace the oddity of my educational choice, feeling comfortable being outside the mainstream, and so do my children. While Caitlin and Laurel are still sometimes looked at askance because of their unique educational paths, homeschooling has given them something of infinite value. Their desires are their own.

Shay Seaborne is an edgewalker, known to leap empty-handed into the void. Fun and magic are crucial elements in the design of her life. Shay filed her first Notice of Intent to homeschool in Virginia in 1995 and has enjoyed homeschooling with her children ever since. She loves living, learning, and sailing with her two daughters, who are turning out well despite being raised far from the turbid waters of the mainstream.

Sailing Lessons

by Shay

“Share your passions with your children,” a wise homeschooler once advised me. Over the years, I tried sharing my interests with my daughters, who are now 17 and 14. I exposed them in varying degrees to horseback riding, canoeing, genealogy and family history, organic gardening, canning and drying food, cooking, writing, hiking, politics, fossil hunting, cultural studies, bluebird trail monitoring, a plethora of arts and crafts, and more. Some of these interested them, and even evoked a little enthusiasm, but most of them fell flat. Somehow, though, I did not share with them one of my earliest and longest passions: sailing. I suppose I thought it expensive, a bit dangerous for little kids, and I assumed that, like most of my interests, this one would hold little appeal for my children. I was wrong.

I fell in love with sailing the first time I set foot aboard a sailboat, when I was a girl, 10-years-old. The thirty-foot yacht belonged to my mother's friend, David, who had invited my mom and her 4 kids for a day of sailing on the Chesapeake Bay. I remember the harbor in Annapolis, with its tangle of masts jutting into the sky and the windblown halyards slapping a wild tune. We motored out of the harbor, and then our captain raised the sails like a glorious dove unfolding her white wings. The water riffled and gurgled against the hull as the boat took to its seaborne flight.

Soon after the sails filled with wind, my sister was hiding below deck, where she would stay for the entire voyage, woozy with nausea and Dramamine. I'm not sure what my brothers were doing; the only thing I cared about was learning to sail.

David encouraged me to take the tiller of the Islander 30. He told me how to choose a landmark and sail toward it, and how to watch the leading edge of the main sail, called the "luff," for indications that I needed to adjust my course. Spaced along the luff were small pieces of yarn, "telltales," which started to flutter before the luff did. They provided small, early indications that the steering needed correction. Keeping my eye on the telltales, David said, would help me stay on course.

I focused intently on the telltales as I held the long wooden tiller, learning by experience which way and how much to push or pull in order to keep on course, to keep the sail taut.

All else fell away; I was not aware of time, and the only thing that mattered was steering the craft as we passed beneath the Chesapeake Bay Bridge. I marveled at being able to handle and maneuver this seemingly large vessel with ease.

I didn't sail again for over a year, but right after my 11th birthday, I began to volunteer at a park that had just acquired a small fleet of sparkling new Widgeon sailboats. One of the park's staff offered low-cost sailing lessons--which, to my delight, were made available for free to volunteers.

The Widgeons were easy to handle, reliable, and perfectly fitted. If I were extremely lucky, my assigned sailing partner was absent from the day's lesson, and I had the boat to myself. During those rare classes when the wind roused small whitecaps on the river, I discovered a new and exhilarating joy. Nothing stirred my soul more than "hiking" out over the side of a heeling sailboat, wind whipping my hair, brackish spray dampening my face. In the best of conditions, with the boat trimmed just right, I could lean backward over the gunwale and sweep the wrinkled face of the Potomac with my shoulder-length hair. On land, and with people, I felt awkward and unsure. But here, dashing across the waves, I felt strong, capable, and free.

Although I had the bookwork down after the first sailing course, I took the class again that summer, and twice more the following summer, just so I could sail. I would have chipped and painted, pumped the bilge, peeled potatoes in the galley, anything, to get out in a boat, to sail.

At thirteen, I completed the US Coast Guard's safe boating course, and throughout my teen years, I sailed whenever I could borrow- or tag along on anybody's boat. I had two harrowing experiences, many hours of contentment, and a few joyful days of perfect sailing.

I even owned a nice little boat myself for a short while. It was an MIT Tech II sailing dinghy, the kind sailed on the Charles River in Cambridge. Twelve feet of smooth white Fiberglas, with an aluminum mast and a single sail. I thought it was beautiful, and spent my entire savings--a summer's worth of pay for scraping and painting my orthodontist's yacht--to buy it. I loved the beamy little boat that sailed in the lightest of airs, so I was heartbroken when my mother announced that she had sold it to pay rent on her storage unit.

As I allowed the currents of young adulthood take me where they would, I let my sailing dreams blow away, although my yearning never stilled. About a year ago, I decided that it was time to bring sailing back into my life, whether or not my children cared for it, so I went sailing in a real boat for the first time since my late teens. My older daughter, Caitlín, and I spent 3 hours on the river in a Flying Scot, and did just fine! OK, we had gone out without a map, so we hit a few sandbars before we figured out where they lurked, but other than that, it was great! The wind was perfect; not too much, but enough to raise a few small whitecaps, and enough to heel the boat on close tacks. I was hooting and hollering when we first felt the wind that heeled the boat. My poor teenage daughter was horrified, and she was thankful that we were out where nobody could see us.

Caitlín proved an able second mate, handling the jib well, and seeming to enjoy the experience almost as much as I did. This prompted another outing last summer, with both girls aboard that time. My younger daughter, Laurel, enjoyed the close-hauled tacks, but practically wilted when the wind wasn't favorable. (She's a speed freak. I wonder where she got that.) During that outing I managed to coax Caitlín into taking the tiller for a short while, and she did well with that, too. The child is a sailor born.

One day in late April of this year, the weather was so perfect for sailing that I heeded my inner adventurer's voice, dropping everything and took the kids to rent a Flying Scot. It was aaaaaaaawesome! Force 5 winds, with sturdy whitecaps! I had that baby heeled over hard about 1/3 of the time, heeled over slightly about another third and running wing-on-wing the rest. Woohoo! Despite the occasional whines, whimpers and screeches from the crew, it was The Most Perfect Day of Sailing Ever. Again, Caitlín handled the jib beautifully. I am extremely pleased that both of my girls seem to be hooked on sailing, on this earliest of my passions. I can hardly wait until our next adventure. Soon, I will take my girls back to the river, into the wind, into the spray, under the clouds, to fly with the wheeling birds, to share the stirring of my heart.

Shay Seaborne is an edgewalker, known to leap empty-handed into the void. Fun and magic are crucial elements in the design of her life. Shay filed her first Notice of Intent to homeschool in Virginia in 1995 and has enjoyed homeschooling with her children ever since. She loves living, learning, and sailing with her two daughters, who are turning out well despite being raised far from the turbid waters of the mainstream.

Rejecting the Summer Reading Program

by Shay

A few years ago my older daughter, Caitlin was "in 6th grade," but reading mostly young adult books, as she had outgrown most in the youth section. Since she was reading "teen" books, she felt she should be able to participate in the teen level summer reading program sponsored by our public library. The teen program offers prizes for a much lower number of books than does the level for younger children, because the young adult (YA) books are longer reads. I think they offered a prize for every 5 books, and the "little kid's" program did so for every 10, or maybe 20.

When Caitlin asked if she could participate in the teen reading program, the librarian told her "no," because she was not yet "in high school." Cait decided she would no longer participate in the reading program. "I read because I enjoy it," she told me, "and I don't need any prizes as incentives."

The next time we went to the library, another librarian spoke to us about the summer reading program, expressing disgust at the kids who obviously signed on only for the prizes. She said it was easy to discern their motive, as they often chose books based on their brevity--such as poetry anthologies or books of jokes. The librarian was dismayed that these kids did not seem to want to read for the pleasure of it, but were only interested in jumping as low as possible through the hoops to get the goodies.

Then the same librarian asked my daughter if she had signed up for the summer reading program, and when Cait explained why she had not--that she thought it unfair that she was reading YA books and had to read so many of those to get a prize in the little kid's program--the librarian told her she should "pick short, easy to read books, like poetry anthologies and joke books." I hardly knew what to say. Cait was thoroughly disgusted and simply walked away. I said something like, "Caitlin seems to think that is not a viable option," and also walked away. We have not felt the need to revisit the summer reading program topic since.

Shay Seaborne is an edgewalker, known to leap empty-handed into the void. Fun and magic are crucial elements in the design of her life. Shay filed her first Notice of Intent to homeschool in Virginia in 1995. She loves living and learning with her two daughters, who are turning out well despite being raised far from the turbid waters of the mainstream. This piece originally appeared on Shay’s homeschool blog, called “Anecdotal Evidence.”