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A Death, "Grabbing Back Our Lives," and (of course) HOME*schooling!
We were on our way to the airport earlier this evening, just in time to retrieve one of our daughters upon her return from the most incredible educational experience. Just as we were about to walk out the door, our collie groaned a bit. He's been very ill with, among other things, a quite awful case of leukemia, this eleven-year-old dog. He'd grabbed back his life last summer, just as it appeared he would fade away from us. We'd been giving him his medicines in bits of hot dog, his lifelong favorite treat. But one morning, any enthusiasm for life seemingly gone from his deteriorating body ... you could feel all his bones, there was almost nothing left on them but skin ... he didn't even lift his head when the next morsel was offered. The vet said he'd bring a euthanasia kit to our home, as it was apparent to him that King would last only a short time, and would suffer needlessly if we did not "put him to sleep." We declined. On a hunch, Jean brought home a package of really gross hot dogs from the store (not our usual "healthier" version). Well, for the next two days, King's enthusiasm returned, he would even stand up when the hot dogs came out of the fridge and, if he dropped a piece, his jaws would snap audibly four or five times as the meat descended toward the floor. The next day, I brought home a collie puppy (our sixth collie in 27 years). The presence of the puppy seemed to engage something deep within King, some primordial "game worth playing," something worth living for for a little while longer. Within two months, King weighed more than he had in four years, and he was busily teaching the puppy lessons of dominance in the animal kingdom. He was also, astonishingly enough, teaching him "the rules of the house." It was startling to see him show his teeth at choices made by the puppy, choices which King had for years (and in the face of constant admonishment), made with impunity, but which, with his dying breaths, he would foreswear as an option during this puppy's lifetime. It was the clearest example I have ever witnessed of the expression "do as I say, not as I do! About the time the latter lessons ended (marked by the "puppy" getting huge and able to knock King off his feet), King began another decline. Yesterday morning, I saw him try to stand, pitch back and forth, and collapse, unable to get up. His movements suggested he had perhaps had a stroke or a heart attack ... I rushed out to him, but the attempt to help him stand and walk was close to futile, as his left side had become nearly useless. Yesterday and today, he was able to go on a brief (assisted) walk, enjoyed watching our children play, and took in two glorious spring days. But then, tonight, he groaned. Four of the six of us were at his side almost immediately, and sat with him, stroking his head and talking to him, as he passed on. Our two little boys (King arrived in our home almost exactly when our older son was born) cried quite a bit, as you would expect they would do. We had to wrench ourselves away from his body to go and meet our daughter ... how strange, to go to greet her, fresh from her great triumph, in such a subdued mood. I'll come back to the subject of King, but for the moment ...
Our daughter grabbed her life back recently, also, although not from death. A year ago, she was one of 25 youngsters who signed a petition at a local middle school. The petition, delivered to the principal, asserted that the teachers in the school were not getting their jobs done. The teachers were not happy about this and, during the afternoon, one of them confronted the students in his class: "Give me one example of where we're not getting the job done." Perhaps it was the number of lawyers in her lineage, but P found herself speaking for her classmates [for those of you who have been around this newsgroup for a while, this is the daughter I referred to in my earlier post, "HOME*schooling and Your Child's PURPOSE," as best-described by the phrase "silently loud"]. She said, "Well, for instance, you are required by state guidelines to teach us government this year, and you're not even teaching it, let alone well or badly." The teacher had the audacity to tell her that the only problem was that she hadn't been there the previous year, and that they "only teach that unit once every three years." (We live in a geographic area in which the turnover of students from year to year is extraordinarily high.) Then he added, "And, if you were really interested in government, you could teach it to yourself!" To say she was "steamed" by the time she arrived home would be incredibly understated.
I suggested that a little honesty would be good. For whatever reason, she has a long-standing interest ... a passion, really ... in the effect of lyrics on the development of culture, society and even government. Her taste has run to Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison and the Doors, and Bob Dylan, among many others. I suggested that, in the event the school did teach what they called "government," she would be even angrier. We had a discussion about what she would consider to be the most fascinating "government curriculum" she could imagine, including who she considered might be able to design such a curriculum. It took a while, but she began to see that, at age 13, _she_ might be the one to design such a course of study, especially if she went out of her way to talk with genuine experts in the field. We ended up at the bookstore that evening. She selected the books Coming Apart (an amazing series of essays, by some very fine writers, about America in the '60's), and Voices of Freedom. She had begun to take responsibility for her own education, instead of merely sitting back and complying ("competently," of course, but certainly not passionately) with assignments handed her by others.
The next day, she walked up to the teacher in front of the class, and said: "Thank you so much ... that was the best academic suggestion ever made to me!" She told him, briefly, what had happened, and added: "I realize I can do that with every subject I am passionate about, and certainly everything you teach! So I consider myself 'complete' with the public school experience ... thank you again ... I'm out of here, going to go and home school myself!" And she left school and walked home. [An interesting aside: months later, we got a letter saying she had not turned in one of her books ... she had, but they hadn't yet discovered the fact ... this was the only communication we ever received from the school ... they did not call to ask if she had gotten home safely, or whether we approved her declaration, or whether she would, in fact, be home schooled after that ... nice to know they were so concerned about the book, no?]
Well, this daughter has blossomed. From the pit of boredom, she has emerged to construct a fascinating curriculum. It has, among other things, included an internship with Steve and Stephanie Gold, the gifted musicians and producers of inspiring children's music at Melonball Music. It has also included creation of a 300-square-foot garden. And she has become a nanny to two families (6 children, including a newborn). One of the two moms is a nurse who does a late-night shift in a town 45 miles away, so P has really taken on some major child-care responsibilities. Why? Because she wanted to be able to pay for one-to-one lessons with a wonderful, inspiring master photographer (artist/educator), Eduard Uzumeckis. She has spent an amazing amount of time in the darkroom, and has quite a talent. Recently, she chose to enter five of her photographs in the international contest sponsored by the Photo Imaging Educators Association (they are the ones who teach black and white, color and everything digitized to high school and college students). She took first place for "9th grade and below," and two of her photo's were among the 129 put on display at the organization's annual convention. P's teacher suggested she might want to attend (it was held in New Orleans, about 1500 miles from our home). She found sponsors, in addition to paying part of her own expenses, and made arrangements to stay with the family of some friends of ours. The family took her to a church-sponsored "sweet sixteen" party, where she met an incredible array of people; she was with a group taking photo's in the French Quarter when the owner of a particular building befriended them ... she ended up taking photo's in the attic, quite a story in itself; at dinner at a wonderful Creole restaurant, she sat next to John Sexton, who had been the keynote speaker (you photographers out there know who that is!) ... he expressed an admiration for her work, which he had observed earlier, and gave her a gift of one of his original photographs which he had brought to the show; he gave her his address and phone and suggested that she send her new work to him, so that he could work with her on it; and he suggested that she attend a particular workshop he would be holding at Carmel, California, his home base. She also attended a birthday party for twins, the daughters of a 99-year-old woman who may now be in the process of dying, and who had called the entire clan to her bedside. [Are any of you readers laughing right about now at all the incredible opportunities our daughter is missing to be properly "socialized" by attending the public schools?] Of course, I'm just giving you a glimpse of the life she has constructed for herself after taking responsibility for her own education. As a parent, though, I can hardly tell you how great my joy is, seeing this radiant young woman eagerly pursuing the gifts God gave her, instead of languishing (as she had been), at the effect of anything less than is so obviously available to her.
So, as you can imagine, it seemed strange to me that we were going to meet her in such a saddened, subdued mood, given King's death. When we got back home, she went to see King's body, which was lying in the family room. She stroked his head and beautiful coat, cried ... and then, suddenly, was there with her camera. At one point, I heard the camera click and saw it aimed in the direction of King's head ... which might have been alone in death had it not been for two small hands (one belonging to each of our young boys) resting there, softly. It seemed to me a holy moment.
Last summer, CK (our youngest) had discovered King lying with a pancake-size pool of bright red blood having run out of his nose (this was when he'd entered that first decline). Both boys saw it, and were quite shaken, calling us to help. As Jean rushed him to the vet, I sat at home and talked with the boys about the likelihood that they ... or, at least, one of us in the family ... would soon find him dead. JM, then 10, was quite distraught. I suggested that he take those emotions and put them into the piece he had been attempting to play on his cello, "Elegy," by Faure. JM had been able to play the notes, but had not understood what an "elegy" was, not really ... it was, at that time, far beyond his life experience. Well, he then understood, and suffused the piece with such emotion that I cried twice and was quite amazed that he was able to keep playing through his tears. A gift from God to JM, through King, it seemed to me at the time.
Before long, after sitting with King's body tonight, JM quietly retired to our living room, took out his cello, and played "Elegy." The family followed the music into the room and listened to JM, whose back was to us. He was playing for himself, and crying softly, but also playing for us ... and for King. CK then played (also on cello) the second movement from Squire's "Tarantella," which is hauntingly beautiful; he followed that by playing "Amazing Grace," a delicately intricate version, on his violin. Our family then talked for a long time, particularly about the subject of death. CK, now 8, repeatedly broke down in tears at the thought of having lost King, which recalled for Jean the loss, at the same age, of her beloved grandmother.
Later, CK came and sat on my lap and said, "Thank you, Daddy, for walking me through what I needed to learn tonight. I had known that dogs and people die ... but I hadn't known how it felt!"
It seems to me that we humans always have the opportunity to "grab back our lives" in one manner or another. For King, all it took, last summer, was some really raunchy lunchmeat and an exquisite new puppy-friend. Suddenly, he had "a game worth playing." For our family, the HOME*schooling possibility has allowed us to look deeply into the eyes of our children ... and discern what passion might lie most deeply embedded in their souls. In turn, we have been enabled to fan embers which, in other settings, might never have been noticed. Out of that, it seems to me that our children have an enhanced chance, between now and the time each of them dies, of living the fullest life possible, the life they would most love to live, and the life which has the greatest chance of contributing to those around them. [I might mention that, from our point of view as parents, the inspiration of our children in this regard has also encouraged us to "grab back our lives" in ways which had once been unimaginable...]
(We tip our hats, with great respect, love and admiration, to all those who have been contributing so greatly to the HOME*schooling possibility through their participation in the misc.education.home-school.christian newsgroup.)
John