Well, the PSAT
went pretty well. I have no idea what my score will be, but all that studying
made me a whole lot more confident than I felt last year.
The test was
given in the library—a relatively large room with lots of small tables and
wacky posters on the walls (Read! Don’t Be
A Birdbrain!). Out of the two-dozen or so kids taking the test, five of us
were home schoolers. We sat our own tables, staring at each other with wide
eyes.
Seeing that none
of the other kids sat by us, my friend leaned over, face dead serious. “I think
they’re afraid of us.”
“I think I’m afraid of them.” I glanced around, feeling on the verge of tears—not because
I was sad, but because this situation was so weird. I knew at least two of
those kids by name. I had attended this school until second grade. The last
time I saw these kids we were seven. When the teacher read the roll call, I
recognized half of the names. She was
the girl who introduced me to drinkable yogurt. He was the kid who teased me about the picture I drew. She was the girl who I always wanted to
be friends with, but never had the nerve to talk to.
As I prepared to
take the final section of the test, the woman timing us came over to the home school
tables. “I was wrong; the test is actually a lot shorter than I thought. You
guys can call your parents to have them come pick you up, or if you want you can stay until
12:36 and shadow a class."
What, was I
going to say no? I’d always wondered what school might’ve been like if I’d
never left. This was the perfect opportunity (not to mention, very useful in
case I ever write a story where the main character is not home schooled).
Much as I tried
to convince them to join me, my brother and his friend decided to wait in the
car (my mom showed up shortly thereafter), so I braved the walk to the office
alone. The woman there showed me a list of all the fifth period classes. My eye
landed on English 3H. As we walked down the hall, I glanced around. A few kids
were still running around, trying to make it to class on time. Some of the
doors had already closed, and the steady voices of the teachers could be heard
through them. We stopped. English 3H was already in session. I glanced at the woman who’d brought me. She wasn’t going to…yes, she did. She opened the door. A roomful of high schoolers gaped at me.
But she took
command of the situation at once. “Hello! This is Rachel. She’s a home school
student and she took the PSAT this morning. She wanted to see what a real class
is like, with real people.” She laughed at her own joke. (O.K., yeah, ‘cause my brothers and
sister aren’t actually real. They’re just robots.)
The teacher
smiled. “Of course, come on in, Rachel. We were just about to get started.”
The door closed
behind me. For a moment I stood there, frantically looking around the room. Where
should I sit? There were about nine tables to choose from, each with four students.
As I hesitated,
the teacher motioned to the one nearest me. “Go ahead and sit right there. This
is Carissa.” She motioned to the girl on my left.
We exchanged shy
“hi’s” and I sat down. The chair screeched.
“Hi, I’m Tim.”
The guy to my left raised his hands, as if in protest over not being introduced
by the teacher. The other two kids at our table introduced themselves too, as did one random
kid across the room.
“O.K., class. We’re
studying Fahrenheit 451. Go ahead and
pull out your books. We’ll start by making a list of the literary terms we remember
from our study on The Scarlett Letter.
Can anyone remind me what the first one was?”
And so, I
settled back to enjoy my favorite subject—English. Well, actually I didn’t
really settle back. I guess you’d describe it as leaning forward, anxious to
learn something new, anxious to fit in, anxious to absorb everything around me.
I was probably more excited to be there than any other kid.
When the teacher gave an assignment, the students pulled out their binder paper, and I pulled out my floral print journal--it was all I had to write on. Yep, I'm home schooled.
All said, last Wednesday turned out far better than I'd hoped. I got to see kids I knew from second grade, and get a taste of something new. It got me wondering. I could have been one of those "other kids," watching the home schoolers from a safe distance. I could have been enrolled in English 3H, and got to learn all about imagery and diction. Those kids I didn't have the nerve to talk to might have been my best friends.
But then I realized. If I learned about that stuff every week, would I take it for granted? Would I still love to write? What about all the people I've met and worked with and played with because I'm home schooled? Would I never have met them? The speech meeting was at our house the next night, and all I could think of was, if Mom had never pulled me out of school, none of these people would be here right now. It's like there's some kind of alternate dimension going on.
Truth is, I don't have to worry about it. God knew exactly what he was doing when He called my mom to home school me. Everything that's happened is a part of His plan. All I have to do is trust Him.
I'm reminded of this quote from Prince Caspian by C.S. Lewis:
My parents pulled me out right after kindergarten (about half of which I missed due to a bout with pneumonia . . .) so I was homeschooled from 1st through 12th grade.
ReplyDeleteI did wonder sometimes about what it would be like if I'd stayed in public school, especially when some of my friends went back to public school, but it wasn't something I ever thought about much.
The disconnect with public school kids is weird though. I didn't really experience that so much until I started college. I was (and am, as far as I know) the only homeschooled student at the school, and Freshman year was definitely a lot about breaking stereotypes. (And dealing with all the funny looks and the "Oh"'s.)
But now I have fun with it. I think of my homeschool grad status as kind of wild card tucked in my back pocket that I can pull out at the opportune time. Because I've established myself on campus as a good, smart student (it's a tiny school, like 500 students), I like to shock the professors when I tell them I was homeschooled. It's funny to watch their faces as they process the idea. Kind of going in their minds, "But you're smart . . .!"
That's awesome, Lauren! It is pretty cool to be homeschooled ;). I've gotten some strange looks too now and again--how great to get to prove the stereotypes wrong!
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