Mostly, it’s because I don’t like kids enough (mine or anyone else’s) to want to spend that much time with them. Also, there’s my secret life. Another reason? No matter what age the child, I forget that they weren’t born with certain knowledge, like how to make their beds or the distinction between baking powder and baking soda. (What is the difference? And why do certain recipes require both? I bet home-schooled kids know.)
I’m coaching Miss T’s soccer team this season and I say things like: “The more we practice, the more you’ll organically understand how defense works.” Or “The offense should be pro-active more than re-active.” They’re eight and nine years old. They look at me like I have two heads and ask, “When do we get our cookie dough?” and “Can I play goalie?”
Aside from the instincts children have – to seek candy and enjoyment at all costs – they pretty much don’t know anything when they come out of the womb, other than how to suck. So I was fine when my children reached a certain age to send them off to individuals who have chosen education as their profession. They may not all be good teachers, but at the private school my daughters attend, they’re a helluva lot better than I.
My question is, where do they get their patience? Are they all popping Prozac before the day begins so they can deal with Suzie who wets her pants while Josh is eating crayons and no one is listening to anything they say? I literally clap my hands at soccer practice in a rhythmic beat so as to indicate the pace at which I would like everyone to move. Undoubtedly, two of my players are either scratching at their underwear or kicking the ball at someone’s head and not listening to me dissect and explain a 2-1-2-1 formation and how it relates to penetration within the opposing team’s backfield. Sweet Jesus, what possessed me to think coaching was a good idea?
Anyhow, when I hear the words “home schooling” I get a shiver up my spine. I know a lot of these kids end up brainiacs and win spelling bees, and the family doesn’t lose sleep over tuition costs, but seriously. When God created humans, He didn’t create them equally. Some of us are more patient than others. Some people, instead of yelling and then yelling louder and then screaming like banshees, breathe and think before they speak. They wake up in the morning unafraid to face twenty to thirty sets of young eyes (and ears, hands, feet) that would lay waste to the average human being.
Goldie left this morning for a three-day two-night middle school field trip. I think I’d rather get a sharp stick in my eye than chaperone that excursion. We’re talking about thirty or so adolescent girls, never mind the boys, all in the same place at the same time. I’m pretty sure if I can’t handle my one puberty-laced twelve-year-old, I sure as hell can’t handle a cluster of them.
So anyway, no crazy home-schooling ideas for this one – and how ‘bout a hand for those out there who call themselves teachers? I know they’re laughing all the way to the bank, but still.
On a totally unrelated note, did you ladies know that there may be a link between a decreased risk of depression and the amount of coffee we drink each day? It’s not for nothing I call this blog Daily Cup of Jo. The stuff is good for you.