Let me be clear - I have nothing but the utmost respect for public schools and their superintendents, principals, teachers, etc.... But, I've seen their job, and I do not want it. I don't envy them the gags and tied hands that come with mandated curriculum, the endless carrot and stick of chasing standardized test scores, and the ceaseless internal politics inherent in the system. No, I'd rather circumvent all of that and spend my time corrupti...er, uh, teaching the youth. At first, I started with my own. After all, who better to experiment on than flesh and blood? I'm ultimately responsible for them anyway, so I figure I have the right to corrupt them as much as I want. The thing is - they loved it. Positively thrived. We did all sorts of unorthodox and heretical things - like teaching division before multiplication, coloring outside the lines, introducing ancient history before we even studied basic maps skills, and going out into the world around us to learn about the world around us. It was nuts, but it was working. And, aside from the occasional query about socialization or prom, most people were cool with our choice in lifestyle and education. That is, until the chicken incident.
When I was 25 years old, I embarked on a grand new adventure.. And, because we like we like to do stuff together, my then five-year-old and one-year-old came along for the ride as well. In fact, it was totally a family affair, with three generations of us present and excitedly peering over what I immediately recognized as one of the most powerful science lessons I'd ever taught - the innards of decapitated hen. That's right, the family that butchers together, stays together... or something like that. We processed around 20 birds that day, but the real 'meat' of the experience for me (couldn't help myself there - sorry) was the learning.
Do you know how cool the inside of a chicken looks? Are you aware of the amazing similarities (and differences) between chicken anatomy and human anatomy? If you are, you'll know what a privilege it is to see God's handiwork laid out in front of you even as you experience it silently humming away inside of you. If you're not, you're probably still worriedly wondering where your gizzard is. At any rate, just as our roundabout explorations of division and multiplication had taught me more about math than I had ever previously known, and our forays into the real world taught me more about life than I had learned in my 17 years of formal education, that one day showed me the reality of the scripture that says we are fearfully and wonderfully made better than just about any other thing I had experienced during my first quarter-century of life. Wow. I was hooked.
I started telling everyone I knew about the experience. My children excitedly chimed in in the background, "tell 'em about the guts, mommy! Tell 'em about the guts!" However, instead of being met with enthusiasm or curiosity, people looked at me like I was covered in innards, and not just talking about them. Apparently, not everyone is on board with allowing children to see nature at its best. In fact, one person suggested that I was damaging my children's psyches, and another went so far as to suggest that this was borderline child abuse. There I go again - corrupting the youth. Socrates, my friend, I feel your pain.
Well, wasn't this a fine mess I'd gotten myself into? What was I to do? On the one hand, I could choose to deny myself and my children the opportunity to learn about the glorious handiwork of our Creator in order to shield them from whatever unpleasantness it was that such opportunities supposedly contained. On the other hand, I could - well - just not. I could just not care what people thought. I could just just not worry about the opinions of others. I could just not take the conventional road. Hmmm... what to do, what to do?
Our next butchering experience was even more fantastic - hogs. Wow! We then moved on in quick succession to sheep and goats. It was glorious. Not only did we get to enjoy (and learn about!) the lifecycle of animals raised in fresh air and sunshine, but we also got to give our beloved livestock a quick, painless, and humane end. (And, of course, there was also all that fresh, yummy, healthy meat.) My kids can tell a spleen from a kidney. They know not to contaminate the work surface with bile. And, more importantly, they also know where to find the bile and what it looks like. We have poked and prodded, stuck our fingers down aortas, tested the strength and stretch of various tissues, and even laid out whole body systems to explore.
After a while, the enthusiasm my children had could not be contained, and they began (once again) telling friends and family about their experiences. Slowly, reluctantly, even painfully people started coming around to at least being willing to be curious, if not entirely certain about whether to join in the fun or run for the hills. Eventually, with much coaxing and encouragement, butchering day at our house became a social occasion. There would be curious eyes and tentative fingers everywhere as we talked our way through anatomy and biology and chemistry and theology. It had happened - I had branched out beyond just corrupting my own youth, and had started doing so to my children's friends as well. When would it end?
I suppose there must have been a point at which Socrates knew he had crossed the line. Somewhere along the way he had gone from being an educational pariah to a local hero because of his unorthodox traveling classroom and his endless rhetorical questions, but he had to push it. He couldn't be content just raising awareness, introducing new ideas, and living outside the status quo. Boy, do Socrates and I ever have a lot in common! I, too, have kept pushing. I speak openly, now, about how much fun it is to home school. I no longer fear to tell people that we choose real-world experiences (even butchering!) to augment our learning. And, just last week, I did the unthinkable and brought a set of sheep lungs, complete with trachea, to forty or so young children between the ages of five and twelve. That's right - I was no longer taking the children to the guts, but had branched out into taking the guts to the children.
It was a beautiful specimen - very pink and healthy and fully intact. The initial 'ewwww's changed to 'oooohhhh's when the kids first got to see the lungs up close and experience their beauty and magic. The best part of the day were the excited 'aaahhhhhh!'s that came when I inflated the lungs to their full capacity. Now those kids fully and deeply know what I learned and my kids learned during our first day of butchering - indeed, we are fearfully and wonderfully made.
So, I guess I have a choice to make once again. Am I going to learn from my buddy Socrates and back off before the disapproving crowd rushes in, or will I (like he) continue to corrupt the youth every chance I get? Tough decision. Hmmm.... what to do, what to do? I guess I'll have to get back to you on that. Next week I'm supposed to be teaching about the nervous system, and if I'm going to have a brain to take in, I need to start making phone calls.
(p.s. - I really did inflate a set of sheep lungs, and it really was a rockin' experience. You can see the video for yourself here. Science and learning are cool.)
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