Stefan Merrill Block (18:00)
I think it's important to say that at this moment, which is 19 now, it's 1992, I had never met any homeschoolers myself. I don't know that my mother had ever met any. Homeschooling today has become this massive nationwide movement. In that time, it was still in some places, not fully legal. In Texas, it had just become sort of officially legal. It was met with a lot of skepticism. There is a weirdness to it that was a little bit scary to me. I did not want to homeschool. I think if anything, I was hoping that all of these complaints and conversations would lead to. Was to a different school that was something more like the school I had left in Indianapolis. But in that moment, I remember the conversation was, well, we can't afford that kind of a school, but if we do this, we don't have to pay anything. And, you know, I can give. My mother was saying, I can give you, you know, the best education, A one to one student teacher ratio, you know, and they'll be free. And I remember, well, that the first time I. I had even. I heard the word homeschool come out of her mouth. I was upstairs in my bedroom, just sort of like laying in bed, I think, with a book. And I heard my father and mother talking about my troubles at school and what might be done about it. And I heard her say the word homeschool. And I remember sitting up in bed thinking, that can't be a real possibility, can it? I went downstairs and my mother had found some article. I. I kind of remember it had, like, infographics about the growth of homeschooling. And she was lit up with this kind of excitement, you know, since the move to Texas, she had really struggled to find a place to put her energies and her enthusiasms, which were immense. She was a person who would get fixated on a theory and sort of give her all to it and, you know, just come to something with almost like, religious zeal. And so I could hear in her voice that she was coming to homeschooling with that. That same kind of energy now. And it scared me. And I started to ask these questions, well, what will happen to my friendships? Will I know the things that I'm supposed to know to keep advancing in grades? And at the time, she said, well, what we really have to worry about is this one bad teacher you have. We can just homeschool the rest of the year. Then you can go back in fifth grade. We'll make sure you still have a social life, and you're going to learn so much more in these months with me than you would learn in school. And she said, it'll be like summer vacation all the time. You know, maybe a little more structure, but basically summer vacation all the time. That all sounded nice enough. But I still had enormous trepidation when she brought me in for the meeting with our principal, where she officially signed the papers to withdraw me from the Texas school system. My principal said, are you sure this is what you want? And she also said, you know, you can come back to the school at any time. I remember her reaching out to hold my hand. And I remember feeling. I remember feeling like it was the first time I had ever touched my principal. And I was so excited about that. And I wished at that moment I was like, oh, we've just sort of repaired what was broken here for me, which is I didn't feel closely nurtured by my school community, and all of a sudden I did. But it was around this conversation of my leaving. And I remember when she asked me, is this really what you want? Maybe inside my mind, I was thinking, of course not. But then what I felt was my mother's anger over the, you know, the last years, her unsettledness, and how badly she wanted it. What I wanted more than to be at school or not to be at school was to repair the broken world of my early years in Indianapolis. I wanted to be back and happy with my mother. And so I said, yes, this is what I want. Our homeschooling began With a shopping spree. And it began with the, you know, sort of elaborate and joyful kind of vertiginous thrill of assembling a kind of theater of school. But still, after a couple weeks had passed, we hadn't gotten to any actual schooling. She was so happy then. And, you know, I remember she would say, like, oh, you've never, you know, I used to play hooky all the time as a kid. You should just. You're a kid, you should enjoy playing hooky. And we would, like, when we should have been at school, we should have been learning. I was like, at the movie theater, at the ice cream shop. And my brother would come home at the end of the day from the school bus, and my dad would come back from work, and we would just sort of lie about what we had done that day, because it was like the secret between us, and the secret was giving her this great happiness. Eventually, we did settle down a bit. And my mother had a theory at the time that when you get to fourth grade, the only subject that you're not going to sort of learn by osmosis is math. You need to have curriculum, it needs to be more regulated. But everything else, you know, sort of comes on its own if you just follow your curiosity. And so we had math in the mornings. She had mail ordered the textbook that I had had at my public school. She ordered the teacher's edition for herself. And she and I would sit there and sometimes we'd do the math together. Often I would do it alone. I would work through a lesson or two. One of my favorite tricks was when she would leave the room to take a phone call or to cook something. I would steal her teacher's edition and copy down all the answers. And then she'd come back in the room and be like, oh, my God, you got all the answers right. It took you five minutes. My mother believed from when I was very young, let's say, she convinced herself that I was in possession of this, like, immense intellect. This. I mean, she would refer to it as genius. And so, you know, she would see these worksheets that I had cheated on, you know, filled in the answers from her own book, and she would just take it as evidence of this sort of like God given genius that I was in possession of. And she would say to me, you know, thank you, God. I pulled you out of that place. Like, look how they were wasting a mind as exceptional as yours, you know, And I loved the attention. And it made, you know, my supposed gifts, made her so happy that I was very happy to continue that theater. I was so happy in that moment to feel loved and celebrated. But what I felt was, I don't think I was necessarily questioning or not questioning her assessments of me at that moment. But what I felt was this anxiety about my return to school, which was supposedly going to happen the following year. And I thought, well, if I'm actually cheating and if actually math is the only subject we're doing, am I going to be prepared? Am I actually, despite all of her, you know, claims of my supposed genius going to be way behind, which I, you know, suggests that I did not subscribe to her view of my, of my brilliance. We would go to the library and she would have me check out these books on like history's great thinkers like Benjamin Franklin or William Shakespeare, Albert Einstein. And she would, we'd read this parts of these little kid biographies that concerned their early childhood and she would say, oh, at 8, Einstein was, you know, getting seasoned math. Look how good you're, you know, basically implying that I was already on a track that far exceeded Albert Einstein. And I think she believed it. I mean, when she believed something, she committed to it with such conviction that I see now that this belief in my supposed brilliance was in some ways the sort of central lie that held everything together for us. Because if I was so brilliant, then she must homeschool me. She said, you know, I have to cultivate these talents. I, you know, she compared me to Mozart and said, you know, look at what Mozart's father did for Mozart. He wouldn't have been Mozart if he, his father had sent him off to some public school, you know.