Laying the Banquet...

     I'm thinking about highschool.  It's four years away for my oldest offspring and...more than four years ago for me.  Actually it's nearly 20 years ago for me.  How did that happen?  How can I, this young thing just burgeoning into adulthood, have been cognisant of anything TWENTY years ago?  Last Saturday I attended a highschool reunion of sorts.  It was an appreciation day for two teachers from my school and former students from all their 30 years of teaching were invited to come and bless them for their work. 
     I spoke to several of my teachers that were also there and a point of relief came to me pertaining to my own homeschooling teaching efforts.  I don't remember anything, specifically, that any of these people taught me.  Of course, this isn't entirely true. (nothing under the sun really ever is) I do remember that the Drumlin Moraine lies somewhere on the way to the Toronto airport.  My Gr. 10 Geography teacher once asked me to keep an eye out for it when I asked him what homework I would have to catch up on if I missed a day to make the big trip to the city to pick up some Dutch relatives.  I tried to impress him with this morsel of important information and he himself had no idea what it was anymore, even after 20 years of teaching about  it in his courses.  Then he said that the older he got, the more he forgot about small things and only remembered the larger things that he was still learning.  Hm.  This was an excellent reminder to me, the me who used to rant to anyone who was interested, that education wasn't about memorizing 20 out of 20 things set before you about glaciers, and rocks and woe to the child who only remembers 16.  The latest version of me has grown tired and scared that my kid will be the one that quite possibly may only know 5 things about glaciers and the defecit in his soul will be entirely on my shoulders.  I need to step back, drink a coffee or something stronger, and remember that my children's ability to fulfil their role in the kingdom does not depend on much study that only wearies the body.  And holy cow does it ever.
     What do I do then, to help them on their way?  I began to think more about what has stayed with me from my own school days.  I remember the passion of my English teacher.  Vividly.  The first assignment I ever got from him was to read "The Shadow of Captain Bligh" and answer some questions.  So I did, on the bus, like I always did.  I was not an A student, most of the time, but I naturally possessed the skill to give teachers what  they required to reward me with a half decent grade that would quiet any alarm bells and let me coast peacably and still have time to watch television. (But of course, I expect nothing but excellence from my children all day long;))  So when the question came about who was Albert Schweitzer I replied that he was some kind of Nazi since his name was German and Nazis had been mentioned in the story.  But instead of marking me down a point and moving on to the next assignment, Mr. VH nearly hissed (benevolently so) that Albert was most certainly not a Nazi and that I would do the assignment again.   I still remember the feeling of reading that difficult passage and actually understanding it, having turned my brain on.  I don't remember the actual story at all, only the challenge I was given to wrestle and understand.  
     During another of these English classes I was caught doing homework for another class (those hour and half busrides were never long enough) .  Mr VH locked his searching eyes on me, unawares, and demanded answers to the burning question "What.  What do the bubbles under the ice allude to?  "  I wanted to give an intelligent response, I had to give an intelligent response so I tried some old standbys that often worked in these situations:  They signify the difference between fantasy and reality?...Nope.  They have to do with a Christ-like figure that saves the undeserving? Not either.  His squinting eyes continued to bore a hole into my brain and I felt the essence of my mind being stretched and getting more brittle as each agonizing minute passed.  He released, my head dropped and hit the desk with an audible thunk.  Where did he get those powers?!  How did he get 16 year olds to care whether Hagar Shipley drank from the cup at the end of her miserable, old-lady life and engage in a heated debate about this fictional character's dying act for a whole 75 minute period??  (Although, I remember thinking, about half-way through, that there were poor, starving children in Africa and those were the non-fictitious people we should spend our time discussing.  See?  Made me think.)  He loved literature and he knew how to pass that flame on, even to teenagers.  I nearly became an English major because of his pursuit of the profound.  Dodged a bullet there.  Instead, I pursued the lucrative field of the visual arts.  Still can't tolerate a bad book, though.  Gah, he's still in my brain!!
     A like-minded friend and I went for coffee the other day and I shared some of what I've just written and wondered with her what a focus on the inspirational love of learning might look like in the often messy and seemingly chaotic rhythm of a home education setting.  Many of our friends' children seem to thrive with a rigorous structure with a high standard of academic excellence in more subject areas than I have fingers and toes.  My questioning nature sometimes wonders why I or my children could never pull that off.  My friend said it well when she shared something she had read about how we prepare our children for eternity, not merely for the future.  I like that.  When I fully understand what that means and how it relates to fractions and dipthongs and sorting socks I will write a practical how-to guide.  But you shouldn't read it because it won't directly apply to you or your family.  God gave you your own brain and people and circumstances along the way to stretch and prod it into the shape it is today.  And it will probably just go and change shape again tomorrow.  
     So to sum with a phrase from Charlotte Mason (may her name ever be revered...sorry:) all I can do is lay the banquet table with good food and invite great people to share it with us.