Sitting at the kitchen table making her colored pencils dance upon paper `seemed a reasonable toddler pastime. Reasonable, that is, until the pencils went flying across the room crashing at last into the sliding glass door. The story goes that a two-year old Evelyn became frustrated when she could not spell the word “broccoli” by herself and banished the pesky writing implements to the outskirts of her kingdom. Sitting now at that same kitchen table I chuckle at my urge to throw a pencil at the amazingly still intact sliding door in honor of the child who reminds me that learning to embrace our individuality is a process that defies convention.
While spending time with my dear friend Sara is treasured time to be sure, pulling into her driveway is bittersweet as it forces me to face the reality that we live 200 miles from each other. This day, well into fall, is crisp, blue. I turn off my ignition just as Sara walks out to greet me. “I think it’s providential that you’re here this weekend,” are the words I hear as we grab my bags. The words pique my awareness. The next thing I know Evelyn is asking me to save room on my weekend dance card to conference with her about a writing project in a tone that indicates more than a waltz with pen and paper might await us on the dance floor.
It’s always a party at Sara’s and this weekend would be no exception. We laugh about not being able to hit our aim when throwing a ball for the dogs. We sip peppermint hot chocolate and talk into the wee hours of the night. We paint chairs with untamed color. We swim laps in a pool for fifteen minutes in the brittle cold and at last sit down to a warm scrumptious meal in her welcoming kitchen.
We barely had taken a bite when I notice droplets streaming down Evelyn’s pink cheeks. What was to become an illuminating conversation began that very moment. Watching her anxiety, listening to words pour forth from her sweet tear tattered face I attempt to make sense of the scene by sorting through past images like so many puzzle pieces that might link with the current scene. Anxiety was rearing its head yet again. The future with its unknown horizon was taunting Evelyn.
Looking back, Evelyn was the youngest child in our home school co-op’s first crop of students. While I had seen many a Kindergartener walk into their first day of school, watching Evelyn walk into the room was peculiar. I remember the scene like it was yesterday: Evelyn marching in, her beaming mom totally prepared for the milestone, her dad capturing the monumental moment on video. What was it about that toe-headed button that commanded my attention like no other Kindergartner? Confident…? Ready for action…? Earnest. Yes! Suddenly the pieces began to fit. That Kindergartener had grown into the young lady sitting across from me. “Earnest Evelyn.“
What if Evelyn had entered public school from the get go? How might the pace have affected this child who has no internal regulator to slow her down just as some of us have none to speed us up? How might the stress have impacted her soul? How might it have affected her developing character? Somehow these questions racing through my mind profoundly connect the past to the present.
Evelyn has been home schooled since day one. Though her internal perception may not always parallel the sentiment: Evelyn has never been a slacker. In fact, her uncle’s comment at the Kindergarten “open house” still applies, his words should be Evelyn’s reminder to pay no attention to twisted truth, “Evelyn achieved more in Kindergarten than I did in grades one through six!” Uncle Mark’s words were a harbinger of truth that continues to encourage.
Evelyn and her parents decided a year or so ago that she would transition into public high school. Sara, John and Evelyn do not enter into decisions lightly. I respected the decision. This night, however, caused all our heads to turn. Although Evelyn, the little girl who hurled colored pencils at that sliding glass door, was destined to mature into that zeal, she is, in fact, one of the few students I have ever been privileged to teach who is naturally self-motivated, the downside of this virtue, unfortunately, is perfectionism, an internal nagging that says, “Nothing I do is good enough.” Here now Evelyn faced a fork in the road: Home school versus public high school. Somehow her internal voice came up with this “truth”: Attending public school is the only road to success.
Over the years Evelyn has accumulated knowledge in a non-traditional manner. Though it’s not true, she has struggled with the perception that she is somehow “behind” her peers academically. I will venture to say that if Evelyn were to go through the state guidelines as prescribed by the Department of Education, she would be amazed by how many objectives she would be able to check off—well beyond her grade level. What might be more powerful would be to generate a list of the ways her character has benefited through the education path her parents have chosen for her thus far. Would it have been better for Evelyn to take the path of public education?
Back at the dinner table, I see Evelyn’s conflict nearing crescendo. Her anxiety is cruel: “You will not only fail in public school, but you will be miserable in the process!” The collision at the dinner table is equal to a freight train derailing. This is a crisis moment. What if, just what if, public education is not the best choice for this individual? What if nurturing Evelyn’s individuality can best be achieved through the depth of study that has marked Evelyn’s achievements thus far? Ultimately one question was left on the table: What if Evelyn will actually be better off at home? The consensus is, in the end, that this question must be considered.
A fork in the road should not paralyze, for way always leads on to way, opportunity on to opportunity. That night we stood alongside Robert Frost considering two paths. In the end it was liberating to be reminded that sometimes the path least worn offers the most reward.
