Unschooling is a form of homeschooling. It is an educational philosophy. Homeschoolers are diverse as are their educational methods, not unlike schools. Unschooling is not about letting your children do “whatever” in a careless, neglectful manner. It is about non-coercion. Obviously, Ms. Kasparian at age 10 preferred television over reading a book — she wasn’t unschooled. And yes, Ms. Kasparian if an unschooled teen decides she truly wants to go to college, she will acquire the knowledge she needs to do it.

Watch the video and judge for yourself, “Unschooling vs. Homeschooling vs. Formal Education”.

As we approach college applications as homeschoolers, we are often asked to explain our choice in education. What follows is a personal essay for a particular student. I thought it might be helpful and enlightening.

Why we chose to homeschool and our homeschooling philosophy

Zack is the second of three children. His older sister attended school, affording me the opportunity to spend three plus years volunteering in the Kindergarten classroom while Zack toddled at my side and my daughter progressed through third grade. Over this period, I watched and learned how the children were taught to read and write, how mathematics was introduced. I observed firsthand the benefits children derive from school, as well as the drawbacks, in one of the top elementary schools in the City of Philadelphia.

The school environment certainly provided structure and ample intellectual and creative stimulation. However, there were also some unexpected byproducts of mass education which caused me to hesitate. This was a time when the label “ADHD” was on the upswing – children were routinely placed on drug regimens, especially boys. This troubled me. I was also alarmed by the aggressive and violent behavior displayed by young children both in the classroom and on the playground. The social ills of our society were like beacons of distress shining brightly in the schools.

Because we participated in the city’s desegregation program, we were required to indicate our school choice for Zack the year before he was to enter Kindergarten. We weighed the decision and chose to hold off on Zack’s formal education for a year. (Note: At that time, compulsory education was age eight in Pennsylvania.) We felt we could provide the needed Kindergarten education at home and one more year at home would give him added maturity to handle inner city social pressures. So, our initial decision to homeschool Zack was a temporary one. This was our first foray into homeschooling.

As the school year progressed, systemic problems within the Philadelphia Public Schools escalated. Zack’s sister experienced several years of teacher upheaval and tumult while an innovative and experienced principal was rendered powerless to alter classroom conditions due to a mighty teachers’ union and bureaucratic roadblocks – problems not isolated to a particular school, teacher or principal but virulent and endemic throughout the system. We now brought home his sister and committed to finding a better way to educate both our children.

We questioned what we were doing. How could we teach our children as we were not certified teachers ourselves? We examined and evaluated what it means to be “educated”. We concluded that reading and writing and thinking and experiences and exposure to life and discussions constituted the best education possible. We strove to cultivate not only academically competent, contributing members of society but also well-rounded individuals who would think. We lived in a city thriving with culture and diversity and it became our classroom. We utilized available resources and created new one ones to address academic, physical and social needs. Over the years we discovered homeschooling to be a viable and vibrant alternative education.

Zack’s education was dominated by an unschooling philosophy. While we used math curriculum after he conquered basic mathematical concepts, learning was largely developed around opportunity and his interests both independently and with others. Children learn from everything and we embraced this belief. We learned to let go of our own schooled experiences and to trust our son to learn. We did not coerce learning because someone said something should be learned at a certain age. We allowed Zack to develop on his own timetable.

Homeschooling in our home (though frequently outside of the house) meant being engaged in something productive – be it knitting, music, a poetry workshop, math, cooking, story writing, pottery, reading, trips to museums, group learning, imaginative play, dialogue, drawing, a history club, baseball, learning to make maple syrup, or anything else that involved thought or activity. Our son was free to choose. His education was not un-directed but self-directed, with a bit of suggestive nudging. If he was receptive, we pursued it. If he was reticent, we put it aside until another day when he was ready.

Our move to Florida caused us to revisit our decision to homeschool. Zack was now 11 years old, almost 12 and technically entering sixth grade. The public schools in our new town were touted as the best in the state. We asked Zack what he thought about going to school. His response was less than enthusiastic. He was perfectly content to learn at home. Florida also provided a new avenue for learning – an online school, Florida Virtual School (not to be confused with other similarly named virtual schools which operate very differently) with course offerings a la carte. Zack was open to testing the waters of a virtual school.

We continued to supplement his education at institutes of science, arts organizations, athletic facilities, homeschool cooperatives, musical venues, theater performances and with continued writing and reading. With time our free-choice, engage-in-something-productive education was slowly replaced by more formal learning, albeit via the computer. Now four years later, Zack chooses to pursue his high school education as a full-time, dual-enrolled student at a local college, at least for this school year. We are fortunate to reside in a state with enlightened home education laws. It makes all the difference.

I made sure laundry was done yesterday so she would have her complete wardrobe from which to make a selection for today. I remember. I remember how important it was to wear the right clothes. I remember how judging peers could be and still are. Today is an important day for her on many levels and I want to provide her with as much support as possible, including clean laundry. She seems surprisingly calm after her shower and only dresses once instead of the usual three or so times. I imagine the thoughts turning around her mind. I give her a big hug. Our embrace is that shared mother-daughter moment that makes all the world filled with peace and beauty.

Not much else for me to do now but shower and throw on a skirt, shirt and shoes. I remind her to eat breakfast though doubt she will. Her stomach is probably a bundle of nerves. A last minute brushing of teeth and we are ready. I ask if she has her calculator, #2 pencils and the home school identification code needed for testing. One quick check on my other slumbering kids. All is well. It’s time to go to school.

The sun is surfing the horizon. We arrive at our local high school 15 minutes early, in time to slip into a visitor”s parking spot. School buses discharge their charges, parents drive through the drop-off circle, students stake out turf for talking. We walk up to the guidance counselor”s office. The door is locked leaving us to spend the next 10 minutes standing around and trying not to stare. The setting is vibrant and varied. I glance at Hannah and see how young and beautiful she is. I wonder how much she is missing.

We chat about this and that and speculate at what time the office will open, what time classes start. I observe the cafeteria is serving food and remark she might want to find something to eat. She emphatically declines. I realize this is probably a bit scary, this might be an intimidating environment for her. I comment perhaps she might like to try high school. We both know her present courseload is too heavy to add school to today. Silence sets in.

An adult approaches and inquires if we are waiting for someone. I explain my daughter is here to take the PSAT and she is homeschooled. She smiles and suggests we wait in the office until the guidance counselor arrives. We sit for only a moment, not long enough to reflect on the fact that Hannah has not taken a standardized test in ten years. A warm and welcoming woman greets us and Hannah rises to meet her. I look at my radiant child, hopeful that she is confident. I try to telepathically will her to relax. I know she feels pressure, perhaps I’ve set her standards too high. The counselor signals it is time for Hannah to join the 11th graders and dismisses me with, “You’re done now, Mom.”

It’s test time. I hurriedly instruct Hannah to call me on her cell when she’s ready to be picked up. I watch my daughter follow the leader. She’s out of earshot before I can say goodbye or wish her luck. So smoothly she slides into the role of a high school student. I ponder whether she would benefit from the high school experience.

I walk through the bustling hallway, out the front entrance, and head to my car and pass clutches of student cliques. I am pleased with the events of the early morning. I entertain several plausible scenarios, taking into consideration determining factors like this is her junior year, her GPA, college admission requirements, and how the school might handle her entrance at mid-year, to accommodate Hannah’s unspoken desire for first hand knowledge of brick and mortar high school life. These are the thoughts my mind is occupied by when a scene out of bad movie interrupts.

“He has a knife,” alerts a voice.

“No, he doesn’t,” responds another.

Shock sets in. I do not sense panic. I hear jesting. I am not close enough to accurately overhear the remaining conversations. I am ten feet away from my car, turn around, and scout out the source of the squeals – a group of five to six teens, boys and girls. I think. Is this serious? Should I say something? Columbine. It’s a knife, not a gun. It may be teenage bravado.

I am out of my element here. This is only the second time I have been in a high school building in the past, oooh, almost thirty years. (The first was a month ago when I registered my daughter for the PSAT.) These kids could not begin to fathom the irony of their words at this precise moment. I decide to do nothing. I take one more look as I open the car door and reflect. I’ve left my daughter in a building where a kid has, maybe kids have, knives or other violent instruments. I reassure myself she is safe to assuage my guilt. She’s not outside. She’s with an adult in a room filled with other kids undergoing testing. Nothing will happen. This is just one of life’s bad jokes.

I wait for her phone call. It should come anytime now. I am anxious to hear about her experience this morning. I also need to know that I am not a bad parent and she is safe and sound. I decide that I will say something when I pick her up. I want to observe how school officials receive this piece of information. Is the school desensitized to violence? Will shock and concern be expressed? Maybe this isn”t an environment my daughter needs to be a part of.

The phone rings. I hear her voice. Let me go pick her up. I’m glad we homeschool!