<p>"what is it about people that compels them to grill kids who are homeschooled?</p>
<p>"Now that you are homeschooling with your son or daughter, everyone feels the kids are fair game for testing, and that you are just inwardly begging for their advice. Uncle Harry, who dropped out in the 11th grade, was never asked to provide words for the Scripps-Howard Spelling Bee, so he feels this is his opportunity. Aunt Bertha wants to know if little Jimmy knows his vowel sounds; her sister Aunt Emma wants to know about subtraction. Grandpa Milton insists that Bobbie read the front page of the newspaper; Grandma Hazel asks her if she knows the capital of Kyrgystan (hint, she whispers, it begins with A; Oh, Grandmam, Bobbie shouts out, I think you have it confused with Kazakhstan. The capital of Kyrgystan begins with a B.) You grit your teeth, try to avoid arguments, and hope the kids know enough to get the relatives, and the neighbors, off their backs. </p>
<p>Thats the easy part. After all, if little Susie performs like a trained seal, the worst thing you will experience is an occasional knowing nod, and the conversation will quickly turn to something else (as in Cousin Alice finding it necessary to inform you about the new gifted program at her local school, only 650 miles away.) </p>
<p>If youve managed to avoid these little pin-pricks so far, dont worry, the grappling hooks arent far behind. You have now entered a world in which virtually everyone has become an education expert. Your older brother Robert, who drinks himself into a stupor nearly every chance he gets, and was divorced by his wife after she grew tired of being slapped around, wants to know how Jimmie is ever going to be properly socialized. Your sister Molly, who hated every minute of school and let you know it growing up and to this day cant balance her checkbook, wants to know if you are teaching Alexandra the new math or the old variety (you suspect that she doesnt know either.) Mom, who never cared a lick about what you did in school back in the Dark Ages, has now become the reincarnation of Horace Mann and insists on knowing why you dont join the PTA and reform the local school system. As he cuts your six-year-olds hair, Benny the Barber, who, it seems, cant read and only looks at the pictures in The Globe, wants to make sure that Joey knows his phonics, and asks whether you are worried about college. Mrs. McGillicuddy, the next-door neighbor with blue hair and who has been teaching at the local elementary school since she was a blonde, just gives you the look when she sees you out on the front lawn and Annie riding around on her bicycle during school hours.</p>
<p>I know, it grows tiresome. Wearying even. And theres going to be another ten years of this! How are you ever going to stand it? Is there a South Sea island somewhere where you can move so that theyll leave you in peace?</p>
<p>There is more operating than you allow yourself to know. The reality is that, with the possible exception of Mrs. McGillicuddy, there is little that is likely to be malicious in what are, at bottom, expressions of concern. The vast majority of folks who confront you and your son and daughter this way, remember quite vividly the horror that school was, at least occasionally, even if they are slow to admit it to themselves (and, hence, slower to admit it to you.) Most will have little idea what your day or that of your children actually looks like, and have difficulty getting their heads around the idea that the clones of Mrs. McGillicuddy are not required for the learning enterprise…"</p>