I first learned I was an anarchist a few months back. That's when the California Teachers Association issued a statement saying that allowing parents without teaching credentials to home school their children would lead to "educational anarchy." According to the association, parents are "well-meaning amateurs" when it comes to matters of education.
As anarchy basically means rebellion against government, I guess I have to agree with the assessment. Although I was, at one time, a credentialed teacher, my status has lapsed, leaving me to teach my kids things they need to know without proper paperwork.
In my youth, I tried to be a real anarchist, dying my blond hair all sorts of colors not occurring in nature and painting the anarchy sign on my Doc Martens with white-out. I listened to the Dead Kennedys and smoked clove cigarettes and had an unsuitable boyfriend who bought me a motorcycle. But in the end, I realized I am just a small-town gal from Zionsville, Ind., and gave up my quest to be edgy and instead embarked on a disastrous quest to be popular (the results of which I am still unable to put into words).
I have spent the last 16 years or so in a state of suspended mediocrity, working my way into soccer momdom after a few lackluster jobs in teaching and PR. I thought my days of revolution were behind me for good.
Who knew that while teetering on the precipice of middle age, my quest would come to fruition at last. Yes, I live in a quiet New England hamlet. I drive a minivan, and my hair is back to its natural color. I certainly don't stand out in a crowd. Yet beneath it all beats the heart of a crazed anarchist, causing mayhem by going against the wishes of the federal government with the impudent attitude that I have something to teach my young children. Avast!
I, as a daring, lawless citizen, have the audacity to impart cutting, gluing, reading and writing skills to my 4-year-olds instead of paying extortionist preschool fees. To teach my 7-year-old multiplication tables and how to write a play about her guinea pig — all without government sanction in the form of a piece of paper that shows I have learned to teach 20 kids how to pass a standardized test. Am I so scary simply because I espouse the philosophy "rocks and sticks until they're 6"?
Lately, while musing about my life and the shocking, unexpected turn it has taken to the dark side, I realized that there are many things I can get away with now. For example, just the other week we did all our schoolwork inside a tent, pretending to be camping out on a safari while studying the African savanna and all its wildlife, as well as African geography and a few things about the culture there. For snacks, we had what are now apparently considered Class C controlled substances — peanut butter and sticky candy (don't get me started on officials telling parents what they are allowed to feed their own children). If anyone looks askance at my teaching methods, I can just whisper, "Well, I am an educational anarchist, after all," and receive a knowing nod in response.
I also plan to jaywalk more, and will rummage in the attic for those Doc Martens, which I hope are still in style. I don't know if I could still pull off the motorcycle, but it's worth a try. Soon, my transformation will be complete. Keep your children indoors — the anarchist is on the loose!
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Courtney Nguyen of Amesbury covers Georgetown for The Daily News. To read more about the trials and tribulations of an educational anarchist, visit Courtney's blog at www.educationalanarchist.blogspot.com.
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