Unschooled or just well educated?

Unschooled: Pronunciation: /ʌnˈskuːld/
adjective not educated or trained: she was unschooled in the niceties of royal behaviour.  (Oxford English dictionary online)

I have recently been introduced to the notion of “unschooling” through a blog link posted by my FB and real life friend, Kelli.  I had never encountered this concept before, and I read the blog with growing interest.  So of course, I am now the 15 minute expert ☺

The woman who wrote the blog uses the term “unschooling” to describe the process through which she teaches her children.  It’s not home schooling or (as far as I can ascertain) an alternative to what I would call formal education.  It’s described as a process through which her children learn through life.  The example that was given involved the baking of a cake and the experience the youngest child had assisting with this.

Now I can totally get behind this concept.  But I have to say, I have a real problem with labelling this “unschooling”.  For a start, refer the definition above.  To be “unschooled” is to be “not educated or trained”, and I don’t believe this process is about that.  I think in fact, the labelling sells this process far, far short.

I’m going to digress for a moment to reflect more on the process, which has its own (inappropriate in my view) name and presumably, a set of (however loose) rules and procedures.  It’s learning through life.  OK.  Not sure how that can be separated from life itself really.  Or, from the perspective of a parent, every day with your child.  So, with that in mind, here was the day today with LSH and S&H.  After a routine morning we went into the city for lunch, which happened to be at our favourite curry house.  Discussion (led by S&H) over lunch about various curries, spices and names of Indian food.  Also some discussion about the hijab of the restaurant proprietor and her two daughters.  After that, I went to donate blood and S&H accompanied me.  In the waiting area he picked up a National Geographic magazine and we talked about solar flares and armadillos.  When it was my turn to donate, cue discussions between S&H and the (male) nurse about blood, plasma, the process of drawing blood and the ways in which blood products are used.  Coffee at my new fave place was accompanied by a cupcake garnished with honeycomb; guess what we talked about.  You get the picture.

My point here is that active parenting is, I believe, a process of teaching that never stops.  Of course not every moment needs to be regarded as a “formal” learning opportunity; but I believe that effective parenting is all about teaching your child about the world and its different aspects and nuances, from general knowledge and skills, to behaviour, to societal norms and expectations.

Is this "unschooling"?  Or is it, contrary to the implications of the label, valuable experiential education?

When Love isn't Enough

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
  They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
  And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
  By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
  And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
  It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
  And don't have any kids yourself.     (Philip Larkin, This Be the Verse)

It was one of those days today at work.

I was part of a process that was lengthy, frustrating, annnoying, sad, and at times, seemingly pointless. I was involved in a meeting with three teenage girls.

That premise enough was sufficient to bring on a mini migraine. Teenagers are annoying at the best of times. But these three challenged me, made me angry, garnered my sympathy and ultimately, left me feeling so sad about how some young people are treated in our so called developed and progressive society.

As this is a work related diatribe, I need to be mindful of confidentiality of individuals and proceedings. So I will keep it as general as I can.

All the girls were charged with an offence. Not major stuff, basically wrong place, wrong time scenarios. Each girl presented as defiant, argumentative, resentful and non cooperative at various stages of the meeting. At one stage, I actually wanted to scream. I wanted to shout at them and tell them to smarten up, get their acts together. But I didn't. Instead, I started to look at who they brought with them to the meeting.

Two girls brought their mothers. The way they spoke to their mothers was, putting it bluntly, disgusting. Neither girl actually looked at her mother unless she absolutely had to. They swore at their mothers and repeatedly told them to shut up. And the mothers looked at me, as if to say, "See what I endure" and took it. They allowed their daughters to disrespect them in front of me, a stranger. This made me look closer.

As the meeting wore on (ultimately going for three longgggggg hours), some of the greater truths emerged. The girl who has not lived at home for nearly a year, despite only just being a teenager. Her mother freely admits she does not know where her daughter lives or where she is at any time. When she talks about her daughter, she refers to her as "she" or "her". It's like she can't bring herself to say her daughter's name. He daughter looks at her with undisguised hatred and contempt. Her mother can barely look at her.

The mother who says the "right things" at first, who appears to have tried everything. Maybe she has. But as the meeting wears on, her frustration becomes more evident. She starts to say things, seemingly designed specifically to elicit a negative response from her daughter. After one particularly ludicrous suggestion, which reduces her daughter to frustrated tears, swearing and leaving the room, she smirks. And continues to smirk for the rest of the meeting. It's like she is saying, "See? See what I have to put up with?" I want to tell her that I see. I see what her daughter has to deal with. And I see why her daughter would prefer not to be at home.

And the mouthy one. The girl who came in oozing bad attitude, who spoke when she wasn't spoken to, who radiated a "F$&@ you" attitude to all in the room. Damn, I disliked her intensely for the first hour. And then, she started to cry. When she should have been shouting and swearing. When it all got too hard, she cried. Because she's a kid. And that's what they do. They cry, and they want someone to help them, to care about them, to tell them it'll be ok.

That's what these girls don't have. At some point, it got too hard, for them and their parents. I don't know when that was, or what happened. But these girls are at the start of their lives. To be corny, their futures are ahead of them. They have had less than a third of my life on this planet. And they know they are alone. They know, deep down, under the defiance and the bravado, that they can't do it alone. But they are going to have to. Unless their parents change. And start being parents. Because love has to be enough. Sometimes, it has to be everything.