Upon writing this, I’m watching my 6-year-old granddaughter tranquilly learn to needlepoint a bookmark. It’s her Mumsee and Pops’s day of play and learning. She’s backlit by the sun, wearing lavender overalls with her long wavy gold hair in a ponytail. This lovely picture brings me back to one of my favorite memories: watching my own homeschooled kindergartener daughter, dressed in overalls and wavy brunette ponytail, encased in a soft sunbeam while she peacefully played with blocks on the playroom floor. That simple scene had taken my breath away; I knew I’d remember it forever. I didn’t know that I’d one day get to relive the delight of that moment with her daughter, my home-educated granddaughter. Out of necessity, I homeschooled my two children before anyone—including me—knew much about homeschooling, aside from seeing it as a distant, strange concept. We moved often, and I decided I wouldn’t subject my children to a constant change of schools.
I remember trying to explain our education plan to my mother. I expected her to disapprove. After all, she had raised me on the mantra “Education. Education. Education.” She herself was a pulmonologist and had proudly graduated first in her medical school class. School was such a big deal in my family that I was nervous to tell her. But I had underestimated her. When she saw our situation for what it was, she said something I didn’t expect. She said, “Well, that’s how royalty is raised.” Her supportive approval bolstered me in my resolve.
