A group of crows is a “murder”. A group of cows is a “herd”. A big pile of workbooks is an “embarrassment.”

I was recently tidying up and went through one of our rather large piles of Flipper’s old workbooks. These are generally the “homework helpers” type, that you can pick up in any bookstore, rather than any specific curriculum. I was going through them to sort into those worth keeping as “records” or for sentimental reasons, those worth saving for Pomme to use because they’re still mostly unused, and those that should just be recycled.

In this particular pile, there were about 5 to save for Pomme, 3 to keep for posterity, and 16 to recycle.

Looking more closely, I realized that this particular pile of books was all for the preschool to kindergarten level. And this was only one pile, there are more elsewhere in the house. That’s when I became embarrassed.

I have learned so much, my attitudes have changed so much over the years. I now understand that learning is about so much more than worksheets. I am a staunch and vocal advocate of letting preschoolers PLAY to learn, that there is no rush for academics, that forcing early academics on children not yet ready for them causes much more harm than good.

Staring down this evidence of my own horrific history was humbling, to say the least. Here before me was the record of my misguided attempts to “encourage” Flipper’s giftedness, to develop my own little star, my young and brilliant intellectual to prove to the world what a great homeschooler I was.

I recall with shame the yelling, the forcing, the manipulating… I yelled at him when he didn’t do something correctly, I forced him to do worksheets when he didn’t want to, and I manipulated him into doing them by threats and ultimatums. With very few exceptions, he hated these books, and I made him do them anyway, and I told him how disappointed I was when he didn’t live up to my expectations.

And now, we both are living with the results. He grew to detest work of any kind. He came to resist any attempt at formal learning. He became lazy and unmotivated. His spark of curiosity dwindled. This wasn’t what was supposed to happen with homeschooling!

Over the years, of course, I learned, I understood. We relaxed. I gave him more freedom and we discovered that learning can be accomplished through so many other ways than worksheets. We went through many periods of complete unschooling, setting formal studies aside altogether. And so things are much better now, we have reached a level of cooperation, we have reached a point where he is willing to do the worksheets and books where necessary, in a nice balance between academics and relaxed life-learning.

But it has been a long and difficult road. I recognize how a great many of his struggles and antagonism toward learning — especially anything involving writing — are utterly and ultimately my fault, for failing to allow him to develop according to his own natural drive in the early years. The level of guilt I feel brings tears to my eyes and a lump to my throat. I look at young Pomme, so fresh and pure and full of keen curiosity and a desire to learn, and hope to God that I have learned my lessons and do not make the same mistakes with her.

And yet, there is also a message of hope in this. The mistakes I made — and which many parents make, I’m sure — are not irrevocably indelible. Recovery is difficult, but possible. We still struggle with Flipper’s lack of self-motivation, but I have every confidence that we are now on the right path and in the long run, he will be fine. He will be excellent, in fact. Just as a child who is “damaged” by years of not fitting into a public school system can be “healed” when they are pulled out, a child who has been “damaged” by a poor beginning in homeschooling can also still find healing.

And so I write this as an apology to my son. I am sorry for the mistakes I made when you were very young, I am sorry for forcing work on you that you were not ready for and did not need. I am sorry for the mistakes I continue to make, and I promise to you that I am learning from every single one of them. I hope that you are able to recognize that I am only trying my best, and I hope that you will be able to forgive me, and that you will grow into an independent and strong young man, curious and eager and ready to take on the world and learn everything you can about it.

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