Big Brother

Imagine this: Suppose you had your first baby six months ago. In the mail, you receive a postcard from the county government. You have been scheduled for your first parenting assessment. Now, in this imaginary scenario, you are not surprised, because you know there is a state law requiring you to meet with a county official twice-yearly to assess your child's progress, but you still resent the implication a little bit.

You arrive at your appointment and meet a fairly attractive middle-aged lady with very bright lipstick. Before you have even sit down, she politely, but probingly, asks, "So, do you follow any particular parenting program?" Since you are the embodiment of all things antithetical to a parenting program, you smile and say, "No, I'm eclectic. I go by feel."

She skootches a three-page document across the table at you and, along with general questions you knew she would ask, there are also quite a few pretty intrusive questions, questions that far overreach what you are legally obligated to provide. The official wants to know if your child has their own bed and bedroom and if they sleep in it always, sometimes or never and where they sleep if not their bed. She asks you to provide a sample menu of what your child eats in a given week. You tell her you engage in a lovely evening activity of reading bedtime stories and she tells you next time she needs a book list and receipts from the library, indicating that you actually have checked out books. When you tell her you take your child to Kindermusik, she asks if you have brought any cancelled checks to verify that. You find yourself annoyed with these questions and you know she is going outside the bounds of the law, but you also don't want to rub her the wrong way, because she has the power to declare you unfit.

She wants to know if your child has hit all the appropriate milestones for her age. She's dismayed that you admit the child does not sit on her own yet. And she would like to know just how long you intend to breastfeed because, while a year is encouraged, clearly anything beyond that would be unusual. And it goes without saying that she expects a verification form from your child's pediatrician, stating that the child appears to be healthy.

You may chuckle at the absurdity of the government intruding so thoroughly into family life. But if you are a homeschooler and have reviewed through your county Board of Education, you may not find it so absurd. For those of you who don't know, in Maryland you must either homeschool under an umbrella who sets the educational policies or you must be reviewed twice-yearly by a representative from the county Board of Education. This is only the second time in my homeschooling career that I have chosen the county option. Finances drove my decision, as this "service" is provided by the government, but the umbrella is paid out-of-pocket. Both of my county review experiences have been parallels to my analogous story above.

I know that some would say the review process is an important "safeguard", so the few wackos can be identified. But, if that is true, why aren't all parents being supervised by "officials"? How do we normally identify someone who is neglecting or abusing their children? One or more people who know the abuser will report the family to the authorities. Why the big fear that homeschooling couldn't be done this way?

It strikes me that the homeschooling review has a "guilty until proven innocent" feel to it. We must prove our children are being taught math. We must document that they are learning science. (Which is the one that peeves me the most, by the way, since science is not about filling blanks in a worktext, but is about doing things and having actual experiences.)We must give evidence that they have learned history. I swear we could build a scale model of the Eiffel Tower out of toothpicks, but if I didn't give them a damn piece of paper to fill out about France, it would mean nothing to the county reviewer.

The irony is that, as annoying as I found the review to be, Maryland has some of the most agreeable homeschooling laws of any state in the northeast. Its Pennsylvania that sends shivers down the spine of the even the most dedicated homeschooler, with their onerous portfolios and evaluations and attendance logs. Attendance logs? What a ridiculous concept to learning! I haven't attended school in a couple of decades now, but I daresay I haven't stopped learning. But I digress. Better Maryland than Pennsylvania. And better now than prior to 1980 or so, when homeschooling really started to gain status as a valid choice. But even with our fairly easy-to-comply-with laws, the idealistic Libertarian in me does taste bile at the thought of another county review. I resent being treated with a skepticism usually reserved for ex-convicts.