An Unlikely Education
June 15, 2011 § 6 Comments
There are times it feels as if I know nothing. Or, if not nothing, than not enough. This happens most often in times of crisis or near-crisis: A sick animal, the tractor broken, some dysfunctional component in our solar electric system. I am not by nature overly resourceful or clever with my hands, and I often struggle to find the patience necessary to overcome these deficits.
And yet, I know I learn best when left to my own devices. I never finished high school, and although I completed my GED and a couple of half-hearted semesters of college-level learning, my formal education ended in my early teens, which is about the time I decided I’d rather hang out in the parking lot listening to Rush and Metallica, than sit in a classroom muddling my way through algebra and chemistry. I limped through until I turned 16 and could legally dropout, at which point I hauled ass out of the high school parking lot as fast as my $200 VW Rabbit could take me.
That I ended up writing for a living had little to do with what I was taught; indeed, I still struggle with basic things like, comma, placement, and whether I should be saying “he and I” or “he and me” or “me n’ her.” Fortunately, I have editors who are for the most part tolerant of my fumbling.
I am struck by this irony: I have been able to pursue writing as a career in large part because I dropped out of the formal education system, not in spite of it. If I’d finished high school, and followed the assumed path to college, I would likely have ended up with a burden of debt that would have precluded writing and farming as viable livelihoods. Which is not to say I would have wound up in a bad place; only that it would have likely been much different from so many of the factors that currently define my life.
It will probably not surprise you to hear that our boys learn outside the boundaries of the public education system. They learn primarily by doing, and by talking. Often, we read for literally hours each day, although at this time of year the primary focus is immersion in farm and nature. I believe strongly, perhaps obsessively, in reading; when I was in elementary school, I remember setting my alarm for pre-dawn, so I might have time to read in bed for a couple of hours before school. My parents knew, and encouraged it. They were wiser than I gave them credit for at the time.
Most of the time, I feel as if I know what I need to know. I have figured out how to make a living, meager at times, but almost always satisfying beyond the hard measure of dollars and cents. Crucially, it’s a living that allows me to pursue what I euphemistically term my “farming habit,” but which has clearly evolved into something far deeper than simple habit. For all of this, I am profoundly grateful. Things might have turned out much differently.
But of course my ignorance is still a bloated thing, and I often find myself admiring people who have a greater capacity to learn on the fly. Sometimes, I feel stuck in the strange niches of my expertise, unable to bend my mind around a new way of doing things, or a new skill altogether. I think about this a lot in relation to our boys, trying to figure out how I can teach them to be both independent in their thinking and learning, while remaining nimble and dogged.
They are so willing and able to learn. I just hope I’m able to teach them.