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"But What About Socialization?" The College Test
by Peter Kowalke
I wasn’t even paying attention to the first signs proving I had avoided a life of disappointment. There probably were great exhalations of relief from my parents when I started to read at the age of ten, but I was oblivious to the concern, the tense expectation that homeschooling would work, that learning to read would manifest itself in me when the time was right. Only later, in my teen years, did I start to inherit uncertainty that I might be making a mistake by staying away from the classroom. Certainly I cannot speak for every child or teen that doesn’t go to school. Drawing from my own experiences as a lifelong unschooler (until going to college), as well as my many homeschooling/unschooling friends, I can nonetheless state that not going to school instills at least a modicum of doubt in one’s own education choices.
Am I going to learn as much as my peers in school? Am I going to have problems with socialization? Will there be unforeseen difficulties in my life as a result of not attending grade school, middle school or even high school? Will I be able to get into college and reach my potential? Will employers want to hire me?
To this point, I keep breathing sighs of relief; I’m no dullard, homeschooling hasn’t blindsided me with any deleterious effects (yet?), I’m halfway through my college experience and don’t have a problem making friends or acquaintances. I’m still uncertain about the final hurdle that unschooling must pass—my ability to acquire a worthwhile job—but so far so good. Before I resume my incessant worry about finding a good job, however, let’s take a look back at the common homeschooling concern of socialization and pay attention to my social life during my first year out of the house and away at Hampshire College.
Moving out of my secluded house in the woods and into a dorm that was surrounded by more than 58,000 students of approximately the same age (the combined total of Smith, Amherst, Mount Holyoke and Hampshire colleges, as well as the University of Massachusetts), I didn’t know quite what to expect. Accustomed to meeting new acquaintances irregularly, I was conditioned to make friends easily and spend time with said friends whenever possible. However, 58,000 potential friends, all readily accessible, made me fear that my lack of the social indifference my peers had formed during a lifetime of schooling might cause a conflict with other activities in my life, namely academics. Although it could be reasonably assumed I wouldn’t be tempted by parties and college vices such as alcohol, smoking or drugs, what if I socialized to my heart’s content and didn’t ever study? Not having experience being around so many kids on a daily basis, there were no guarantees that I would stay as focused in college as when I was studying and working at home.
During the first few weeks of class, my fears almost looked justified; I was a social maven. Now I’m not intimating that I was Mr. Popular; there were other people-magnets drawing attention and affection from everyone. I could only marvel and take notes about the social mastery of such individuals. Donning my own, patented brand of charisma, I might consider myself well known, if not exactly “popular.” In my first few weeks at Hampshire, I would frequent certain halls every evening, catch movies with new friends, attend guest lectures, and play cards with hallmates. My academics didn’t suffer much, but in retrospect I probably should have studied more.
Spending copious amounts of my day making friends and feasting on the social buffet I had never known as an unschooler (apart from my yearly pilgrimages to the homeschooling conference hosted by the Clonlara School in Michigan), my academics were saved only by the fact that workloads start gently and gather steam as the semester progresses. In the first few weeks of class, most new Hampshire students—myself included—were finding their social identity and starting to build the core of their social existence away at college.
By the fourth week, most students had chosen their social orbits and had begun to revolve around the same group of friends, whereas I was still cheerfully making new acquaintances and consciously avoiding favoritism. I limited myself to the people of Hampshire’s campus, population of about 1,100, but that still left a lot of introductions. Every meal, I would try to sit at a table with at least one person I had never met and one with whom I was already acquainted. In my mind it was a solid strategy, building both new and existing friendships.
Sitting down with me during lunch at the dining commons would quell the concerns of any homeschooling parent worried about their child’s ability to socialize; outgoing, jovial, empathic, laughing with friends I had only recently met, I was the spitting image of good social habits. Socialization? Ha—unschoolers are great at social situations!
Social “situations” may have been a strong suit, but social experience was another story. Once my fellow students and I realized that we had to hit the books and get to the business of academics, each student embarked on his or her own time-tested strategy for balancing the social with the academic. The campus quickly slipped into study mode and it was at that point that many of my friends started to relegate themselves to certain social groups. For much of the first semester, I could not fathom why anyone would want to limit their social circle; I kept making new friends and boarding the different social circles, dividing myself equally among all.
Although steadfast in my conviction that I was good at socializing, that homeschooling had not left me an introverted teenager with perverse social habits (after all, I had been to four proms!), frustration began to mount when professors started to dole out homework and assignments; I was suddenly left without time for people interaction while others seemed to maintain a solid balance. Hampshire being a selective liberal arts institution, I was surrounded by valedictorian and intelligent folk, all of whom seemed to have mastered the art of finding time for recreation and movies while concurrently zipping through their studies. I, on the other hand, could rarely find time for a movie. I certainly couldn’t give the time necessary for deep, emotionally satisfying friendships. As a result of my inexperience with the social dynamics of institutional education, a lot of people knew my name but none would probably include me in their inner circle, include me as anything more than an acquaintance.
Being just an “acquaintance” made me doubt in my social skills. Were homeschooling critics correct when they proclaimed that a life away from school translated into a socially hampered existence full of disappointment? I was 19, living in a tiny cubicle of a room, and I had no friends, no prospects for romance, no emotional support, no camaraderie beyond the superfluous, fluffy façade of friendly conversation after class or at the dinner table. Worse, it appeared there wasn’t even time in my life to build a strong bond with another person.
The first semester at Hampshire College was rough. More than just socially inexperienced at the art of balancing friends and class time, I was seen as an oddity; I smiled too broadly, showed too much interest, appeared too happy, didn’t confine myself to a particular social group. Students didn’t avoid or ostracize me. After all, we were at a school without any grades, tests or majors (pretty liberal). Still, the combination of lacking good friends and being different, even when difference was celebrated (although still labeled “different”), was enough to re-instill long-forgotten doubt about my ability to integrate with “school kids.”
Doubt didn’t last the year, fortunately. A liberal arts education is supposed to enhance my ability to think critically and instill an awareness of the world around me. It is also supposed to give the knowledge and thinking skills that transcend a particular discipline or time frame and allow me to adapt to new situations and jobs of any flavor. In a related vein, it strikes me that unschooling has given me a general foundation for life and social interaction. I may be inexperienced at the art of cultivating deep friendships, and I may rely too heavily on an idealized conception of reality, forgetting that people can be mean and innocent behavior can sometimes be construed as malicious intent. That doesn’t imply a lack of ability, however, and it also doesn’t mean that I’ll wander the streets of life unequipped to be a social citizen. I just need to adjust to a new system of social interaction, in this case one that many have already learned.
Returning from winter break, I met a girl named Tina. She was originally from China—she had moved to the United States at the age of six. Tina introduced me to her close friend, Andria, an international student from Cyprus. A few days later, the two girls took me out to eat for my birthday. Appreciating the gesture and thoroughly impressed, I suspended my usual habit of frequenting many tables at mealtime and, whenever possible, made a point to sit with both Tina and Andria. A friendship was cultivated, strengthened as I met and made friends with their tiny group of pre-existing friends.
The more time spent with Tina and Andria, the less was available for other social interaction. Despite a continued acquaintance with those I had already met, and a persistent desire to meet new people, nearly all spare time was channeled into my newfound group, be it in the form of study sessions or recreation. I stopped sitting at other tables and the growth of my social circle slowed, which was alarming. Concern faded, though, when I realized that my social life had not disintegrated. To the contrary, I now had a healthy social life, full of interrelated friendships, a plethora of acquaintances, and two or three really close friends, those with whom I could laugh and share, those I could cherish.
Although I still have a distinctive style that often sets me apart in a crowd, and sometimes I must adapt to social interactions that others consider basic, unschooling has not killed my social life. If anything, I’d like to believe that unschooling has aided my interaction with others. I’m not jaded or pessimistic about friendship, suspicious of others or shy about letting my true colors fly. As I once told an acquaintance, I’ll make friends with anyone who will let me be their friend.
By Peter Kowalke. Originally printed in the July-August, 1999 issue of . You can contact Peter through his web site, Grownwithoutschooling.com.
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