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by Barbara Frank
With Christmas fast approaching, I find it hard to keep my mind on homeschooling. Shopping and wrapping, Christmas cards and letters, cooking and baking…..these have all been added to my already busy routine. Sometimes homeschooling seems just plain inconvenient.
But we soldier on as best we can. I tell my 14-year-old that she needs to keep at it; after all, she’s in high school now. She’s pretty good about applying herself to her daily assignments, but as soon as she completes them, she’s off and running up to her room, where she is busy making gifts and wrapping.
My youngest child is another story. Naturally, the Christmas season is more distracting for him than the routine activities of daily life (which are already enough of a hurdle for him because of his disability). But while any other almost-thirteen-year-old is likely thinking about his requested gift list (a snowboard or the latest Xbox game, perhaps) instead of doing his assignments, my boy has more pressing issues to think about. And they have nothing to do with his schoolwork.
Today I told him to print twelve words. Before writing each word, and sometimes even each letter, he stopped to quiz me:
“Christmas tree today?
“Kids home soon?”
“Hunter here?”
He asked those same questions over and over, as I nudged him to finish his printing. While he likes presents as much as any other child, it’s people that keep him going. For him, Christmas (the first sign of which is the tree going up) means his big sister and brother will soon be home. His sister will spend the night after driving in from the city, and his brother will be home from college on winter break. Christmas is a major event around here simply because we’re all back together again. For me, it’s the only day of the year when I’m sure to have all four kids under our roof for the night, all of them up for breakfast in the morning…….it’s a wonderful thing. But for my son, it’s pure joy. He is never more content than when we’re all together.
An added attraction to the holidays is that he knows Christmas means his cousin Hunter will be flying in for a visit from California. Hunter is nearly nine now; developmentally, he has already surpassed my son. Those few years when they were at about the same level have gone. But this won’t matter to my son. He’ll be thrilled that Hunter is here. Already I have had to draw a jet and the word “Hunter” on the calendar for December 26, so that I can respond to his endless repetition of “Hunter here?” by pointing out the day on the calendar. For Christmas Day itself, I’ve drawn a Christmas tree and printed his sister’s and brother’s names.
His thrill over these homecomings doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate the Christmas presents. He adores presents, especially when they are from him for someone else. He likes giving presents so much that he gives them to us all year. Often he greets me in the morning with one of his toys wrapped in a blanket: “Merry Christmas, Mom!” (in July) or “Happy Birthday, Mom!” (months after my birthday).
The combination of homecomings and giving gifts is so exciting to him that my valiant efforts to homeschool him sometimes seem wasted. On days like today, it’s plain that his mind is on Christmas instead of his work. Our slow progress dwindles to a snail’s pace.
At some point during the years since my son was born, it dawned on me that educating him will be a lifelong task. His progress is light years slower than that of his older three siblings. Homeschooling them meant regularly progressing through curriculum, skipping over things that they already understood, and knowing there were always more interesting subjects they could learn about. But with my youngest son, progress is generally slow. Review is constant and necessary, or he loses what he has absorbed. I regularly change the way we do things, not because he has suddenly progressed but because I get bored.
Some mornings, I wake up and think, “I cannot review the alphabet one more time. Ever. After doing it for so many years, I have had it!” Fortunately, I don’t have to force myself downstairs. God is good; He enables me to work with my son for one more day. Don’t ask me how He does it; I just know that He does, because I am not strong enough to do this on my own day after day, year after year. His strength keeps me going.
Sometimes I think about what it would be like if my son were “typical” (that’s the phrase the special education establishment now uses instead of “normal.”) If he were typical, he would already be taking responsibility for his assignments without needing me right next to him all the time. I’d probably have a lot more free time. And the end of homeschooling would be a mere five years away.
But Christmas would sure be low-key around here if my son were a ‘typical’ twelve-year-old. He probably wouldn’t be so thrilled to see his siblings or his cousin. He wouldn’t get such a kick out of pointing out Baby Jesus in the manger scene, or opening the little doors on the Advent calendar each day in December. I’m certain he wouldn’t interrupt his math to inform me that he hears reindeer on the roof, as he has done more than once recently. Obviously, there are many advantages to having an atypical kid. I’d list more of them for you, but I’ve got to go now. It’s my birthday again, and my son wants me to open the present he wrapped (in a blanket) for me.
Reprinted with Permission of Cardemon Publishers
About the author:
Barbara Frank is the mother of four homeschooled-from-birth children ages 14-24, a freelance writer/editor, and the author of “Life Prep for Homeschooled Teenagers, “The Imperfect Homeschooler’s Guide to Homeschooling,”and “Homeschooling Your Teenagers.” To visit her Web site, “The Imperfect Homeschooler,” go to www.cardamompublishers.com.
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