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I
felt like shit as
I always do when we argue. The metallic taste in my mouth, the
confusion and wonder of what caused the fight to begin with, the need
to get away for a while, and the realization that we’ve
wasted these precious moments on something which an added deep breath
or stepping back for that one extra moment would have prevented.
Awash in emotion, thinking that your point of view is the only one is
so easy in these moments, as if your feelings are the only ones
involved, or you’re the only one who understands. After
it’s over and you finally take that deep breath and step
back, you find the space to realize someone else is just as correct. So
you gather yourself and figure out how to put back together the pieces
that you’ve broken. On this particular day, Duncan gave me
the broom and dustpan; I’m the one who has to do the work,
though.
For me, blaming a whole childhood for my adult reactions is a cop out
although I recognize that people have had really awful experiences
growing up. I had a good childhood; I just had some bad moments that
I’ve let linger longer than others. How I’ve dealt
with those moments has changed through my (short) life as an
unschooling parent. Some crap still remains, and I can still be a real
ass. But I’m more aware of the affect that my baggage has on
others. Though it’s my baggage, I can also choose to ask for
help if I need it.
Some of my early bad moments in childhood were divorce and the
disruption
that it brings and having taken on adult responsibilities before having
the chance to finish being a kid on my own terms. Those are tangible
things—things I can pinpoint and put my arms around. The
inability to accurately capture the emotions from those moments and
other things I can’t put my finger on are what have kept me
up at night and led me to over think their causes.
“Calm” was my way of dealing with
things, but I had difficulty coming to terms with what I felt from
these painful moments in my young life.
Inevitably throughout my life, I’d lose my temper, and my
calmness would be disrupted. I’d find it again several days
later, perhaps more balanced than before because I’d ponder
words spoken during such outbreaks. But the disruption that caused pain
in others and this seemingly inevitable pattern continued through
several relationships—as I worked through trying to make
sense of my emotions and reactions in my own mind. I continued to
balance the yin of my calmness with the yang of my temper.
A life-saving relationship with Kelly, marriage, two children later,
and we come to the crossroads that has exposed the emotional wounds for
what they are and given me the means to heal once and for all. Cameron
asked out of school, and the road lit up just as the yellow-brick road
did for Dorothy. I, with help from my family, became an unschooling
father, which has helped me grow as a person.
Of course, unschooling, if completely and honestly embraced, can expose
the entirety of an emotional wound. But it can also heal those wounds
completely and once and for all if we embrace it with the passion and
attention that it demands.
Stopping halfway and looking to see what
others (non unschoolers) are doing and saying is understandable because
it is tough to be in this unique tribe. But I always find the courage
to be in the tribe from something Tom Hanks’ character said
in A League of Their Own.
When told that one of his baseball players
was quitting because it was too hard, Hanks’ manager quipped:
“It’s supposed to be hard. If it wasn’t
hard, then everybody would do it.”
Unschooling takes courage, risk, savvy, stubbornness, patience and a
whole lotta love. Sure it means odd looks when you tell someone what
you’re doing; sure it could mean some isolation in your
hometown and a (truly wonderful) description of being
“weird”; sure it could mean your relatives could
think the same as your neighbors and then some; and sure it could open
you to ridicule and some lost invitations to parties.
So what?
I’ve been getting odd looks since before I married, had kids,
and found unschooling. I’ve never cared what the neighbors
thought or spent much time with them to begin with, and yeah, I
don’t spend a whole bunch of time with my relatives anymore
either (not that we ever really did). It is what it is.
If I could even find 10 reasons why unschooling isn’t for me,
I’d have 1,000 other reasons why it is. But unschooling
isn’t a “pros and cons” decision.
It’s the right thing to do for me and my family, and I get
along pretty well with the right thing to do.
My ability to remain calm usually helps to calm others around me.
Nowhere is that more true than in my business dealings. I’m
fortunate in understanding the right thing to do in most every
situation that I’ve faced, and I face those situations calmly
and with others in mind. As a leader, I’d want someone more
like me to be the commander on a base where I have to be. But knowing
the right thing to do and doing it haven’t always happened in
my personal life.
At home, I understand the right thing to do for the most part as well;
but doing it hasn’t always been with everyone else in mind.
I’ve not always remained calm or chosen the right thing to
say. Indeed, I’ve allowed some of the bad moments from a
remembered childhood to cloud my judgment in certain situations. On
that day not long ago, I allowed that fog to overcome me again.
As I climbed the stairs to Duncan’s room to see how he was, I
thought of the fact that I’d forced my son to seek a safer
place than the room where I’d argued with his mom. I
(thankfully) couldn’t remember the last time that I ascended
those
steps for the same reason. But in the moment that I walked in the room,
I realized I had a not-so-happy son refusing to look at me.
I asked and received permission to sit next to Duncan, who took great
care to notice me but not to look up at me. We made small talk for a
moment, and then he looked me in the eyes and said, “I know
why you’re here—you’re here to tell me
you’re sorry.” As if that weren’t
perceptive enough, he blew me out of the water with his tone, eyes full
of hurt and wonder: “I just don’t understand why
you worry about the little things so much some times.”
Had I been standing on my feet, his courage, insight, and words would
have knocked me to my knees. As it was, I just sat there slumped over
at the shoulders and stunned.
And overwhelmed.
And relieved for his honesty.
And convinced that his astute evaluation was what I needed to let go of
some more baggage that had to be released.
Despite the circumstances that brought me to Duncan’s side, I
heard from my son what I’d heard from his mom in calmer,
happier times. Sometimes, unfortunately, we need to learn lessons from
the fire of the fight instead of the serenity of the peace. I think
unschoolers learn to use the fire for peace; that’s what I
want to do more.
I’m no expert on how to be a father, a husband, or an
unschooling parent. I’m not naive enough to believe that I
won’t argue with someone again within my family. But
I’m not scared of the unknown either, and I know that
unschooling rewards are very, very tangible.
I’m smart and stubborn enough to believe that I can make
things better every day for those around me and for myself by being
more
sensitive to my tone and emotions. I give shit moreso now to those who
deserve it and less to those who don’t. And I’m
convinced that I and others who’ve embraced unschooling are
the pioneers and leaders of the next real revolution. We carry John
Holt’s flame and fight whatever demons we need to keep that
fire burning. There are generations of children ahead of us who depend
on that, and there are children living with and among us now who
deserve it.
Ben
Lovejoy has partnered with his wife, Kelly, to host and grow the Live
and Learn Unschooling Conference since its inception in 2002,
and can be found conversing with other unschooling dads on the SSUDS list.
A private school, military college, and US Air Force alumni, Ben is not
your typical unschooling parent. Despite appearances, he's
been unschooling his boys, Cameron and Duncan, with his wife, Kelly,
for six years. Ben's personal favorite bumper sticker on
their car is "Question Authority". He loves music and film
and when he's not cycling the roads of America, Ben is lieutenant
colonel with the SC Air National Guard.... |
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