One week away...

August 25, 2013

9:32pm

Why did I choose to homeschool?

That's what some people would like to know. Sometimes I just want to say "Because I want to, suckaaaaaaa!" But, that wouldn't be appropriate. It all goes back to when I found out I was pregnant with that chocolate-coated, peanut-headed little guy. I was twenty. Old enough to know a thing, or two, but young enough not to know squat. I remember leaving the doctor's office, and dialing my mother's number on my cell phone, excited to give her the news that I was carrying the first boy that would be born to our family. It wasn't until a week later when it occurred to me that I was carrying a boy. A BLACK boy. Black boys are cute until they turn three or four. Then they become rambunctious. They go off to school. They always seem hyperactive and inattentive. Their teachers and principals complain to their parents (or in most cases, their single moms) about their behavior and recommend being placed on medication. After six or seven years of zombification due to the medication, the dosage it increased and the effects backfire. Then these black boys become angry. They hang out with the local hoodlums, desperate for the male guidance that they don't receive at home. They are eager for the love and attention they seek from their mothers that work 16 hour shifts just to barely make rent. Instead, they're drawn to the callousness and coldness of the streets. They drop out of school once they realize they can make a couple of bucks pushing five grams here and there. They are so caught up in the hustle that they don't realize they are literally drowning in their sins. These coffee-colored boys turn nineteen. They are "men". They hate the world, because they feel that the world has turned its back on them. They lie, cheat, steal, and kill just to make it to the next day. Eventually, another angry black boy who is a product of their environment rises up. They kill their predecessors. The cycle continues. And just like that, the black male population becomes an endangered species.

All of this. All of this was racing through my mind. I remember saying to the Lord "Dear God, why? Why did you choose me to bear this load? I cannot be responsible for such a person!" I called my mother crying, because I didn't know what to do. It had stayed on my mind for the remaining nineteen weeks of pregnancy. But, then, a feeling that I had never felt before overcame me. It happened on the evening of February 26, 2007. My darling, my prince, my son came into this world. 8 lbs, 4 oz. Just like his mama when she was born. He was beautiful! The tips of his ears were a dark mahogany, indicating that he'd be as smooth and dark as the night sky. He was gorgeous. And he was mine. My Lord and Savior chose ME to raise this child. What an honor!

The first few years of his life were full of all kinds of changes, and when I think about it, I'm thankful they occurred when he was young. His biological father and I divorced; we moved back to my mother's house in Maryland; I worked at several different places; he went from babysitter to babysitter. There were times in which I couldn't wait to drop him off. Don't get me wrong, but like so many other single mothers, I was ready to "do my thing". I would leave him with my mom a lot. Even when I was at home, I'd ask her to watch him just so I could get some time to myself.

January, 2012 came. I chose salvation through Christ (or rather, the Lord had chosen me) three years earlier. I was five months into my new marriage and a couple of weeks pregnant with a new baby. Jay was in pre-k at the local elementary school. My sister was visiting with her baby daughter from California. She had been there for a few weeks and was able to observe my patterns with Jay. Needless to say, she wasn't happy with the way things were going with me. She lovingly sat down with me and we engaged in what was probably the most difficult conversation I had ever had in my life up to that point. Without getting into too much detail about what was said, she helped me to realize that I wasn't parenting in a way that was honoring to the Lord and that Jay would benefit from. At that moment, I decided to make a change. I helped Jay with his homework, prepared healthier meals, sang to him at night, and cut back on how much I fussed with him over trivial things.

After Stephan received his orders to his new duty station, we all packed up and moved to Fort Hood, Texas. Before we knew it, our baby was in kindergarten. Immediately, we received complaints from his teacher that he was inattentive, needed constant redirecting, and was overall unfocused. Throughout the year, we attended parent-teacher meeting after parent-teacher meeting, made changes at home, rewarded him when he had done well, and punished when he misbehaved. It was exhausting trying to keep home-Jay and school-Jay on one accord. Nothing seemed to be working. We agreed to have Jay evaluated for autism. We just knew that he wouldn't be diagnosed, because autism covers an array of symptoms. Honestly, one could say that I'm autistic the way I choose to be a recluse and am OK with staying inside the house all day. Whatever. Well, the test results came back, and lo and behold. Jay was autistic...according to the assessment.

I fell on my knees in prayer, because this was the very thing that I feared when I found out I was pregnant with a boy. My son, from here on out, was going to be labeled. He teachers would treat him accordingly. Expectations would be lowered. He was "special". Don't get me wrong. There are many special needs children who genuinely need special attention and education. But, we know our son. We know what he needs. All Jay needs is a stern voice, lots of love, and a swift kick to the backside. Once again, big sister, California, suggested homeschooling. Initially, I didn't want to consider it, but after that diagnosis, it became a greater topic of discussion. Then I did the research. Turns out, statistically, homeschooled children perform much better than their public-schooled counterparts. In the state of Texas, homeschooling is a really big deal. Stephan and I went into prayer together, I cracked open my bible to receive word from the Lord, and the rest, as they say, is history.

"Anesha, I didn't ask for an extended background on how crummy of a parent you were. Tell me why are you homeschooling in as few words as possible." OK. Simply, it's because I love my son. He is a gift. There is no one on this earth who has most of an interest in his development (spiritually, educationally, physically, mentally) than I do. On top of all of that, I love the Lord. I love my Savior so much, that everything I do, I do for him, and not for my fellow man (Col. 3:23). The Lord deserves my best efforts. That includes how I parent. He GAVE me Jay and Madison. I'm simply giving them back to Him.