Most people readily concede that homeschoolers might be able to learn multiplication facts and coordinating conjunctions from their kitchen table, but when it comes to the non-academic stuff, they have their doubts.

“What about socialization?” they say.

And, “But I want my children to know how to relate to people who are different from them!”

“Oh, just think of all the children are missing!”

School includes so much more than just academics. In school, children make friends, take field trips, participate in clubs, play sports, act in plays, join choirs and bands, volunteer, and experience different cultures. Take school out of the childhood equation, and the void appears staggering. How do homeschooling families compensate? Could they even, if they tried?

The short answer is, Yes, homeschool families compensate, more easily and thoroughly than many people realize. Life-learning happens outside of school, too.

Below, I’ve jotted down a few of the most oft-heard assumptions and some brief rebuttals to go with.

Myth Number One


If you don’t go to school and hang out with a group of people the same age, five days a week, for twelve years, you won’t know how to relate to people.

FACT: Socialization happens when relating to neighbors, church members, employers, grandparents, doctors, clerks, siblings, and friends. There is no need to force it.

Myth Number Two


If you don’t interact with people who speak a different language or who are a different skin color on a daily basis when you are young, you will never know how to deal with someone who is different from you.

FACT: diversity is everywhere. Learning to respect and love your family and a few close friends lays the groundwork for loving and respecting all sorts of people. (It’s the diversity that’s closest to us—mother-in-law, spouse, dear friends—that rankles most.)

Myth Number Three


Homeschoolers weaken the community because homeschooling families are not involved in the school system.

FACT: the community is much bigger than the school system. There are many ways to be involved, to give back, and to help out.

Myth Number Four


Homeschoolers are awkward, isolated, and stunted.

Our town is hopping with Mennonite schools—elementary, middle and high school, university, and seminary. Many of the people at our church are employed by these institutions as professors, school board members, deans, and counselors. Still more are parents of students, graduates, or current students themselves. It’s a heady congregation. Academia is cherished.

Along with all that scholarly love, there is an huge (and wonderful!) emphasis on serving the greater community. As Christians, we believe we are to work for peace and justice and serve our neighbor. With these two values—education and service—uppermost in people’s minds, it only makes sense that many would feel that serving through the educational system is the way to go.

So there I was last Sunday, in front of this group of social justice academics, trying to explain the viability of homeschooling. How could I share my belief that school systems might not be the be-all and end-all? How was I to explain that keeping my children out of school is not synonymous with shirking my social responsibilities?

I started with an analogy, one that I figured should make sense considering we’re an Anabaptist church and all.

For the past month and a half, I have been living and breathing homeschool ideas, myths, theories, and practices. I get so caught up in thinking and writing that sometime I can’t sleep. This is exciting stuff, people.

It all started when one of our church’s issue-based adult Sunday school classes decided to do a series on the three different educational methods: homeschool, public, and private. Last Sunday I presented to the class about homeschooling, and this next Sunday I will moderate a panel of homeschooling parents (there are at least six families that are currently homeschooling). What follows will be a series on Home Education based on excerpts from my presentation.

Never before have I written so straight-forwardly about homeschooling. It’s going to take me a few posts to peel back all the layers, so hang tight. I welcome questions, additions, rebuttals, and confessions. Let’s have fun with this!

My philosophy about education is the same as my philosophy about child birth. All too often, judgement gets passed on a particular practice—home, hospital, midwife center, whatever—without actually understanding it or why someone might choose it.

I don’t care what birthing (or educational) method people pick, but I do want them to be informed. Know the facts. Consider who is handing out the glossy brochures and why. Talk to the little people. Listen and ask questions. Be gracious.

When they do all that (or at least give it an honest shot), then it’s fine to draw lines and pick sides. However, after all that mind-stretching pondering, my hunch (and hope) is that the lines will be lightly dotted instead of heavy and solid.

I always thought I’d marry an academic. A seminary student, perhaps, or a philosopher with a scraggly beard. Instead, I fell in love with a carpenter.

John was not an academic. As a child, he had struggled to learn to read. He did poorly in school, even—gasp—failing a couple classes. He took one year of college before dropping out and meeting me (not because he met me).

At first, I was caught off-guard by his razor-sharp mind. How was it that this non-scholar could be my straight-A-self equal? He couldn’t read words he hadn’t already memorized, writing was an agony, and he spelled like a caveman. And yet he loved to read, knew all sorts of random information, and was extremely gifted with his hands. Clearly, intelligence was not the issue.

I would never have admitted that I thought blue-collar workers were Less Than because that wouldn’t be politically correct or cool, but I did. Engaging in class lectures, whipping out essays, and acing tests was a high-level skill! Not everybody could navigate the academic pressures so smartly! My beliefs were reinforced by the greater culture. Good students got the grades, the smiles, and the awards. I could hardly be faulted for confusing “good student” with “good person.”

But John, despite being smart, didn’t have that same sense of school-induced self worth that I did. I shouldn’t have been surprised. A dozen years of struggling in a system that highlighted his inadequacies, labeled him learning disabled, and frowned at his efforts couldn’t help but leave a lasting mark.

Bit by bit, my culturally-taught assumptions began to crumble. Perhaps good grades weren’t the best indicator of intelligence? Perhaps “learning disabled” was simply “learning different”? Maybe schools didn’t have such a good handle on education after all?