the boy who listened
Since my almost panic attack, I’ve been fine. My mom called me, though, and was really concerned. Ah, blogging. Sometimes I wonder about us bloggers. What makes us like this? Is there a gene for it? “We have located the gene for Needing To Write About Your Life On The Internet! We are in the process of developing suppressors.”
I’ve been getting a lot of emails, since the Salon.com piece, from people who are upset by the comments I received. Even though I still haven’t read any of the comments myself, they’ve been described to me in great detail. Apparently there’s been a lot of talk about the Stockholm Syndrome. Right. Like, my parents abused me by keeping me out of school. And now I’m in major, major denial. I go around thinking my childhood was fun, when really it was— THE WORST THING EVER.
Well, I’m going to tell you a little story about how delusional I was as a kid. And please forgive me if I’ve already told it. I think I have, actually, a long time ago, but my memory isn’t great. It’s all that repression…
Because I didn’t go to school as a kid, I wasn’t always around other kids my own age. We don’t have to get into a thing about socialization here. There was a group I hung out with, but there were only 10-20 of us around my age at any given time, and I was the first girl to start…blossoming. Into the beautiful woman I am today.
I was proud of myself. I was ice skating with the group one day and a boy smacked into me, and my beginning-to-be-breasts hurt like hell. I thought I had cancer. But then I realized that I had breasts, and I was really psyched.
By the time I turned fourteen, I was still ahead of the game. My best friend was totally flat.
And that’s when I went to camp and met a dreamy boy with silky blond hair and big dark eyes, who sat with me by the river in the middle of the night, and shared his profound insights about life with me. I had some profound insights of my own, and we really hit it off.
Until he asked, “So, are your boobs really small?”
It was an honest question, but I was still offended by his ignorance.
“No!” I said, looking, I’m sure, shocked. “Of course they’re not small. They’re big! These are really big ones.”
“Oh,” he said. He looked thoughtful for a moment. “OK.”
The conversation turned to other things, like how he sometimes got beat up in school (I’m serious. That’s not homeschooler propaganda). And how it was hard to be a boy because of the getting beat up.
“Why do you get beat up?”
“Because I sing to myself sometimes. I really like music.” Princeton High School can be a rough place, apparently.
He was a nice boy. He wrote me a letter after we went home from camp.
Years later, I wondered when he’d realized that my breasts were not big.
By then, my best friend was a double D cup, and I was exactly the same. It turned out I’d been really, really wrong. It was surprising how wrong I’d been. But really, I was fine with my little breasts. I was kind of proud of them anyway. The nipples were really nice. Who knows how they compared to everyone else’s nipples. Maybe it doesn’t matter.
And I found out one day that, after volunteering for years in a war-torn country, the boy had decided to become an organic farmer. He was driving to Oregon to do that when someone hit his car and he died.
I still think about him. Even though I never dated him, or even really wanted to, and even though we fell out of touch for years, I can’t believe he’s dead. I really can’t believe it. He’s the first boy I talked about my new breasts with, and he was willing to listen.
(source)
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Unroast: Today I love the way I look in a towel.
Kate on October 14th 2011 in Uncategorized
San D responded on 14 Oct 2011 at 1:11 pm #
Your lovely evanescent memory of the boy is a cautionary tale on how to live life, full out, experiencing all that you can. Your unschooling experience allowed you to do that. Not all “schooling” experiences do, whether homeschooling, public or private. It is dangerous to assume that everyone’s experiences are the same. You were very lucky that by accident of birth, you had wonderful parents who had both the intelligence and sensitivity and courage to homeschool. One can feel trapped, bored, lonely, unfulfilled in any schooling experience, just like one can feel exhileration, joy, and passion.
loo loo responded on 14 Oct 2011 at 1:50 pm #
That was a nice story, made me feel nostalgic and weepy.
Emmi responded on 14 Oct 2011 at 3:38 pm #
I read your Salon.com piece (bravo!) and most of the comments. I know I shouldn’tve been, but I was a bit shocked by the comments. Though, after some thought, I realized that mostly the nasty comments were from people lashing out at you – and it struck me that when people do that, it is usually more telling of themselves than of you. Reading between the lines, it was easy to see that these people were totally unequipped to deal with something so unfamiliar to them, and simply rejected the new concepts rather than giving them any consideration. Such a pity.
About the boy: isn’t it odd how people can sweep through our lives so briefly yet leave such a distinct impression? I find it amazing.
Keep doing what you’re doing, Kate. Not everyone has the fortitude and courage for self-examination and reflection the way you and other bloggers do. It demonstrates your strength, and that can be scary to those who feel weak – so they try and bring you down. I hope you never let them 🙂
SandyJo responded on 14 Oct 2011 at 5:22 pm #
I have been reading your blog for a number of months and it is odd how you seem to hit upon just what I am feeling. And that must be the case for all the thousands of us that read but never respond. This is my 1st. I am a 40something woman with breast cancer who has just lost her long curly hair to the chemo monster. There was fear and there was a lets just get this over with and move on to the rest of it. Turns out my bald head isn’t too weird. No odd bumbs, and still looks good with all my big, gaudy earrings. The few times I have gone out without a wig or scarf I have gotten smiles and doubletakes, but nothing bad. It’s been rather freeing. Fighting a deadly disease seems to make other fears, like what will they think of how I look seem nonsensical. But this is what it took to bring me to this point. And when I am recovered (and I WILL RECOVER) that will be one of the many lessons I take forward into the rest of my life. I have rediscovered how important friends and family really are, and just me being me whichever way I am is good enough for them and now I see it is more than good enough for me. I really enjoy reading your blog Kate, please keep up the fun and good hard work! SandyJo (P.S. spelling errors = chemobrain, look it up, it’s an actual thing!
Rosa responded on 14 Oct 2011 at 7:14 pm #
The people who’ve listened, even for just a few moments are those for whom I’m most grateful. The act of really, truly, supportively listening cannot compare to anything else that someone can give to me. Don’t ever forget that boy!
Brittany responded on 14 Oct 2011 at 8:37 pm #
Kate –
I’ve been reading your blog for the last year, and I am always touched by your pieces. I relate to them and really enjoy your writing style. I read your Salon.com piece and was very surprised by the negative response you received. The positive in all of this is that you effected people, and started a discussion.
Margot responded on 14 Oct 2011 at 10:40 pm #
Homeschooling mom here – many of those comments at Salon were just total ignorance of what homeschooling is. People who have never examined their own experiences and have no idea what so ever of the dynamic of schools or the deep possibilities of ways of learning. Dinosaurs really, because, already so many, many kids are learning in charter schools, and online schools, and alternatives to the k-12 block of education that they believe is so valuable to all. It’s over, past.
The future is already here – it’s just not evenly distributed.
William Gibson, quoted in The Economist, December 4, 2003
Shannon responded on 15 Oct 2011 at 12:28 pm #
I have a similar story to that as well, except the boy in my case committed suicide. We lost touch a year before I got married, and when I flew home for my baby shower I asked if anyone had heard from him lately….only to learn that he had been gone for a few months. 🙁
I remember him every October when there’s a warm day (not the norm here in Chicagoland) and I hear “Interstate Love Song” on the radio, in the car, with the top down / moonroof open. RIP, Adam.
Maow responded on 15 Oct 2011 at 12:54 pm #
My experience with school was terrible. Like, really really horrible. I cant even describe how horrible it was, aaaall through it. I pretty much started living only when i left it. I didnt even want to go to uni after it, that’s how terrible it was. After a few years im now back to study and uni is better, but that’s because i picked a rather special one. I still dont trust more standard educaton.
Anyway I always used to think, gosh i wish i could give my children an alternative to this when i’ll have them. But because one only always hears about terrible home schooling, as if the only ones who do it are abusive religious fundamentalists with control issues, I thought my future kids’ only option would still be “proper” school. Who knew, maybe i had been terribly wrong and school had been amazing and i just couldnt see it yet. (NOT)
Then finally i stumbled upon your blog last year and a whole new world opened in front of me! To make it very, very short, i hope i’ll be able to give my future children (at least ten years from now ehm) as good an experience as yours, maybe different according to their own personalities, but still as good. So a big thank you for telling us about your life 🙂
San D responded on 15 Oct 2011 at 5:38 pm #
For every story about someone hating school, I am sure there at stories for someone who loved school. I doubt they will posting on Kate’s blog though. I am one who loved school, and ended up teaching at a high school for 35 years. My family moved every 22 months all over because my father was in the service. School was the one constant. My family was no more or less disfunctional that other people’s but suffice it to say my mother was an alcoholic, my father under the stress of being a professional soldier. I could go to school and control my own destiny by my performance in class. I was often funny, smart, provocative, creative, and noticed in school where at home I was not the favorite and considered lazy (because I read and drew all the time and was withdrawn and depressed) and stupid. I could only imagine that being homeschooled under my particular situation would have been very toxic to me. In one school (considering how many I went to) I was the only girl in the gifted program. In another, when the art teacher took us all on a bicycle tour to a nearby park to draw, she took photographs of me, and when we got back to school tacked up the 8 x 10’s in her classroom, making me realize that in 8th grade I was not an ugly duckling, just a strange original duck. I have many stories of kindness, openess, and of my realization that I was much more than the status in my family, that school, with it’s strict codes and boxed classrooms gave me. When the time came for me to apply to college, my parents were incredulous, they had no idea I wanted to go, nor did they save or offer any money or even suggestions on how to do that. I did everything myself, as I had done with my education through out my life. I blame them not. They were not thinking about my future, they were just thinking of getting by day by day, and in my father’s case, war by war. I tell my story because in the 35 years of teaching I saw many students to whom school became safe haven, a comfort zone in which they could survive if given the chance. I taught art, giving students an opportunity to express themselves, and do many self journeys. Like an artist who has worked within strict rules and then broken them to develop their own style, I consider my public education(s) to be the framework that strengthened my love for learning. As an aside, I was accepted into college as a math major (back in the day when women were not even considered in the same sentence as the word “math”), but switched majors to do my first love, art, and then completed college in 3 years to save money. I went back to school over the years to get another teaching certificate in English (and also taught English), and got a Masters in Humanities. One of the things moving so often teaches you is that there are many chapters in your life to be investigated.
Zellie responded on 16 Oct 2011 at 10:32 pm #
Kate, the reference to Stockholm Syndrome- I took that to indicate the people who suffered in school but still defend and love it as an institution.
JessB responded on 17 Oct 2011 at 7:52 am #
Wow, Kate. How beautiful. What a great day’s work.
Maow responded on 18 Oct 2011 at 6:01 am #
@San D, your story sounds wonderful and im really glad for you that school was such a good thing in your life! 🙂
However it is quite well known that school has lots of “mixed reviews” from people, those who loved it and those who hated it and those who had a bad time but still loved and so on. They are everywhere, in novels, in movies, in authobiographies, on the internet, on tv, in the streets, from people we kow, etc. When it comes to home-schooling though there’s no such a variety of stories. It’s true that lately there’s a bit more talking about it on a bunch of blogs, but in everyone’s imagination, 99% of the time there’s still only the horrible, steriotyped view of it! So i think it’s more important for more un-schooling stories to circulate, good or bad that they are, so that people can actually be informed and make decisions (that is, obviously, when they have the chance to…!
Cuz everyone has a different family, but also different schools (in my country schools are pretty different than in the States!)
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