Homeschooling Part 1 covers the "why" I homeschooled.
At the beginning of our homeschool journey, I tried to run things identical to a traditional classroom. That's all I knew.
Every morning started with the flag salute, prayer, and Bible reading. Then we dove into the “three R’s”—reading, writing, and arithmetic.
Shelly was easy. I handed her a workbook, gave her some short instructions, and she was off and running. Independent and focused.
Wil was a different story. We started with phonics.
“Bat,” I said, pointing to the colorful pictures in the workbook. “Buh, as in ball. Ah, as in apple. Tuh, as in turtle. Now put it together—B-a-t. Bat.”
Over and over, I had him repeat the sounds and try to form the word. But it wasn’t clicking. His eyes clouded with frustration. Mine too.
On to writing. . . but writing brought its own battles. Wil struggled to form the letters. His hand cramped from gripping the pencil. His letters were sometimes written backwards. After a few shaky attempts and many tears, we gave up and moved on to math.
That was the hardest yet. Even the first page of the workbook left him overwhelmed. By late morning, both of us were exhausted. I had tried everything I knew, but nothing worked.
“We’ll try again tomorrow,” I said, forcing a smile. “Right now, let’s do something fun.”
Fun, for me, meant nature walks and fresh air. But going outside during school hours felt risky. We lived in a quiet development—large, one-acre lots, but with good visibility. I worried someone would notice the kids the kids in the yard playing, instead of in school, and report us. So, we stayed inside until 3:00 p.m.
We had plenty to do indoors. We read together, created art, did science experiments, and played music. During "after hours" and on weekends, we could venture outside, join neighborhood friends for playtimes, and participate in church activities.
Thus began our first week of school.
It didn’t take long to realize I was repeating the same mistakes school had made with Wil. He was still struggling—and I wasn’t helping.
“If you keep doing the same things, you’ll keep getting the same results,” a friend once told me. She was right. I needed to try something new.
So, I began researching alternative teaching methods - Montessori. Classical education. Charlotte Mason. Unit studies. Even something called “unschooling.” I had no idea there were so many ways to educate a child!
However, the biggest breakthrough came when I read about learning styles.
I discovered that Shelly and I are visual learners—we learn by seeing. Wil, on the other hand, is an auditory and kinesthetic learner. He needs to hear things, and physically interact with them, to truly understand.
Now, I had a new plan. I created a more flexible routine – one that blended different curriculum styles and emphasized hands-on, multi-sensory learning. We didn't simply read our lessons; we listened, touched, and explored.
I found cassette tapes that taught phonics through song. We sang, “Ah-ah-apple, buh-buh-ball, cuh-cuh-cat, and duh, duh, dog.” The catchy tune made the consonant sounds memorable.
Reading became a shared experience, with each of us taking turns as able. We’d read aloud from biographies, poetry, and the classics, as well as books about science, history and math. I would read first, then Shelly would take a turn; and, when we came to words Wil could sound out, he’d give it a try. Our old 1828 Webster’s Dictionary became a fixture on the table as we learned new vocabulary together.
Through our reading times, we learned how math developed, what made up the ocean, and how people lived in ancient times. We read about different countries and spun the globe to find them, then created our own paper and plaster maps. Eventually, we could name every U.S. state, the capitols, and many of the world’s nations.
Reading time shifted—from struggle to adventure.
Writing remained a problem for Wil. He did learn to print, albeit slowly and carefully. Teaching him cursive helped his speed a little. Then one day, he found a book on Spencerian penmanship at the library and became obsessed with mastering its elegant swirls and decorative flourishes. Oddly, that motivated him.
Still, handwriting took time—and time was precious.
Around age eight or nine, I taught both kids keyboarding. Free from the tedious physical effort of handwriting, Wil’s creativity and curiosity flourished.
We next tackled grammar, spelling, punctuation, and composition - every day, both fiction and nonfiction, serious and silly.
In the car, we told “chain stories”—one person started a tale, the next added a twist, and so on. The kids became masters of surprise endings.
Arithmetic became something Wil could hold in his hands, whether it was marbles, candy, or buttons. By having something tangible to stand in for numbers, he could sort them, count them, move them around, and understand why math worked. He wasn't just learning math-he was doing math.
Once we finished the basics for the day, we moved into the "electives." We learned to draw, blend with colored pencils, and paint with watercolor and acrylics. We studied the master's and tried to imitate their techniques.
Music time meant dancing on the hardwood floor of our rec room. We spun in circles to the tempo of a waltz, sang the latest pop songs, and pounded out the beat on homemade, oatmeal-container drums with nothing more than wooden spoons.
In the kitchen, we became mad scientists—building baking soda volcanoes; resurrecting old, discarded radios and TVs; and demonstrating Newton’s laws with wooden planks and marbles.
We hiked our neighborhood woods, gathered leaves, and pressed them in wax paper. The kids filled notebooks with sketches and snapshots of the plants and creatures we’d seen. Our adventures took us to parks, museums, and historical sites. Back home, we cooked up family favorites, sewed, and planted a simple garden.
This became our daily curriculum.
When Wil turned nine, something clicked. The child who had once lagged behind suddenly surged ahead in math and science. His reading was now on level—though he remained a slow, deliberate reader who preferred listening. His handwriting was passable, but with a keyboard or tape recorder, his composition skills were above level.
It had taken me four years to bring Wil up to grade level - four years of tears, laughter, and small, hard-won victories. My original goal was to help him learn to read, write, and do math, but somewhere along the way, all three of us had found a way of life we hadn’t expected.
Shelly was marching along with very little intervention from me and was at least two grade levels ahead in her studies. Her one problem was math, not her favorite subject, and it remains so today. Shelly now tells me there is a dyslexia for math, called dyscalculia and that she has it. Whoops, I missed that one. Sorry, Shelly!
At this point in time, I knew I could send them both back to traditional school and they would do fine, but our journey wasn’t over. A new adventure was calling us—We were moving to Virginia Beach.
To read about our many moves, see my post on "Downsizing."
Coming soon: our homeschooling adventures in a motor home - Grandpa Cratchet.
