Home Education: The Official Low-Down

First of all, before I even begin to express my waiting-to-be-unleashed views regarding home education - or, as I may sometimes refer to it, 'home-schooling' (you decide) - I feel a little out of place, as though my usually sharp-as-a-tip-of-a-knife vocabulary has lost a part of itself, which leaves me lying in a slightly dazed state. As ideas flowed like a glass of coffee being swirled by a spoon inside my mind to choose the title of this blog entry, I almost typed down The Official 411 - a so-called popular term used by word-savvy teenagers and dying-to-be-embarrassingly-cool parents alike, as commonly repeated in films set in high schools. Only around a decade or so ago, though.

Unlike quite a large number of teenagers, I hardly feel the irresistible desire to express myself via repeating over-cliched phrases that have taken the world by storm by the like of millions of Facebook or Twitter users; this probably explains why I have yet not created an account of either of the two highly engaging social networking sites, but my eyes have been covered with a luxurious Hermes scarf (if only my Forever 21 jeans pockets were bursting to the brim with designer scarves which could be left carelessly in various places like Miranda Priestly in high fashion favourite The Devil Wears Prada, or Panda as I used to call it at the age of eight) as to how I could find a desperate need to be associated with technology addicted users who really ought to be doing something far more meaningful with their supposed 'extreme' lack of time.

In other words, I may be viewed as different, a teenager who sticks out like a sore thumb (albeit donning a striking similar pair of devil red trousers and buckled coat whilst carrying a heavy bag of Braeburn apples never fails to raise a few overly plucked eyebrows, except in the often critical fashion stakes). And, despite enduring a few occasions where I wish that everybody - from dressed-down women to eye-bogglingly fascinated teenagers of a similar age to my own - could accept myself for who I choose to be, I won't have it any other way. At the end of the day, I'm only home-schooled - from where is the big-as-my-raspberry-doughnut fuss derived?

Ah, don't you believe that you can shake your head vigorously and forcibly deny it - there is, even this is apparent 'accepting' and 'welcoming' era, a head-strong stigma against those who make a decision to be themselves and not bow down to the more common way of living, which also includes home-schooling. The same lessons are learnt - for myself, it ranges from an hour spent on picking up French expressions, absorbing fascinating information associated with the ever-changing Law, reading about stories based in a different era to even posting a few entries onto my blog (a perfect opportunity to showcase my skills in a highly educational manner) - albeit in the comfort of my own home, where the sweet scent of lovingly home-cooked meals fill the air and an up-to-date laptop is only a few steps away from taking me onto an inspirational journey in relation to my studies.

Although I had only began my state education a couple of years before I began to be home-schooled by my hard-working, influential parents, I quickly grew to appreciate receiving an one-to-one education where various subjects would be clearly explained and instantly remembered, and, most importantly of all, I had (and still do) fun whilst gaining precious knowledge which had a higher value that what I could have possibly earnt had I remained in a public school.

Plus, as many parents and children often complain in these modern times, not enough free time was handed out to restless, sometimes bored youngsters who wished for nothing more than a rest and time to live as children. There is a reason why previous generations often remind us that their childhood was unlike the ones that we commonly lead nowadays; care-free fun was somehow balanced between the ideal work ethic, so nothing was either sacrificed nor lost vital attention which would have later led to inner-destruction and hard-hitting problems. Being home-schooled, I strongly believe, has enabled me to explore life like an animal would search inside a jungle; play time was not thrown out the window as soon as I said goodbye to setting foot inside a school as it has only been revitalized further and matured, becoming a more appreciated article which I enjoy gladly and cherish more each day.

And as for oh-too-rare-a-sight common sense, I don't think that it is highly necessary to give my side of the view on that topic; judging by the manner as previously displayed in old posts, I clearly (and hope I don't sound too prim-and-proper; see why I lost myself in an hourly game of The Sims?) have graduated with a flawless grade and vibrantly bright flying colours. Like my dad occasionally huffs (after a certain, unnamed football has received another push-back), 'don't get me started' is the phrase to avoid when a subject like this rises to the surface. Hopefully when I haven't flown into an angered mood, that is.

What many people may not choose to think about is that working in a home-schooling environment is that it strengthens one's relationship with their family, through the great power of working together and lending a helping hand from time to time. Although neither of them were capable of offering me any help when I reached an undestroyable brick wall in relation to unpronounceable French verbs (so many problems, only so many I can solve in French!), my cuddly, beloved honorary elder brothers of the feline kind, Tom and Jerry, I doubt that my relationship with both of them would have blossomed so beautifully if I had arrived home with a lacklustre sigh after an endurable day at school, hardly a moment to spare as a pile of homework was needed to be completed. Nothing could stir the strongest feeling inside my soul to regret having a home education as it would have meant that I would lose so many precious memories I shared with Tom and Jerry - what could be more valuable than treasured moments with the ones you love?

Of course, everybody is different and, according to law, is owed the much-appreciated right to air their own views, but where is the justification in singling one person out purely due to no longer following suit with others and embarking on a path of their own? Whether it is down to the (on-trend) clothes I choose and like to wear or method to pick up a few bite-sized pieces of information, there is no end to an expanding list of being 'obscure' or standing out of the all-too-same crowd for supposedly the wrong reasons.

Although my theory may be deemed as possibly incorrect, everybody has no power against experiencing instinctual fear - and change, for some, could be one of them. Despite their not being placed hot-on-the-spot and given a demand to perform an action which is peculiarly strange to their usual one, some people may feel the urgent need to place their fear onto another person in the form of remarking at their out-of-the-blue behaviour or gasping in shock at their means of living. Perhaps a raise of eyebrows or an unforgiving look does not give the full story - body language, after all, can only inform us of so much - but to the eyes of some, and myself, it can scorch deeply inside one's heart and provoke a pain question which asks whether being different is OK. I abide by the Law (and enjoy learning about it); I treat people the way in way I would expect from another person; and, on the whole, I lead my life as a well-behaved, chirpy-as-a-singing-bird teenager, yet I still receive a hair-raising glance or hint of a smirk in my direction every so often. And, as I frustratingly think, what can I do about it? Getting a proper education in the comfort of a caring home cannot be the sole reason for a peculiar look in the vegetable section at a local supermarket, as I often remind myself.

Yet, as I climb into bed after spending a day airing my opinion on a still-blossoming blog (and licking the plate clean of the devilish brownies I'd baked earlier), no thoughts of being the 'odd-one out' cloud my mind, which wishes to escape to Dreamsville for a couple of hours, whilst I keenly await the lessons I'll attend in the living room the following day. Some may throw their hands up in the air in a fit of nail-biting frustration, whilst others lose their confidence completely and cower in the dim shadows. I, on the other hand, will place a light coating of rose-pink lipstick and walk out of my house, my mind immune to another person's fear and a smile lighting up my (so I wish) flawless complexion. If somebody chooses to dismiss me without so much as uttering a single word, I couldn't care less. Who has ever asked me whether I like them?

That's a mystery yet to be figured out.