Lessons from a Homeschool Mom by Amelia

Lessons from a Homeschool Mom by Amelia - July 2014 Scholarship Essay

Through the tears cried over complicated algebra problems, to the cramped hand from writing spelling words, to the vindication of making an A in science, I have found that my twelve years of being a homeschooled student have given me a deep appreciation for what “education” really means. For years, my mother invested her time, her energy, and her knowledge in my life, teaching me not only my ABC’s but also to appreciate the privilege of receiving an education. My love for learning is all due to the sacrifices she made.

My first days of "school” started when I was still toddling around in Pampers. My mother and I would curl up together, and I would listen as she would read to me from one of my cherished picture books. We spent countless hours pouring through those few, colorful pages, relishing each word and each moment. One day, my notorious independence kicked in, and I plunked my toddler bottom down into my plush Minnie Mouse chair. Picking up one of the beloved books, I began to “read” to myself, reciting the words in the book from memory. Although I didn’t actually learn how to read until a couple of years later, my mother had instilled in me a desire for knowledge - for an education. My love for learning had been born.

With the arrival of kindergarten, my thirst for knowledge increased. However, my enthusiasm was soon curbed when I made the unfortunate acquaintance with the subject of my nightmares: Cursive Handwriting. Penmanship practice consisted of those anguishing moments where I would sit hunkered over my antique desk, making squiggly marks that barely resembled letters. I remember being made to practice my curly letters over and over again, until my fingers screamed in pain from holding a pencil. At the time, I felt as though my mother was being cruel and unfair to me. However, now I am extremely grateful for her gentle force through kindergarten handwriting practice. Today, I have received countless complements on my cursive writing, and I know that it all is due to those countless hours spent stooped over an old desk, tongue stuck out in concentration, tracing my letters, over and over and over again. My mother taught me more than just how to sign my name during my first official year of school. She showed me that education requires commitment. That commitment has propelled me through the years of memorizing U.S. presidents, dissecting frogs, and delivering speeches, pushing me to be the very best that I can be, whether I’m doing schoolwork or not.

As the years passed, the picture books and handwriting manuals were packed away in boxes to be replaced by the intimidating bulkiness of algebra textbooks. With the first few encounters with the cursed X’s and Y’s, my abhorrence for the subject took root. Yet, my mother was undaunted. Having never received her college degree, algebra, which she hadn’t encountered since her high school days, was as unfamiliar to her as Swahili. But, she pressed on, relearning the material so that she could, in turn, teach it to me. Though we spent many, tedious sessions working on factoring equations and graphing functions, many of which ended in my frustrated tears, we finally finished the course. Although my attitude towards mathematics has not changed, I feel that those days spent persevering through Algebra 1 have served to strengthen my appreciation for education. By watching my mother’s determination to succeed in this aspect of my academic career, I have learned that resolve is one of the most important factors in one’s education. This spirit of “never-say-die” has served me well, and I will continue to employ it in every aspect of life.

I can say that now, as I approach the completion of my high school career, I have never had a deeper appreciation for learning. This love for education will lead me to pursue a degree in teaching, a career that my mother taught me to never underestimate. As I step through the door of my college classroom on my first day as a freshman student, I will remind myself of those picture books, handwriting manuals, and algebra textbooks and of the one woman who has given me an appreciation for it all.