I came to the Oaks at the tail end of my elementary years, having skipped a grade in public school, and then had a year at local "gifted" school. I think my parents had enough when they discovered the oldest kids there were making crystal meth on campus and selling it as rock candy. No more gifted school for me. My parents wanted me to be challenged in a slightly safer environment, so they chose the Oaks.
My years at the Oaks were fairly uncomplicated in terms of academics... I could memorize effortlessly, regurgitate facts on command, and write papers expressing the view I knew the teacher wanted. I answered questions when asked and did just enough to get participation points without exerting myself. I was adept at flying under the radar. I learned how to think, how to write papers quickly, how to read and take notes, and how to cram. Academically, I wasn’t worried about the rigors or academic pressures at college. I got into the Honors program, then sailed through grad school. I'm a gainfully employed adult now.
In other areas, life was complicated.. My personality completely changed when I started at the Oaks. I had crippling anxiety, a paralyzing fear of failure (I got one attention grabber in 7th grade and once I got my name on the board in Spanish class), and a prevailing conviction that I had to control everything I said or wore so I wouldn't cause the boys around me to stumble. Seriously? We all have legs. Get over it.
Going from the Oaks to a huge secular college was eye-opening. This was my first experience around people of other ethnicities, languages, religions, sexual preferences, other lifestyles or family dynamics. I knew how to point out the inconsistencies in others' faiths and worldviews, but I didn't know how to listen to their beliefs and accept that we saw things differently. I knew how to recite massive chunks of Scripture and spout Christian platitudes, but not how to sit with a friend in the midst of their grief. I knew all about the Mediterranean world and the history of the US, but was clueless about the rest of the planet. I can still sing the history songs, recite memory verses, chant the Shurley grammar jingles and diagram sentences (which I used when I started teaching), but I didn't know how to respectfully disagree with a superior or stand up for myself. I knew how to love people who looked like me, talked like me, and thought like me, or at least what I was taught I was supposed to think. But I don't live on a planet surrounded by white, middle class, heterosexual, Christian families. Was I prepared to make authentic friendships with others? Was I prepared to have healthy dialogues with others rather than immediately going into Lincoln - Douglas debate format in my head? Did I learn how to live my own faith rather than quote what I'd been told? Nope. Not in the slightest.
The Oaks is not entirely to blame. The way I was raised contributed to it, certainly, as did my own misconceptions and presuppositions. Therapy, good mentors and an awesome husband have all helped along the journey. Some of these things didn't become apparent to me until after I'd spent a couple years teaching in a school just like the Oaks. Some didn't appear until after years of therapy. I didn't fully realize how much this culture had affected me until I became a mom. I have a spunky, independent, fearless 3-year-old daughter and I don't ever want her to have this school experience.
I want her to think broadly, to consider other perspectives, and to question the lessons she’s being taught. Teachers, myself included, are not infallible, and I don’t want her to accept the word of a teacher as absolute truth. I want her to respect her teachers and those around her, but also respectfully question a statement or directive she might not agree with. I want her to ask questions and search for answers, rather than blindly accept what she’s been told.
I want her to see teachers as a resource for help, not someone who will cast judgment and shame for failing an assignment or not understanding a lesson.
I want her to know she isn’t responsible for keeping boys from thinking “impure thoughts” or that she has to limit her intellect because of her gender. I want her to be her best self.
I want her to love people who make different choices than us, people who struggle, people who are born in different circumstances. I want her to be friends with those who don’t necessarily look like her, talk like her, or think like her. I want her to authentically love people. I want her to be kind. I want her to be helpful. I want her to be brave. I want her to have a more rounded experience than I ever got.
While I’m grateful for the financial commitment my parents made and their dedication to making the best decision they thought they could for our education, I know now that a school environment like the one I was immersed in isn’t healthy, and I wouldn’t make the same decision for my own family.
My years at the Oaks were fairly uncomplicated in terms of academics... I could memorize effortlessly, regurgitate facts on command, and write papers expressing the view I knew the teacher wanted. I answered questions when asked and did just enough to get participation points without exerting myself. I was adept at flying under the radar. I learned how to think, how to write papers quickly, how to read and take notes, and how to cram. Academically, I wasn’t worried about the rigors or academic pressures at college. I got into the Honors program, then sailed through grad school. I'm a gainfully employed adult now.
In other areas, life was complicated.. My personality completely changed when I started at the Oaks. I had crippling anxiety, a paralyzing fear of failure (I got one attention grabber in 7th grade and once I got my name on the board in Spanish class), and a prevailing conviction that I had to control everything I said or wore so I wouldn't cause the boys around me to stumble. Seriously? We all have legs. Get over it.
Going from the Oaks to a huge secular college was eye-opening. This was my first experience around people of other ethnicities, languages, religions, sexual preferences, other lifestyles or family dynamics. I knew how to point out the inconsistencies in others' faiths and worldviews, but I didn't know how to listen to their beliefs and accept that we saw things differently. I knew how to recite massive chunks of Scripture and spout Christian platitudes, but not how to sit with a friend in the midst of their grief. I knew all about the Mediterranean world and the history of the US, but was clueless about the rest of the planet. I can still sing the history songs, recite memory verses, chant the Shurley grammar jingles and diagram sentences (which I used when I started teaching), but I didn't know how to respectfully disagree with a superior or stand up for myself. I knew how to love people who looked like me, talked like me, and thought like me, or at least what I was taught I was supposed to think. But I don't live on a planet surrounded by white, middle class, heterosexual, Christian families. Was I prepared to make authentic friendships with others? Was I prepared to have healthy dialogues with others rather than immediately going into Lincoln - Douglas debate format in my head? Did I learn how to live my own faith rather than quote what I'd been told? Nope. Not in the slightest.
The Oaks is not entirely to blame. The way I was raised contributed to it, certainly, as did my own misconceptions and presuppositions. Therapy, good mentors and an awesome husband have all helped along the journey. Some of these things didn't become apparent to me until after I'd spent a couple years teaching in a school just like the Oaks. Some didn't appear until after years of therapy. I didn't fully realize how much this culture had affected me until I became a mom. I have a spunky, independent, fearless 3-year-old daughter and I don't ever want her to have this school experience.
I want her to think broadly, to consider other perspectives, and to question the lessons she’s being taught. Teachers, myself included, are not infallible, and I don’t want her to accept the word of a teacher as absolute truth. I want her to respect her teachers and those around her, but also respectfully question a statement or directive she might not agree with. I want her to ask questions and search for answers, rather than blindly accept what she’s been told.
I want her to see teachers as a resource for help, not someone who will cast judgment and shame for failing an assignment or not understanding a lesson.
I want her to know she isn’t responsible for keeping boys from thinking “impure thoughts” or that she has to limit her intellect because of her gender. I want her to be her best self.
I want her to love people who make different choices than us, people who struggle, people who are born in different circumstances. I want her to be friends with those who don’t necessarily look like her, talk like her, or think like her. I want her to authentically love people. I want her to be kind. I want her to be helpful. I want her to be brave. I want her to have a more rounded experience than I ever got.
While I’m grateful for the financial commitment my parents made and their dedication to making the best decision they thought they could for our education, I know now that a school environment like the one I was immersed in isn’t healthy, and I wouldn’t make the same decision for my own family.
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