I’ve always hated being a “homeschooler.” No matter how they protest, those who use that term use it in a derogatory way. Even though most people really do know what they mean when they say “homeschooler,” I don’t think they can ever understand what it means to me.

Since I was small, I was embarrassed about who I was. I didn’t want to leave the house during school hours because of the inevitable question, “Why aren’t you in school?” And if you are honest, like I was raised to be, you aren’t rewarded for that honestly. No, instead you are sprayed down at close range with questions that are mostly rhetorical accusations.

And though it is usually adults that are on the firing squad, they direct their questions at the children. Thus you are put on trial to give an account for your upbringing—something you had absolutely no say in.

The receptionist, the grocery store clerk, the lady in the store line, etc: “Homeschooled! Wow! That’s great. How do you make friends?”

7-year-old me: “Um. I have friends!”

Everyone: “Oh, I see. Do you see them much?”

Me: “I see them at church, and sometimes they come over to play (about every three weeks)”

THEM: “Ah. So how do you study sciences? Can your mom really teach you all levels of math? How are you tested in history, geography . . . .”

They would go on with questions I tried hard to answer but simply couldn’t. This was because I didn’t know the answers. And year by year I grew more sure that I was far behind everyone else who had ever stepped foot in a public classroom. I was so far behind, I thought, that I was terrified of schooled children.

Yes, I was an extremely confident child, especially on the outside. However, when it came to carrying on a conversation about the latest albums, movies, magazines, or actors, I was pretty clueless and I knew it. I was slow with academics, horrible at sports, always on the chunky side, and not particularly good at any craftlike skills.

I remember being on the verge of tears one night reading a homeschooling magazine. Every child in featured was some self-starting braniac who would someday be the totalitarian leader of some utopian world order—or so his parents hoped. I remember some kids going to college at 13 and others owning businesses at 17. And where was I? Still struggling through geometry.

The ridicule was not only from within. Already we had been in churches that condemned homeshooling even from the pulpit. Parents would say things about our sheltered state or robotic actions that sank deep into my psyche. I was always outside trying to fit in.

I guess there was a time, when I was about 12, that I became proud of my homeschooler roots. I began to identify myself with the homeschooler realm and tried very hard to fit the mold. I used to bake my own bread, sew my own clothes, plant my own vegetables, write lots of letters and articles for little magazines my friends would put out, and all of those homeschooler things.

Yes, I wore the long demin jumpers, I had the long hair, I had the sweater with a big cat on the front, I had my oversized glasses and my sneakers with my skirts. My family drove around in a 13-passenger van and bought food in bulk. I used to sit on the front porch with my grandma and talk about old times, and I used to participate in teas with my “friends” from church. But somehow, I was miserable.

My older brothers were both gone by the time I was 15. This cut off most of the identity I had with my homeschooler “friends,” since I was used to riding on the coattails of my brothers’ popularity. I also began to volunteer at the local school which exposed me to school kids my own age. I worked with the kindergarteners so I only met one girl that stuck with me—a Cambodian girl named

Shortly after this, I took my California Proficiency exams and officially graduated (at 16-years-old). I went to work for a dentist as the “Sterilization Technician,” and I was pretty happy. I left this job to work for my dad when I was 17. Thought this job was strenuous, emotionally taxing, and obviously something I was not cut out for, all of my friends were getting jobs and living at home. I was miserable.

I guess I considered myself lucky, in a way. When I was little I can still remember thinking that I would be lucky to graduate 3rd grade let alone go to college. That mindset stayed with me all through high school and I never really entertained the thought of attending a real college.

Fortunatly, there was a woman teaching a writing class to homeschooled high schoolers. She decided that I would be her protégé forcing me to learn the art of writing well within one school year. By the end of that year I had written a 22 page term paper on utopianism that I am still proud of today.

She didn’t only crack the whip on my studies, but also on my college applications. Even when I applied to Simpson she said I should aim for Stanford and would not approve of my choice. She pushed me further than anyone had ever thought I could go.

But her view of homeschooling was just like everyone else’s. Supposedly I was controlled by my parents and had no mind of my own. I had no desire to leave home or think for myself. Nothing could have been further from the truth, and I soon realized that if I am ever to be treated as an adult and respected as a person, I would have to keep my past under wraps.

Simpson hasn’t been much different. If anything, it’s been worse. Everyone has their opinion of homeschooling, most of them negative. I tried to make homeschooler friends my freshman year, but I found that I didn’t fit in with that group too easily. When I did mention homeschooling or my past, I would usually hear the same old opionions and accusations(though these are usually stronger in college students) . Finally I realized that I need to let that past die. Even bringing it up in jokes began to hurt.

It really was not until the end of my Sophomore year that I came to terms with my past. After a long night with a friend who had pelted me with questions about the inadequacy of hmeschooing, I felt dumb. I was used to making fun of myself and my past, but now I realized it was more than that. I actually believed that in my own inadequacy. On top of that, I believed it was my own fault.

It was then that I realized my mistake. I did not raise myself. I did not make those choices for myself. Yes, it is more comfortable to believe that I had some say in how I grew up or who I am today, but the truth is I didn’t. The truth is I was a homeschooler. The truth is that I still am. It is an inextricable part of my nature that I can never remove.

Am I ashamed of that? Not anymore. I can’t change who I am, and therefore, I won’t apologize for it. I am no more screwed up by homeschooling than others are by public school, private school, minority roots, abusive parents, broken homes, etc. There have been things in everyone’s past that they had no control over.

To be honest, the homeschooling culture is one completely separate from mainstream culture. I identify with it in many ways. If others truly understood that culture, they would understand me so much better. But as it is, I won’t say anything. So far, I haven’t met anyone who wants to hear. Instead, I’ll remain “crazy mary” for no particular reason.