The Fruit of Socialization

Many years ago I heard a radio program on NPR. This program featured an illustrious local superintendent of a county’s public education (it was so memorable that I have forgotten her name) who was the champion for governmental education and the debunker of home schools. Of course, the only argument that she could offer was that children should not be deprived of socialization and that this lack of society with a child’s peers would warp the home scholar’s mind.

After this character revealed her foolishness, the phone lines were opened and soon a father asked the superintendent the question that I would have asked: “What makes you think that you have a greater interest in my child’s education and well-being than I do?”

The answer is worthy of being placed in the Hall of Fame for Memorable Expressions just like Mr. Bush’s describing the war in Iraq as a “catastrophic success.” This superintendent replied, “I am better able to judge these things, because I am more objective, while you are too close to your children to see what they really need.”

I nearly fell out of my chair. What arrogance! Yet I have come to expect this attitude from socialists, the ultimate busybodies who trouble people who only want to mind their own business.

While I was listening to this nonsense, I began thinking about life as a kid and about my brother Rick. When Rick turned five years of age, my sister Carolyn and I decided to pool our fifteen years of life experience together and to plan the course of our little brother’s future. We both agreed that a five-year-old ought to know how to tie his own darn shoe laces.

So, after receiving a unanimous vote (2-0), we told Rick (who had no part in the proceedings) that we were going to teach him the art (some consider it a science) of tying one’s shoe laces.

Rick objected vehemently, pointing out that he wore cowboy boots except when he went to church on Sunday. In other words, my brother was asking for a good reason for his having to give up going outside and playing. Since neither my sister nor I were acquainted with critical thinking skills at this time, we simply said, “Because.”

That seemed to satisfy Rick. So we dragged out his Sunday shoes, and we went to work. Fifteen minutes went by, then thirty, and by the time forty-five minutes were up, Rick was tying his own shoes like a pro. Rick was so proud of himself that he ran to our mother and excitedly said, “Look Mommy! I can tie my own shoes.” To me, I felt like a teacher watching a student who knew he was going to pass his final examination. Rick’s performance was flawless. From his older sister and brother, Rick learned to do something that grownups did.

But as it was the norm in the days of the 1950s, children were expected to be herded onto busses and driven to a school. Rick was thrust into a classroom with a group of immature kids like himself. Of course, my sister and I were confined to our own cells with kids of a different level of immaturity. But we did feel older and wiser.

Many years later, Rick surprised me when he showed a better than average talent with music. He played the clarinet with superb interpretation and passion. Once when I was on leave from the Navy, I saw Rick perform in a high school music competition. I had never seen anything like this before. Here was an audience watching my brother play the clarinet accompanied by a young lady on the piano. I felt like yelling, “Rick, sit down and don’t make a fool of yourself!” Rick looked confident; I was a basket case of nerves. The piece was performed flawlessly, Rick took the honors that day, and I told him that I was proud to be his brother.

So, where is my brother Rick today? Rick died when he was 27 years old, a victim of childhood diabetes and public school socialization. Rick discovered he was a diabetic when he was in the sixth grade. By taking daily injections of insulin and controlling his diet, Rick kept his problem in check. However, when Rick was a senior in high school, his “friends” helped him to learn to drink alcohol. He came to band practice drunk one day, he was kicked out of the band, and he gave up pursuing his talent. But worse, Rick seriously jeopardized his health only so he could be recognized as belonging of the group.

Rick became a bitter and frustrated young man, and the best he seemed to do was to hold menial jobs. He had no ambitions for the future. Rick knew that his time was short due to his drinking alcohol. I had become a Christian at this time, and I did what I could to present the gospel of Christ to Rick. His refusal was adamant, and his hatred for “religion” was complete.

Nevertheless, our Lord was gracious, and Rick was later born again about two years before his death. In a matter of months, Rick was blind, and he lived with a fellow who attended the same church as Rick did. Rick took up the clarinet again to play in church. I was told that whenever he played, the music was so beautiful, some of the attendees wept. At Rick’s funeral, over one hundred members of the church attended, while only three of Rick’s former friends from school were there.

I often wonder if Rick did not experience socialization in the public school whether he would still be here today serving the Lord. Only God knows. I do know, however, that the strength of the home school is children learn to behave like adults, not like immature know-it-alls. I did not teach my brother to drink, to smoke, to cuss, or to tell dirty jokes. These “skills” were taught by his peers. When that superintendent said she was more concerned for children than parents were, I knew what she was. She was a liar, because all socialists are liars.