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Kent Slocum reads with the passion and timing of a Baptist preacher
four times his age. During his family’s morning devotional, his
squeaky 10-year-old voice glides smoothly over ancient Biblical names
like “Balak, son of Zippor, the King of Moab,” pausing to
emphasize the message of the day …
“Now fear the Lord, and serve him in all faithfulness.”
Kent’s serious face, buried in his thick leather-bound Bible,
seems out of place above his red and blue choo-choo train slippers
that swing back and forth, barely touching the floor.
“As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”
This is reading class for the five Slocum children, all home schooled
by their mother, Mellissa, a petite brunette with the patience of Job.
The Slocums struggle over timed math quizzes and phonics flash cards.
They take spelling tests and give book reports. But they also start
each morning discussing how all the children, from Kent down to 20-month-old
Kirsten, can serve the Lord by cheerfully doing their schoolwork and
picking up their toys.
Nestled in their picture-perfect suburban home, complete with a small
white picket fence in front of the playhouse, this family of unlikely
rebels includes five of the two million American children whose parents
are rejecting the public school system in favor of an education that
integrates the three R’s with moral and ethical values.
The U.S. Census Bureau estimates growth in home schooling at 15 to
20 percent per year – tens of thousands of children. Oregon has
one of the nation’s fastest growing home-school populations,
estimated at more than 20,000 students statewide in 2006. In Eugene,
the small Western Oregon city where the Slocums live, official records
suggest that the number of home schoolers has doubled during the past
ten years. But Michelle Martin, home school coordinator for the local
school district believes the numbers may be much higher. Home schoolers
are fiercely independent. As many as a third don’t even check
in with the school district, she estimates.
As more and more families leave the public school system, lawmakers
across the nation are taking notice and introducing new rules and requirements — in
some cases, requiring a specific curriculum, in others, regular achievement
tests. In Oregon, standardized tests are already a reality, and families
like the Slocums worry about what the state will demand next.
Since the modern home school movement began 30 years ago, liberal
and conservative families have fought for the right to educate their
children at home, free from the influence of government, the goal;
being to raise idealistic kids with a clear vision about how the world
works and the ability to fight for their beliefs.
For the Slocums, it’s a Jesus-centered Christianity that shapes
daily life. For others, it’s a fear that the regimentation of
school restricts kids’ creativity or a general mistrust of government
institutions borne of 1960s activism.
Advocates of home schooling say that parents who demand the right
to teach their children that God created the world in seven days or
that George W. Bush has committed war crimes could be raising passionate
people who will cast off the apathy of their generation to become leaders.
Detractors say they could be raising naïve ideologues who will
further exacerbate the nation’s political divide with an inability
to compromise — a generation of soldiers being readied for the
culture wars.
This ongoing controversy has led sociologists to label home schooling
a “social movement,” and to accuse home schoolers of exacerbating
an “atomized society” where no one has a sense of civic
duty and national identity. For perhaps the first time in recent history,
the average parents can raise a child completely protected from the
larger culture without being seen as social outcasts. They can home
school, rent videos, get their news from blogs that echo their perspective
and spend time with like-minded families. The Slocums, for example,
don’t watch TV. They listen to Christian music. The kids don’t
go to Cub Scouts; instead, they learn Bible verses and play games with
other Christian kids at Awana Club.
Parents like the Slocums believe it is their job is to protect their
children. Why should they abdicate that responsibility during
the school day, particularly when teenagers are shooting their classmates
and baby-faced junior high kids are having sex.
They start each day with prayer and worship. Kent asks God for help so
he doesn’t “blow his temper” when he corrects his English
work. Kaiser, a six-year old with a mischievous twinkle behind his royal
blue glasses, asks God to keep him from tripping when he jumps on the
trampoline.
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