Something about the book makes me think, with joy, of my relationship with my children. And it makes me think, too, with sadness, about my relationship with my father.
I love the book's final lines. They affirm to me why no parent should ever not want to homeschool.
. . . Okay. Forgive me. Let me put that positively.
The final lines affirm to me why all parents should want to homeschool their children . . . and why I feel the pleasure of continuing in relationship with my children now that they are all "out of the house" and forging ahead with their own lives . . . yet my wife and I are still involved with them. What a privilege!
Have you ever really had a teacher? One who saw you as a raw but precious thing, a jewel that, with wisdom, could be polished to a proud shine? If you are lucky enough to find your way to such teachers, you will always find your way back. Sometimes it is only in your head. Sometimes it is right alongside their beds.
The last class of my old professor’s life took place once a week, in his home, by a window in his study where he could watch a small hibiscus plant shed its pink flowers. The class met on Tuesdays. No books were required. The subject was the meaning of life. It was taught from experience.
The teaching goes on.
