There was a line of mini vans and SUVs in the parking lot, and I pulled up in my convertible Celica with the top down, music blasting, and my spiky-haired teen and his skateboard riding shotgun.
It was our first day at the homeschool group/park day/play date/Chinese water torture. Call it a social experiment. I wanted to see what it was all about. I think it took the other homeschool mothers exactly .03 of a second to determine that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. What teaching method was I using? Charlotte Mason? Waldorf? Montessori? Unschooling?
I’m not sure. What do you call it when you hand your kid a stack of books and threaten great bodily injury if he doesn’t study them? That’s my teaching method.
And, of course, once my son was off socializing with the other kids, I was the main attraction for the Show and Tell hour. The McCarthy Hearings—a stroll through the park. The Spanish Inquisition—a cake walk. Try being grilled by two picnic tables full of OC homeschool moms.
I really wanted to fit in, so I decided to tell them all about me—I’d been a single mom for 13 years and wasn’t sure of the whereabouts of my son’s father. I worked as a topless dancer and had recently learned to cook meth in the bathtub of my double-wide trailer. To supplement my income, I started hosting same-sex orgies every Sunday after attending services at Saddleback Church. I was still obsessed about being dumped by the man of my dreams. And I’d always wanted to be a writer.
Ok…so I didn’t really say that. Well, not all of it anyway. But it certainly would’ve made the day more interesting if I had.
The Break-Up Diet 