18
Education Is Power
The biggest change I experience being back at the Farm is the absence of schooling. When I left America, I knew that if I wanted a high school education, I would have to take responsibility to get it. While the Family has created more learning resources since I was a little kid, there are no school materials for high school. The Family still disapproves of education beyond grade school.
I tell my parents that I want to get my high school degree. I’ve had a taste of knowledge, of being good at something, and I want more. To my great surprise, Dad is indifferent as long as I have time to work on the Farm, and Mom strongly supports my desire to study.
She sends for the CLE homeschool course from the Mennonites, the course the American teen girls used when we were traveling in the camper. Each subject is taught in paper booklets that look like newspapers, with only drawings of Mennonites—no photos. No one can say it has any worldly influence. Those kids are more restricted than we are.
When I receive my materials, I realize this is not just homeschooling; it is self-teaching. I must have the self-discipline to study by myself for hours every day.
In the morning, while Mom teaches Nina and Jondy, I sit at a scratched, gray metal desk facing the wall in our old living room, which has now become my classroom, and study. I read the instructional material, complete the exercises, then take the quiz. At the end of each booklet is a test. At first, Mom holds the answer key until I complete the test. But eventually she decides it’s not worth it. “You’re on the honor system,” she says as she hands over all the books and answer sheets. If I am going to learn, it is up to me.
In school in America, I had teachers who could answer my questions and show me what I was missing. Here, it’s me and a book with little explanation. As difficult and foreign as it was being thrust into a traditional classroom setting back in Atlanta, having to catch up to my peers in subjects I knew nothing about, I enjoyed being taught by people who were educated in the fields of study they were teaching. Teaching myself is infinitely harder. There is no one to ask if I don’t understand something or if I’d like to discuss a concept or subject further. Dad never went to high school, and Mom says it was so long ago, she doesn’t remember much of it. Back in Georgia, at a traditional school, I also had the peer pressure of the classroom, competition with other kids, to push me.
With dogged determination, I sit down every day. Churchill’s words from my childhood “I Can” project stick with me: “Never give in, never, ever, ever . . .” As long as I can read, I can teach myself anything—except maybe algebra.
Plenty of days I grow bored or want to scream with frustration when I can’t figure out a tough math problem and the exercise book gives no explanation, just the correct answer. But having a goal, finishing each workbook, gives me a sense of progress that keeps me moving forward. My struggles and ultimate triumphs leave me feeling more fulfilled, and I realize I’m capable of even more than I imagined.
After I start on the CLE course, Mom begins to quietly champion it within the Family. She writes to Mama Maria and WS recommending these outside schoolbooks for Family kids who might want to continue their education. The Childcare Handbook doesn’t quite cut it, she explains, perhaps there should be an option for teens who might want to study beyond sixth grade. Even the second-grade CLE booklets she’s been using with Nina could help families looking for a more structured curriculum. Mom doesn’t get a response from Mama Maria or any recognition that she has even received her correspondence, but sure enough, within two years the CLE books are recommended by WS leadership and are widely adopted by Family members to teach their children.
I’m fifteen, but I feel like an adult. It’s harder and harder to be deferential to my mother. When she tries to restrict me, I push back. In the Family, teens are given the responsibilities of adults but still monitored and disciplined like kids. At the Farm, I’d never seen a young person yell at an adult; we were slapped if we dared to talk back. But back in America, I’d seen the teen girls we had camped with talk back, disrespect, even yell at their mother. I begin to try it all. Does she think that after I supported her in America, she can go back to treating me like a kid?
Soon Mom and I are having yelling fights when she tries to tell me I can’t do something that I have determined is acceptable. I know better than her, and I can prove my point.
I get so angry every time she mortally embarrasses me in public. She flirts outlandishly with handsome men she meets; talks about sex loudly in public elevators; and says inappropriate things about people, including me, only to cover it with an innocent girl grin, saying, “Oops, did I say too much?”
But still, even though we fight, our shared hardships in America have brought us closer.
A year into my studying, Mom calls me over. “Faith, I want to show you something.” She is holding a color brochure. “This is Thomas Edison State University. They’ll let me get college-degree credits by taking CLEP (College Level Examination Program) exams and sending in proof of my skills and the occupational work I’ve done over the years in the Family. With this, I can get a college degree by correspondence!”
I’m amused that she’s found a way to get a degree that’s a compromise between her need to feel safe and her Family beliefs, and I sympathize with the unspoken fear under her excitement.
While she still believes in Grandpa and his teachings, she no longer trusts the Family leadership. After Thailand, she never wants to let people have that kind of power over her again, so she wants to be prepared to take care of herself and her children outside the Family if necessary.
I give her a hug, and she tucks away the brochure. We’re already skating a fine line with my high school education, but college is clearly prohibited as a worldly, useless waste of time. I don’t say a word to anyone. Dad knows, but she keeps her school binders hidden from any visiting Family members.
This is not our only secret.
Two days later, Mom asks if I want to go with her to Hong Kong. She is vague about the purpose, but I jump at the chance to get off the Farm and see the speeding rat race of city life again.
On the ferry ride from Macau, she tells me that she’s stored some money for emergencies and to pay for her college credits. As we walk into the HSBC headquarters, she whispers, “Remember, don’t tell anyone about this, not even your dad.”
“I promise,” I assure her.