Sonlight uses a lot of literature. I doubt it's a literal ton, but there could easily be a thousand pounds of books in Sonlight's Pre-K through High School Cores.

My mom, however, reads a ton of books. Literally. All this literature has given her the ability to guess plots. Most notably was this:

***Spoiler Alert for a 2004 film***

We sat down to watch The Village. The movie opens with a community meal. A crazed young man claps his hands and stares off wildly into the forest.

My mom, who doesn't watch thriller type films, looks over at me and says, "Oh, it's a world within a world story."

What!?! Come on! How could she know that?

***End spoiler***

My mom said that it was "obvious" because "directors like to show you things with subtle clues."

Uh-huh.

That very well may be the case. But the fact of the matter is that my mom knows so much story theory that she can pick up on the arch of a tale within the first few minutes of it starting. You don't get that kind of knowledge from studying literature theory. You don't gain those insights by reading textbooks on authorial intent. You don't pick up on those subtleties when you write an essay on symbolism.

No. You gain that skill by enjoying stories. You gain that skill by reading a ton. And, thankfully, Sonlight provides the first half of that ton in our homeschool programs.

 ~Luke Holzmann
Filmmaker, Writer, Surrogate Father

I love writing. I have since before I could write. One of the things I love the most about writing is that I am a genius. My prose and poetry is brilliant. I thoroughly enjoy going back and reading those things I've written that speak directly to the human condition, elicit long lost emotions and share insights into the darkest recesses of human knowledge.

But here's the catch: I hate listening to others read my stuff.

The luster is gone. My thoughts sound like inane babble. My gorgeous mastery of the English language is suddenly replaced with a hideous cacophony of poor sentence structure and pathetic reasoning. I'm an idiot. I should never write again.

Sometimes this reality strikes me when I revisit old passages and posts. I look upon a foreign text, something that could not possibly have flowed from my thoughtful and practiced fingers. I am disgusted. And then I wonder: Why do people read this stuff?

I've been revisiting some of my older posts.

For those of you who waded through those early days of blogging for Sonlight, I commend you! Thanks for swinging by and encouraging me. Your presence here spurred me onward to where I am today.

Today, though, I'm more wary of my writing. I read articles about how, if I were a good blogger, I'd write about you more than about me. I would ask questions more than make statements. My confidence shattered I wonder: Why does anyone read this blog?

Why do you read this blog? What makes you come back here again and again?

They--whoever "they" are--suggest that you be yourself on your blog. "Don't fake it," these nameless gurus say. And so I don't. I continue in my narcissistic outpouring of thoughts and experiences.

Is this one of the beautiful things of a good education--to love what we do and find pleasure in it?

I think so.

My parents let me explore my abilities, praised my efforts and continued to nudge me to hone my strengths. That, in turn, made learning a joy. And as we master things, the doing becomes fun as well. Which is likely why I love writing and find my words so insightful.

That's not to say that tears and correction are not a part of the struggle to master something. But I believe a slightly irrational belief in one's own brilliance is a boon to learning how to produce brilliant things.

Do you see that in your own children or in your life?

 ~Luke Holzmann
Filmmaker, Writer, Surrogate Father

...alt title: "If Aesop Tweeted"

As the warm water poured over me this morning in the shower, I thought of a great blog topic.

Now I have forgotten it.

Like the fox giving up on obtaining some grapes, I'd like to think my idea wasn't very good anyway. But, like the fable, that likely isn't the case.

"Write me a sticky," my mother tells me. I do the same for myself if I need to remember something. The bright yellow square slapped on my wallet or phone is an excellent reminder to bring my camera or return things to the library.

Unfortunately, stickies don't survive well in the shower.

As a busy homeschool parent I'm sure there are many things you would forget if not for the tools you've found. Here are four things that help me keep track of stuff:

1. Stickies
2. Computer scratch pad
3. Whiteboard
4. Desktop "notes.txt" file

I've even entertained the idea of texting a Tweet to myself when I'm away from a computer and don't have access to paper and pen. I haven't been that desperate yet.

Might be fun though.

So how about? Do you write notes to yourself in your IG? On your fridge? On your kid's forehead? How do you keep track of your homeschool tasks, schedule, shopping list and such?

 ~Luke Holzmann
Filmmaker, Writer, Surrogate Father

He was tall, but thin. Hardly more than a 110 pounds. At just over 6 feet he resembled a twig. His giant XXL t-shirt only reinforced his skeletal form. The 80 pound backpack caused him to hunch.

He was headed to class.

A larger boy with a familiar face approached him. Something was wrong. The larger boy threw his shoulder into him, causing him to stumble against the wall.

'What?'

The other boy walked on. The skinny kid watched him go and wondered what his name was and why he was mad at him.

I doubt I'll ever know.

Bully

I hadn't thought of that experience in years, but it came back to me when I read Danielle's post on the difference between homeschooled and "traditionally" schooled kids. Why, she asks, do homeschooled kids behave better?

First, allow me to dispel a myth: I wasn't a little angel when homeschooled. I specifically remember dropping my sister on her face once when she made me angry. She must have forgiven me because she's never brought it up. That, or the memory got knocked out of her...

But even though we fought like siblings, we were pretty good kids. We worked hard. We enjoyed the Sonlight books. We poured our blood, sweat and tears--lots of tears--into our writing assignments. And while I was a little shy and awkward in groups, I never hip checked someone into a wall. That simply was not something you did to those outside your family. Your little brother when he was driving you crazy... sure, but not someone you hardly knew.

For whatever reason there is a different set of social rules in a "traditional" school. Picking on people is common. Making fun of others is socially acceptable. Physically assaulting another is just a fact of life.

Which is so very odd to those coming from the other world, the world where socialization has kicked in and constructive criticism, encouragement and mature behavior is expected of you even if you're still at the stage in life where the only recourse to your rage is throttling your punk little brother.

Second, I listened to my teachers. I played their game. I followed directions. And if I disagreed, I spun their demands back on them--completely complying without doing what they wanted.

Perhaps it was the freedom of homeschooling that opened me up to this possibility. I knew I needed to follow the rules, but that didn't mean that I needed to agree with them. And that didn't mean that I had to be silent about my disagreement. But those "in the system" don't always know that. At least for those kids--like the bully in hall--who didn't care much for school, the only offensive move was to tune out, drop out, opt out. Not so with me. The way to respond was to so perfectly adhere to the rules so as to show the insanity of them. There was always a creative solution to push back, if I only had enough energy and time to make it happen.

So are homeschoolers the well behaved bunch?

Yes and no.

There were days when I know I was an unholy terror for my mom (sorry, mom). I know for a fact I was a defiant little punk by the time I got to public school. But my defiance took a different form from that of my peers. Rather than based in an apathetic tuning out, mine was rooted in an indignation at the frivolous nature of my work or assignment. So I became more engaged. I put more effort into my work. I dug even deeper.

That may be a sign of maturity. But at the moment I think the difference is taking personal responsibility and doing what you can to overcome the obstacle.

Homeschooling taught me that I had options. It was my responsibility to learn. It was up to me to set things right. And that didn't happen when I picked on others. It happened when I took things head on.

 ~Luke Holzmann
Filmmaker, Writer, Surrogate Father