It was August 1992.
Two weeks into September, her materials were ready. I’d worked hard to meticulously develop Greek language, art, math, and abundant other lessons from scratch into a homemade curriculum. Along with the strictly set goals and timelines I’d set for my wide-eyed curly-haired daughter, came my conviction that it was also my responsibility to develop her latent giftings.
Public school had already started and we were behind.
The pressure I felt over that should have been my first warning. As we sat down to go over the lessons, Angela wiggled in her seat excited to begin. However, even before that first lesson was over, I should have seen the shadow in her eyes.
Over the next few days, I didn’t teach my daughter, I drove her. As my frustration grew, so did hers. I would impatiently call her and she would join me at the table, progressively more reluctant each day. I watched my generally bubbly child turn surly and desperately wondered what was wrong. I continued to drive our school time toward my own ends while Angela stared back at me with flat expressionless eyes.
I still didn’t get it.
Then, one day she stubbornly refused to open the book I handed to her. Shaking her head firmly no - she stared back - her eyes wide and sad.
I could only stare helplessly back.
This unexpected swerve in Angela’s attitude jolted me. I stepped back from what we were doing to look at the big picture. That’s when I knew my approach lacked something. It didn’t take long to figure out I was the problem and that my daughter’s very desire to learn was in jeopardy.
I went to the library to do some research.
Hours later I returned home with an armful of books, determined to make learning fun. Angela warily eyed me skeptically but brightened up when I told her there would be no school until after Christmas.
A few weeks later, we faced each other once again.
This time it wasn’t over a rigidly prepared curriculum, nor was I sitting at the table braced for a contest of wills. I patted the floor beside me, looked up at her and stretched my lips into a smile saying, “Angie, today we’re going to play a game - in fact we’re going to play several…”
Not long ago, my not-so-little Angela left home.
Thankfully, because the Lord got my attention, Angela’s desire to learn resurfaced during that early experience. Today she faces life with a teachable attitude, convinced studying can be fun.
Me? I’ve become a blend of student and teacher, never again just the one.