I Am What I Am
by Anne E. Ohman
Copyright ©, All Rights Reserved

          His note is taped to my mirror as a daily reminder of his unique contribution to our lives, to our universe. In handwriting and spelling that a teacher would surely frown upon, it reads, “I AM WAHT I AM.” Five words. Five short, simple words. But what a message. What a huge, wonderful, powerful concept for an eight-year-old boy to possess.
Jacob is the eight-year-old author of that note. Jacob is my child. Jacob is my child with special needs, although we did not know that fact the first eight or nine years of his life. And Jacob is the child that introduced his family to the world of homeschooling, and to the gifts of unschooling.
          From the moment he was born, my husband and I recognized that Jacob had an exceptional awareness of his world. His eyes possessed a knowledge that went far beyond a knowledge one could only receive from accumulated years on this earth. This child came into our world knowing truths that some people take a lifetime to discover.
As Jacob grew, our initial impression of him was continually confirmed. His acute awareness of the world made everything seem new to us, also, as we were seeing it through his eyes, from his unique perspective. The typical adults we encountered were confused, as their “Standard Approach to Talking to Children” did not work with Jacob. He subtly demanded and challenged adults to treat him as an equal, even as young as 18 months old. He spoke in perfect sentences at that age, corrected other people’s grammar, and interrogated everyone as they emerged from the bathroom as to the cleanliness of their hands. Before he was two years old, when an unsuspecting acquaintance asked if he could say, “Liverpool” (the city in which we resided at the time), Jacob responded with, “Yes. Can you say micropachysapholosaurus?”
          I don’t remember the exact moment when we decided Jacob would not go to school. I do remember him intently observing children on the school playground, some pushing, some shoving, most not even aware or caring that there was anyone else around them. These children’s faces and behavior were clearly focused on survival, not fun or happiness. I also remember Jacob watching the school bus and asking questions about it, questions that may have made other parents uncomfortable, about children leaving their mothers and their homes and traveling on that bus to the school. Jacob always settled for nothing less than the absolute truth. And I do remember that it was Jacob who decided once and for all that school was not for him. Those of us that knew him and loved him well agreed wholeheartedly that this child should not be confined to a room in a building for most of his day.
          Thus, from a very early age, we knew we would be homeschooling Jacob. Or rather, Jacob would continue to educate and enlighten us.
          Our homeschooling method was painfully determined with my first attempt at teaching this child some “schoolwork.” He resisted. I insisted. He yelled. I yelled. He cried. I cried. And it was over. Our attempt at schooling at home had failed.
As a result, our unschooling lives were born, even though at the time we did not know that the concept even existed, let alone was in practice.
          Unschooling was added to the already long list of gifts that Jacob peaceably yet firmly, required us to receive (some of the other gifts were breastfeeding on demand, child-led weaning, co-sleeping, giving generously to those less fortunate, and an insatiable curiosity). Like the other gifts he gave to his family, this gift of unschooling was not intended solely for his own benefit. Unschooling has been a gift to our entire family, one that now defines our very way of life. And it has been this gift of unschooling that has saved this child’s spirit, his self-concept and all of our sanities. Because we never attempted to fit our a-typical child into the society-typical box, we were unaware of the fact that that society-typical box held labels for him. High-functioning autism, dyslexia, sensory integration dysfunction, asynchrony. To us he was Jacob, our child, celebrated and loved and honored as every child has a right to be.
          As Jacob reached age nine, challenges surfaced that previously had gone undetected because of our unschooling lifestyle and our conviction to let him be himself. He had always held a small level of anxiety in his spirit, for his awareness of the world not only brought enlightenment, but also disturbing knowledge his young years were not prepared for. When his mild anxiety increased, his fine and large motor skills showed no signs of advancing as he got older, and his beloved quirks became more intense, my husband and I knew it was time to find some answers. It was not our plan to label him. It was not our intention to research his challenges in order to improve him, change him, or fix him. It was merely our intent to own a better understanding of him. It was our goal to find answers that would enable us to bring more joy and less stress into Jacob’s already very free life.
          Suddenly, I had an insatiable hunger for information from parents who had experience with the same challenges. I read numerous books and joined on-line lists, yet only grew increasingly frustrated with the answers I was receiving. It seemed the focus of the books and the lists was always the same: advice was given to assist you in forcing your special needs child into that society-typical box, mainly the school box, and even with homeschoolers, it was the school-at-home box. The children are forced to fit into those boxes, no matter how demeaning and defeating it is to their happiness and their peace. And here were experts to give you advice on how to do it. According to them, there was no alternative.
          To further my research and also have the opportunity to speak face-to-face with other parents, I attended my county’s very first support group meeting for families with children in the autistic spectrum. As the meeting began, we members were to go around the room and share our stories. I felt excited. I love to share stories about my children. I couldn’t wait to hear others But as I listened to these parents’ stories, my heart was filled with a heaviness and a deep sadness for their children. The parents’ stories were about their child’s “disabilities,” and their struggle to get appropriate services from the school and understanding from the teachers. Their stories were filled with pain and anger and a fierce determination to fight the system. One thing was clearly and devastatingly missing from their stories: the children themselves.
          When it was my turn to share my story, I took a deep breath and held my sweet Jacob in my mind, my heart. And I spoke. I spoke of my child who has always been so spirited, so unique, and who has so blessed our lives. I spoke of my child who is at times challenging, but is thus able to teach us things about ourselves and about our lives and about love that we could not have learned otherwise. I spoke of my child who has never been forced to be someone he was not, who is never expected to fit into someone else’s idea of who he should be, and who has always been celebrated for being exactly who he is. I spoke about our unschooling lives. And as I spoke, all was silenced. Every face was turned toward me, every eye was on me, some containing tears, and on every lip was a smile. I spoke the same way I parented, with the focus on the child and the gifts of the child, not the challenge.
          I never returned for a second meeting. I learned all I needed to know that night. I learned that the answers were already within us, and we were living them every day. My insatiable hunger for knowledge about Jacob’s special needs was replaced with the ultimate reinforcement that our present unschooling life was still the answer. It was time to put the research down and continue with life, yet with a new understanding, compassion and empathy for those gifts that make Jacob so unique.
          The unschooling gifts of freedom, of living a life directed by your own passions and your own desire for knowledge, of learning exactly what you are capable of and what you find challenging without anyone judging or grading the outcome…those are gifts that I believe every child has a right to. I believe in unschooling for all children. But I especially believe in unschooling for these special needs children who see the world from a unique perspective. For when allowed to follow their own hearts and their own minds, that unique perspective will serve to bless not only their own lives, but the lives of those around them, as well as the entire world.
          Jacob is my child. Jacob is my child with special needs. His first and foremost special need? He needs the freedom to be exactly who he is. I have learned that from him. I have learned to take that lesson into my daily life and grant that freedom to everyone I encounter. And every single day, as I read Jacob’s note to me, I pray that all people everywhere will celebrate themselves and know what this child was born knowing: