Chapter 1: Section 1

BECAUSE THE CHAPTERS ARE SO LONG, I WILL BE POSTING JUST SMALL SECTIONS EACH POST FOR EASIER READING: ENJOY!!
(ALSO THE TAB DOESN'T WORK, SO EXCUSE THE LAYOUT)


CHAPTER 1: DEMOCRATIC IS NOT A POLITICAL PARTY

“No one has ever been educated in school or college. The reason is simply itself - immaturity - is an insuperable obstacle to becoming educated... Education comes later, usually much later. The very best thing for our schools to do is to prepare the young for continued learning in later life by giving them the skills of learning and the love of it.” Mortimer Adler

“So, what exactly are you traveling for, “ asked Peter.
“Well, this may or may not seem interesting to you but I am doing research for a book I hope to write about progressive and alternative forms of education other than the standard public school model.” I stated this with a slight wince at the end like I was gearing up for a punch in the face. I was still protective of the idea and allowed myself to get knocked back by other’s negativity.
“Like what? What other forms are there?”
AHHH! See, I thought to myself, this is why I have to do this! People really just do not know.
“Oh, there are a ton of philosophies and progressive movements. I really had no idea when I started this what I was actually getting myself into.“ I was trying to speak slowly and somewhat casually even though my foot was on the gas pedal just a rev rev revving. “There’s Montessori, Waldorf, Sudbury or Democratic----”
“Oh Jeannie! A Democratic school!!” Peter snickered behind a snide look.
“No, Peter, it’s not political like some school for the liberal Democratic party. It has nothing to do with left wing verses right wing whatsoever. It’s a movement based on education through the principles of true democracy.”
“Oh, I was going to say!”
Peter is my wonderful friend who happens to be a Republican and also who happens to be gay - a dichotomy I like to tease him about.
“Democratic educators believe that children should be in complete control of how they get educated. They believe that there should be no preconceived curriculum, no grading, no testing, no planned classes even - total freedom.”
“Well, can you really call it school then?”
“That’s really the main point right there then, isn’t it? They don’t believe that children should be “schooled” but instead be the discoverers of knowledge on their own terms and in their own timeline. They think that children actually learn and retain things better that way.”
“Hmmm....” he wasn’t convinced but he was open. “Well, I don’t know if I’ll read your book, but I’ll buy one.”
One down, one million to go.

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“Here’s your key.” I was handed a small cartridge.
“How do I make it work? Isn’t there a button to push to make the key pop out?”
“No, you put the whole cartridge in.”
“Into where?”
Then I saw it. Red. Washed. New. An Electric Hybrid. My little Prius friend for 2 days here in Salt Lake City.
“I get to drive that?”
“Um, yeah, I guess so,” stated my Advantage Rental Car helper seemingly rather bored with me already.
“So, put the cartridge in the slot there, hit the break and press the power button.”
“There’s a POWER button! Of course!” If you can’t tell, I was beyond elated. My rather over dramatic whimpering at the horrible one day rental car price of 94 buckaroos was now just a distant whining in my mind.
“Be sure to press the break in and then the shifter is kind of weird you just click it into R or D and then it clicks back to the center, but it will do what you tell it. The car will say “Ready” and yeah, that’s it.”
Me! In a Prius. I could hear the granola crunching as I sunk into the drivers seat.
I made my way through the grid town of Salt Lake City. It’s true, the lay out of the town just makes sense. Sure it might be nicer to say that you live at 7 Skyline verses 4277 S 1140 E, but getting lost is nearly impossible. If you’re looking for 3000 S well you can sure bet that it will come after 2800 S. Aside from my momentary freak out at a stop light where I was convinced the car had stopped and I would have to stop Salt Lake City traffic to find someone who could help me restart a hybrid, I electrified along towards my first destination: Sego Lily School.
I looked up and noticed what my three brothers happily called The Dolly Par-Tons looming in front of me; a huge mass of a mountain topped with 2 large and prominent peeks busting out of a blue sky bustier. Then it hit me. I was in the city that I was born. How ironic it was that the actual place of my birth is also the place where the birth of my journey begins. Joseph Campbell would love that! I didn’t mean for it to happen this way. Rewind.

My finger hovered nervously over the return key feeling like Michaelangelo on the Sistine Chapel ceiling with his index finger extended towards God. If I clicked “Send” I was in essence starting something that I couldn’t stop. I would be putting our family in a huge financial bind, I would be putting myself into extreme commitment with the schools, I would be asking for the unwavering support of my mom and husband who would be watching after my children’s well-being while I traveled. That’s a lot to be responsible for. Oh well, I told myself whoever responds first is the school that I will go to first. Then I’ll just let it ride. Send.

“What an exciting journey! We would love for you to tour our school. Rebecca Cob. Sego Lily School. Salt Lake City, Utah.”

I drove towards Murray Holladay Road, literally four miles from the Murray Hospital in which I was born, and pulled into the parking lot. Entering the school I was greeted with a large, open room containing a large table in the middle and cozy looking couches flanking the walls. A cork board and dry erase board with notices were to the right of the entryway. A giant map of the United States covered half of the wall opposite me. It felt like a house, it felt like a classroom, which was purposeful and well, unavoidable. Democratic schools want to convey a feeling of homeyness, a place to feel like a family or a community. And in reality the school was inside of an actual house purchased and then converted into the Sego Lily School. Three faces looked up. “Are you Jeannie?”
“Yes,” I said relieved. My nerves had been creeping around slowly inside of me making a small wreck of my stomach, palms and armpits. I know. Why possibly would I be nervous? I’m following my dream, I’m just visiting a bunch of 4-18 year olds and viewing how they spend their day, what could possibly go wrong? Yet, it wasn’t WHAT I was doing that was giving me that wet mop look. Like anyone making the decision to be vulnerable to their passion in life and to plow forward with all odds against them, well, I felt a little naked. And with sweaty armpits, that is never pretty. I had no idea what I was entering into.
The democratic education model may appear like Lord of the Flies run amok. Prior to my visit I pictured myself paddling quietly in a canoe to the shores of some lush island. Upon beaching myself I would then be greeted by some child in a fur loin cloth carrying a spear with a past teacher’s head spiked on the top, mouth opened in mid sentence as if about to say, “Number 2 Pencil.” I would be questioned, my lap top would be confiscated and I would be lead back to their camp. “But I’m not here to change you!” I would scream. “ I want to LEARN!” And that of course would be the wrong thing to say and I’d end up dinner.