Yesterday, at like 2 PM, the East Coast of the US suffered an earthquake. The earthquake that shattered my life came a little later in the evening. My aunt, the woman who has raised and nurtured me since shortly after my birth some twelve years ago, came home from what I had thought was just another business meeting in NY. Aunt Lina’s an artist; she sells her sculptures in galleries in Manhattan. It seems that Aunt Lina combined one of her sales with a little side trip to NJ – to look for a new place to live!!
And she’d found one!
Without asking me, without any input whatsoever, she’s decided that after nine-and-a-half years living on this ten acre farm that shares a border with 870 acres of protected woodlands, we need to move to the land of malls, sprawl, and Snooki. WHY?
Although my cousins Ronnie Kingfisher and Lizzie Smalloak didn’t bat an eye at Aunt Lina’s news, I could tell that they hadn’t known about this either. But it certainly explained the tension that had been building in Aunt Lina all summer long. There was a flicker of something between the cousins’ eyes, when Aunt Lina announced that she’d need them to stick around to help us pack for a move to NJ. Ron said he couldn’t – he was starting college on Monday. But Lizzie’s homeschooled like me. She said she’d see if any other cousins could give us a hand. Meanwhile, my head was reeling.
WHY?
Then the second bombshell hit.
“I’m going to have to enroll you in Junior High School,” Aunt Lina said as she pushed her computer case aside and sank down into one of the smoothly worn chairs that circled the old oak table in their kitchen. “After they take a look at your test scores and such, the school will decide what grade to put you into. I don’t think it wise that you skip too many grades, it will alienate you from your classmates if you are so much younger.”
“School? You mean—like in a building?” I heard myself whine as my mind raced to keep up with the pace of my life. “I thought I wasn’t – I mean, the homeschooling we’ve done has gone so well, why can’t we--”
“Randi, I--” My aunt reached out, as if in sympathy, but then she shook her head and put her arm down on the table. “Miranda, believe me that all that I do is in your best interest, even if it seems crazy. I have my reasons. One of them is socialization. Your studies and experiences have made you far more sophisticated than the children you do manage to get together with around here. You need to broaden your horizons. You need to go to school.”
Lizzie, who was standing behind Aunt Lina, raised an eyebrow. Most of my cousins from Pennsylvania are homeschooled. Although America considers herself enlightened and multicultural, the original culture of the land is often ridiculed. Much of that teasing comes while attending school – that’s why the Native American drop-out rate used to be so high. My family has solved this problem through homeschooling. Libraries have computers, kids can learn at their own pace, explore subjects of interest in greater depth than the average classroom allows for, and avoid the problems their parents had.
I knew from her tone that my aunt considered the conversation over. We would be moving to this new town, White Cedars, NJ, in time for me to start school on September 7th, or only miss a few days before starting. I listened as Aunt Lina described the house she’d chosen, the nature preserve nearby, and the famous park with the lake. I pictured houses squashed together, with no breathing space, no place to run. Why was she trapping me in such a cage?
I went to bed after midnight, but slipped out of my window to run through the woods with the night wind. Suddenly I realized how precious this freedom I’d had was. How could I give this up?
One of the assignments I’d been given by my homeschool team was to start a blog. It seemed stupid – what did I have to write about, anyway? But as I ran through the fields on my way back to my open bedroom window, it came to me. I could blog about my move. I could blog about school. I used to think that blogs were stupid—I mean, anybody could make anything up on the internet. Adults are always saying, “Just because it’s on the internet, that doesn’t mean it’s a fact.” Sure, anyone can write a blog on the internet and claim they’re a kid when they’re not. Yeah, I could be some creepy guy, living at home with his parents, who has nothing better to do than sit at his computer, making up stories. But I’m not. I’m a 12-year-old girl named Miranda (although I prefer Randi) who needs an outlet to write, yet remain anonymous. Invisible, I can be like a ghost on the internet. And unlike a journal, unless I choose to share this, there’s no book for anyone to find.
The only thing I know about NJ is that it’s what you go through to get to New York City. There’s an airport, oil refineries, the “shore”, and diners. Oh yeah, and their patron saint of music is Bruce Springsteen (unless you’re a Bon Jovi fan). Now I’m going to have to go live there! What am I getting into?
Until my next post…..
Randi
