Unschoolers in College: Choosing a College
by Peter Kowalke

Starting this issue, Home Educator’s Family Times will be reprinting Peter Kowalke’s column about the transition from homeschooling to college. The story begins in the spring of 1998, when Peter’s about to leave for college.

Two years ago, in 1996, I was a concerned 17 year-year-old lifelong unschooler. I was concerned because many of my friends were taking S.A.T.s and visiting college campuses. These were my home-educated friends. My schooled friends, who were numerous at the time, were not only visiting colleges and taking tests I never even knew existed, but also were wracking-up scholarships and completing AP classes for supposed college credit. I didn’t even know what it meant to be taking “AP.” Could I take AP for college credit, too?

I knew little about college or how to get there. All I knew was that the ultimate indicator of whether or not unschooling “worked” hinged upon the question of college. If I made it into college, I had avoided an educational failure. I’d dump into a common pool with the school kids and there would be no more comparisons. This alone was reason to attend college; I wouldn’t have to wear my metaphorical unschooling badge wherever I went.
Not to say that I wasn’t proud of unschooling. I was very proud, and I found myself preaching the merits of unschooling. I was tired, however. As I remarked in a "New York Times article about home education, “The way I figure, I’m so tired of the trials of home schooling that I want to sample the trials of college.” It was a telling statement—I was very drained from the constant comparison with “school kids.” That, ironically, was the trials I experienced while learning at home.

The big problem with preparing for college like my contemporaries was the simple fact that I wasn’t ready for college; my interests and career path vacillated wildly. For two months, I wanted to be a doctor. Then, I wanted to be a computer programmer. A career as an electrical engineer came to mind, but so did the lifestyle of a stockbroker. Maybe I wanted to be a quantum physicist or a mathematician (regardless of the fact that I hadn’t touched mathematics in years)? How about a career as an advertising executive, entrepreneur or artist? Making matters worse, my friends all assumed that I would be an English major or journalist. After all, I did write for nearly five hours a day and thanklessly devote myself to "Nation”, my small-press magazine. How could I choose the right college when I was completely and absolutely undecided in what capacity I would earn my living?

Direction was not the only concern. Following my own schedule for the past seventeen years and having never gone to school, the thought crossed my mind: Could I handle a classroom setting, homework, tests, grades? Would abruptly thrusting myself into the collegiate world be a smart idea, going from the warm environs of my relaxed family life to the cold atmosphere of a classroom?

In an attempt to stall the collegiate decision and gradually segue into a four-year school, I enrolled in a summer course at the local community college.

Getting into Lakeland Community College wasn’t difficult. As a way to defray some of the costs of college, community colleges have become popular as a method for satisfying the introductory-level courses at four-year schools. You attend small, inexpensive classes at a community college, then transfer to a four-year institution and head directly into advanced subjects. In Ohio, where I live, high school students are even allowed to attend classes at community colleges for duel credit—high school and college credit all at once. Only seventeen, under the duel enrollment policy I was allowed to enter during their summer term when policies were more flexible. I had to take Lakeland’s placement tests to determine if I would need remedial work or could head directly into college level courses, but basically I could prove myself worthy of college through a back door. If I did well in my summer algebra class, they really had no reason to deny me access in the fall, when I would take the next course in their math sequence.

Hence, without any fanfare or movement to a dorm, technically I’ve been in college for the past two years (although I took a partial load my first few terms). I still don’t know where I want to “go” to college, though. I’ve been institutionalized now and no longer see “unschooler” as a part of my identity, I am rightly considered a college student, and I have credits to show for my college education. But, essentially I still am trying to answer the questions of two years ago: Where do I attend college, and for what
reasons?

Attending Lakeland has given me valuable insight on the matter, despite my unwavering inability to settle down with a single occupational goal. After making the Dean’s List every term and thoroughly accepting the college mentality—including the code that college students must never pass up a free meal—I’ve come to realize a very important distinction: I like being an unschooler! In fact, after removing the fluctuating inferiority/superiority complex from years of unschooling, home education sounds pretty compelling again.

Currently, I’m in the process of resurrecting my unschooler identity. My sixteen year old brother, Adam, still is unschooling. He’s kept me moderately plugged into the ideals and passions of self-directed learning, but some of my unschooler creativity has atrophied. I no longer envision touring the country by bike or other unschooler-worthy activities like starting a homeless shelter. No, I’m a college kid and my single duty is to read chapters one through five of To Read Literature before the weekend. I attend class, take notes, rush through homework and discuss tests with other disgruntled students. The process of rebuilding my unschooler enthusiasm for knowledge has called forth an increased emphasis in real-world activities, like competing in the Cleveland Poetry Slam and working as a freelance graphic artist. All of the energetic activities I see when I visit other home-educated families is what I am trying to reproduce and refocus upon. My two-year experiment with traditional education has left me “educated,” sure, but subtly it feels obtuse and inefficient. I only notice the difference when talking with some of my homeschooler friends, when removed from the system.
I’ve been removing myself from the system a lot in the last few months.
If removing myself from traditional education is a priority, how much am I willing to deviate and/or sacrifice to keep myself removed? How much is healthy? Taking a cue from the film Good Will Hunting, should I determinedly rush to the library and forget about college, instead immersing myself in the treasures of dusty books? Or, should I pursue unschooler activities such as my magazine while attending a big, traditional university such as Ohio State? Should I be in the system or not?

Valuing the power of a diploma and the aid of a quantum physics professor, and exhibiting a firm affinity for moderation, I’m betting on the middle ground. Armed with the knowledge that I am interested in more than just a good academic school (although I did apply to Stanford), recently I’ve begun looking at non-traditional schools such as Goddard, Antioch and Hampshire College. Hampshire, in particular, has piqued my interest. They sold me when they declared "no grades, no majors, no tests" and went on to espouse the merits of self-directed learning. After a visit on campus and many good words from other unschoolers, I think I am sold. I’m moving to Amherst, Massachusetts in the fall.

For the first time in recent memory, I eagerly anticipate the end of summer. I feel content, too, armed with the knowledge that I’m not compromising my ideals. A big question still remains, however. Having formed a strong bond with my family and an extreme bond with my brother as a result of nineteen years of education at home, how much strain will I experience living by myself, more than 500 miles away from home? Time will tell.
I’ll keep you posted.

Originally printed in the June, 1998 issue of Nation Magazine. You can contact Peter through his web site, Grownwithoutschooling.com.