Chapter 1
You Can Do It!
We were a little surprised that afternoon back in 1992 when the school principal's office called our home for the second time. We'd already been summoned earlier in the day to pick up Alyse, our third grader, who had developed a fever. Now it was past three o'clock, and the message this time was about our first grader.
"Mrs. Pritchard, Krista's here in the office, crying. She says she's afraid to ride her bike home. Maybe you'd better come down."
"That's not like her," I answered, alarmed. "She's usually pretty confident. Do you know what's the matter?"
"She says a group of third-grade boys have been harassing her and Alyse—we didn't know this was going on. She says they've yelled at the girls on their way home, called them names, shoved them and even spit on them. What really concerns me is that she says the boys showed them a knife one time."
"Well, that's certainly interesting! Let me call David, and one of us will be right over," I said, hanging up the phone.
The route to and from school was only a mile or so through quiet neighborhood streets in our pleasant town of Centralia, Washington. We had always assumed our kids were safe—but apparently not. I quickly dialed my husband at the pizza shop we operated at the time. I filled him in on what the principal had told me. "Do you think you could run and get Krista at school?" I pleaded. "I need to stay here with the two little ones."
"Wow! Okay, I'm on my way," he responded. "I'll find out more, and we'll talk about it when I get home."
When David came through the office door at school, our daughter jumped up to give him a big hug, still crying. "What's wrong, honey?" he said, picking her up. "Tell me why you're so upset." The two of them sat down together in a chair across from the principal.
"Tommy's going to hurt me!" she cried. "He'll push me off my bike if I ride home." Apparently our two girls had soldiered through the harassment when they were together. But on this day, Krista didn't dare try to ride the gauntlet alone. She was petrified.
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Pritchard," the principal declared, sincere concern in his voice. "I'm appalled . . . I had no idea this was occurring. We will certainly deal with the boys right away. I really think you should call the police and press charges."
David didn't commit himself. "Well, Kelli and I will talk to the girls and let you know later."
So this was what was happening these days to kids in public school! Here we thought we were fine in a town of only 12,000 people, more than an hour away from the Seattle-Tacoma metropolis. But now it seemed our children were at risk, even in the primary grades. How would they ever survive junior high and high school?
We knew that many of our friends at church and elsewhere had chosen to send their kids to private schools for just this very reason. Others were busy homeschooling their children. Would we need to follow their lead?
After David loaded up Krista's bike and brought her home, I gave her a comforting snack. He then returned to the pizza shop, where the evening rush would be starting soon. We didn't get to talk in depth until late that night. Finally, with all four kids in their beds and the house quieting down, we sank into the living room couch to reflect.
Right away, David said, "I just can't see us calling the police. What are they going to do—come out and arrest a couple of nine-year-olds?"
"I know," I said. "But we can't let this kind of thing go. You saw how scared Krista was today."
"Oh, definitely," he responded. "We have to do something about it. The question is, what?"
We kept talking. Eventually we came to the conclusion that, instead of expecting third parties—the principal or the police—to solve this problem, we should work it out ourselves. By the next day, we had learned that Tommy lived in a single-parent home. We also found a connection to him—we knew his uncle, who filled us in on some of the history.
We got Tommy's phone number, and my husband called his mom. When she answered, he said: "Hello, this is David Pritchard calling. I believe your son Tommy and my daughter Alyse are in the same class at school."
"Yes . . . ?" she answered guardedly.
He explained what had happened and what the principal had suggested. Then before she could reply, he continued, "What we would like to do is have Tommy and his uncle Kevin come over to our house for lunch on Sunday. We've got four kids ourselves, so what's a couple more, you know? It would be good to get to know your son a little more, if that's okay with you."
"I suppose that would be all right," she said quietly.
"Great! Have them come at 12:30."
Little Krista was definitely nervous about all this, but we assured her that things would turn out okay. That day after church, we had a lively time over teriyaki chicken and rice, and of course Tommy was on his best behavior. No doubt he wondered if he was being softened up for a lecture once the meal was finished. Instead, David took Tommy outside to throw around a football—he had shared with us that he loved the game.
"Really?" David queried. "I love football, too! In fact, did you know I played for Washington State during college? We even went to the Holiday Bowl in 1981. It was a really high-scoring game against BYU. It looked for quite a while like we could take them, but in the end, we lost by just two points, 38 to 36." Tommy's eyes grew wide.
Later that day, as Tommy tried to hang on to David's tight spiral passes, he became more animated. David told him that football wasn't just a guy thing at the Pritchard house; the girls knew what to do with a pigskin, too. By the end of the visit, the boy had gained a whole new understanding of his classmate and her younger sister.
Thereafter, whenever we saw Tommy in the neighborhood or at school, we waved enthusiastically and asked how he was doing. He came to view us as his friends. Alyse and Krista told us in the following weeks that Tommy acted like he'd been appointed their personal protector.
God Is Bigger Than the Public School
Fifteen years have passed since that incident, and our family has doubled in size, to eight children. We've also moved to the big city. Today, Alyse is a 2006 graduate of the University of Southern California, majoring in English literature. She intends to apply to medical school. Krista more recently graduated from the University of Hawaii, earning an interdisciplinary degree in kinesiology and psychology. She also stretched her schedule to include classes in Samoan, so she could absorb more of her father's South Pacific heritage. Both girls, as well as their six siblings, were educated in the public school system every step of the way—and they thrived.
We have faced challenges and complications, a lot of them far more serious than third-grade bullies. Our kids have endured teachers who have ridiculed anyone naïve enough to believe the Bible, coaches who have rewarded poor behavior and bad attitudes, and hostile classmates who have lashed out because our girls have taken a stand on social issues. We've talked together along the way, brainstormed together, researched together and prayed together. We've also rejoiced together as problems have been solved, relationships have been repaired and character has been formed. We have learned and relearned the lessons of that day long ago back in Centralia:
. God has a reason for allowing each "Tommy" into our family's life. Our approach to these difficult people and situations is, We can learn something here.
. The most important individuals we need to teach and guide are not other people's kids, but our own.
. To each antagonist, family and school, we can demonstrate the love of Christ. The hurting world needs this witness more than anything else.
. Whatever tough situations come along, we will get through them together as a family. No one is in this struggle alone.
. God is always in charge. As Jesus said to His "family" of disciples just a few hours before a crisis struck, "In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world" (John 16:33).
We are more convinced than ever before, after 18 years of public school experiences with our children (and at least a dozen yet to go!), that God is bigger than the modern educational monolith. He is on the side of the children He created, and He is not nervous. He is sovereign, after all.
If Christian parents in the old Soviet Union, or in the anti-Christian nations of today, have managed to raise godly children despite the pressures of a hostile school system, we on this continent have little excuse. "The one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world," wrote the apostle John, while living in a pagan, idol-worshipping Roman Empire (1 John 4:4). This promise is still true in the twenty-first century.
How does God protect and nurture boys and girls in the public school environment? What is His strategy for overcoming the difficulties they face? The main answer is this: parents. We who brought them into this world hold the keys to getting them safely through childhood and adolescence. God equips us—just ordinary dads and moms—to equip and fortify our kids. In so doing, we set them up to face adulthood with strength and conviction. Starting in the very first classroom, our home, we teach them to be the influencers rather than the influenced.
Quiz Time
It's interesting—almost humorous—the kinds of questions people ask when they learn we have eight children. We've heard all kinds of odd comments over the years, accompanied by quizzical looks. But even more humorous than the comments are the questions.
"Are you Catholic?" No.
"Are you Mormon?" No.
"Oh, is this a case of his, hers and ours?" No, we're not a blended collection from previous marriages.
Other questions get a little more personal: "Don't you know what causes them?" Yes, we're fully educated on the process of conception!
"How are you ever going to pay for all that college?" Ask us this one later; we're still in the thick of it.
Recently, a newer stereotype has manifested itself: "Are you into that homeschooling thing?" You can see the questioner imagining us growing a huge garden, grinding our own grain and sewing all our own clothes.
We smile at the question. Then we reply enthusiastically, "Yes! We definitely homeschool our children . . . and starting at age five, we also send them to public school to get more information."
We consider ourselves to be our children's number-one educators, and we will never give up that responsibility or privilege—even though they spend 30 hours a week in somebody else's classroom. We instruct our kids every day. We look for the teachable moments that intersect with what they are experiencing outside our home. We draw frames around their encounters and activities, showing how they fit within God's greater perspective.
The truth is, Kelli has a college degree in secondary education from Indiana State University and would have made an excellent homeschool teacher. Sometimes we've looked with a touch of jealousy at the flexible schedule that homeschoolers enjoy. But we have never felt released to pull away from the public school. We have seen so many benefits in that environment, so many chances for our children to grow, that we've determined to stay put. As we've talked with them about what has been at stake and what would please God most in test after test, their decision-making abilities have flowered right before our eyes.
And remember, we don't exactly live in the Bible Belt. We're more than 2,000 miles in the opposite direction, in a state that usually comes in dead last in U.S. church attendance statistics. (Sometimes our neighbor to the south, Oregon, kicks us up to forty-ninth place.) But we haven't let that dissuade us. We have believed, and are proving, that believing parents can raise kids with strong spiritual roots in the midst of a secular culture.
In one seminar we attended, a professional counselor stood up and boldly stated, "Never, never, never trust a teenager! I don't care what they tell you or how great they look, don't be fooled. Kids this age are not to be trusted." We were so offended! What an odd way to build any kind of relationship with your high schooler. We looked at each other and shook our heads, because our view is exactly the opposite. We know what we've built into our kids over the years. That is why we can trust our kids at the Friday night football game, at the mall or on a date—unless they give us a clear reason not to do so. They know that we expect obedience and right choices. They know what our family believes and why we believe it.
Too many parents today operate under a premise of "I need to keep controlling the environment because I don't entirely trust my kid in the environment." This attitude affects everything from school choices to moral decisions. Most parents may not be as accusatory as the seminar speaker, but the underlying fear is the same. They worry constantly about how their son or daughter is going to behave if the fences are ever lifted.
The problem is this: What happens at age 18? Will that child suddenly become mature and trustworthy overnight?
Hardly.
We've always said we would much rather have Alyse, Krista, Tavita, Jordan, Tana, Danielle, Keila and Sina mess up at age 5 or 10 or 15 when the stakes are smaller, so that we can deal with the fallout right away. Our prayer, in fact, is borrowed from a wise mother: "Lord, we pray for us all, catch us early in our sin." The sooner mistakes and deliberate wrongdoing come to light, the sooner we can confess, repent and rise above our weakness.
Parents who are not paying attention, on the other hand, are in for rude awakenings as kids get older. In our work with Young Life, a nondenominational ministry to teenagers, we see the ugly fruit of what sociologists call "systemic abandonment." Most adults in our society used to accept their role in preparing children for adulthood. Over the past 50 years, things have changed dramatically. Many of today's adults are so busy making a living, chasing good times and dealing with their own relational messes that they give little attention to kids. Young people are abandoned, left to fend for themselves, trying to figure out how life actually works.
Not long ago we heard a teenager exclaim with disgust, "My parents don't care what I do!" Today, three different teenaged girls in our community come by our house all the time. Their fathers are in prison, and each of them has shared the pain and frustration of life with a mom who is so busy working and taking care of herself that there's no time left to be a parent.
Don't think this happens just in "certain families." Systemic abandonment cuts across all income levels, ethnic groups and regions of the country.
God's heart is broken as this tragedy unfolds. He longs for adults to live up to their calling, a large part of which is nurturing the next generation and preparing them to face the world with character and purpose. We strongly believe that the public school can be an early training ground—a place where our children have an opportunity to develop that character and find their purpose.
On the Hook
When the two of us jointly lead seminars for parents, we often do an exercise called Stand Where You Stand. We draw an imaginary line from one side of the room to the other and then ask participants to come stand along the line, indicating their view on a controversial statement, such as "Spanking is the best form of discipline." We tell the crowd, "Okay, this end of the continuum represents one extreme, while the opposite end represents the other. Now get out of your chairs and stand where you stand." Once people have taken their positions at the left, center or right, we then pass around the microphone and have them explain their various views of the matter. It's always enlightening and gets everyone's mind in gear.
Here is another statement we've often used: "A teenaged boy ends up on the street, homeless and hooked on drugs. Whose fault is it—his parents' or his own?" For some in the crowd, this is an easy exercise. They march right away to the "teenager" end of the continuum. When we ask why, they say things like, "Hey, he's a big kid now; he makes his own choices in life. You can't blame the parents for what a 16-year-old decides to do with his money or his friends." Others, however, are not so sure about that. They stand puzzling and murmuring about where to stand on the imaginary line. We sometimes have to force them to commit themselves. They believe parents bear a great responsibility in shaping a child's life, but they hesitate to accept the guilt that goes along with that opinion.
Some will say, "No matter what you do, your child can still turn out bad"—which is quite true. But everyone in the room knows that this can be used as an alibi for negligent parenting.
If we're speaking to a Christian group, we may read the familiar proverb that says, "Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it" (Prov. 22:6). Now here's the question: Is this proverb a promise or a generality? In other words, does it carry the force of a contract with God—if you train your child correctly, he or she will follow in the right path? Or is it more of a general observation about how things normally work out in life? Stand where you stand . . .
Most of us agonize over this one. What's really going on inside is a wrestling match over how much responsibility we are willing to accept for raising our kids. We know that nobody can do a perfect job of parenting. But don't our efforts play a major role? Of course they do. Deep inside, we can't just chalk everything up to the child's free will or divine sovereignty. We know we're on the hook for at least some of the outcome.
Maybe it's best if we intellectually interpret this verse as a generality but live day to day as if it were a promise! How we parent our kids does matter. We make a difference in the way our children will go, in the paths they will take. We cannot escape the fact that we have at least some role to play, some influence to lend. No matter what our culture says, no matter how many psychological cartwheels we perform, God made a statement here that we cannot sidestep. He drew a direct connection between our actions and our children's character. If it were all a matter of chance, God would instead have told us simply to pray hard and cross our fingers. He did not. If it were solely a matter of genetic hard-wiring, He would have said, "Don't worry about it. The kid's gonna do what the kid's gonna do, and that's all there is."
Instead, God asked us to do something. That something is to train our children. God would not have asked us to attempt the impossible. He must have meant that we could succeed at this assignment.
The Biggest Leverage
Why spend so much space making this point? Because many modern parents, Christian and non-Christian alike, live with the assumption that what happens "out there" in the culture has more impact on their child than what happens "in here" in the family. They have bought into the myth that parents have little control over the factors that shape a child. That simply is not true.
God has placed us in a position to have more influence than all the outside factors combined. At the end of time, we will not be able to stand before God and beg off by saying that Hollywood or MTV or MySpace.com or the school board's secular humanists were just too strong for us to fight. We hold the levers of power. We have access to more hours per week with our child than any outsider. We must put that time to good use.
And when we do, God works with us to foster amazing strengths in our children. He helps us in guiding them to distinguish between "average" and "normal." These two words are not synonyms at all. Just because an attitude or behavior is common ("average") among today's youth population does not mean it should be accepted. The "average" teenager may rebel against his or her parents and other authority, but that doesn't make it right or even "normal." Kids can understand this, if we make it clear.
Public school, believe it or not, can actually be a great place for kids to observe and sort out these issues. As they engage the culture and interact with a diverse crowd of people, they come to see how the world functions, what leads to success and what is a dead-end street. Personally speaking, we would much rather have the Pritchard clan work through this process while they're under our care, hearing our perspective, seeing how the Word of God explains reality and morals and maturity, than to have them start the process when they're 18 years old and 500 miles away living in a university dorm. We want to be close to them during this critically important phase of their lives.
Dennis McCallum, a pastor at Xenos Christian Fellowship in Columbus, Ohio, drew an insightful analogy a few years ago:
None of us who have children want them to drown. But how can we prevent it?
One way is to keep them away from bodies of water deeper than two feet. It works. Kids won't drown if they don't get into deep water.
But we can also guard them from drowning by another method: teaching them to swim. Though it isn't foolproof, it works rather well and provides more freedom.
In the same way, we should teach our kids to "swim" against the currents of the world. Avoidance of the world is ineffective—children eventually go away to college or start their own lives and encounter all the things we guarded them from.
They will be more ready to face worldly currents if we have taught them to swim.1
The rest of this book will provide, in a sense, "swimming lessons." They are based on the premise that the public school is an excellent pool in which to train our young sons and daughters. Yes, it's deep and noisy and the water's cold and sometimes the chlorine gets in your eyes. Sometimes you get splashed by other swimmers. But this is preparation for even bigger bodies of water to come. Someday they'll have to swim in Lake Michigan or Puget Sound. Might as well get started learning now.
You can do it!
Note
1. Dennis McCallum, "The Postmodern Puzzle," The Real Issue, March 1998. http://www.leaderu.com/real/ri9802/mccallum.html (accessed October 2007).
