Homeschooled Student Suspended for Making a Weapon in School

A ten-year-old homeschooled boy was expelled from classes on Tuesday after biting his breakfast pastry into the shape of a surface-to-air missile launcher, and authorities don’t know what to do with him.

Hezekiah Ezekiel Jeremiah Smith was expelled by his mother after biting his Pop Tarts into the shape of the popular FIM-92 Stinger Man-Portable Air-Defense System (MANPADS).

When his mother saw what he had done, Hezekiah said she got pretty mad.  “She told me, ‘just wait until your father gets home!’ I knew then I was in big trouble.”

“I went through 17 boxes of Raspberry Pop-tarts to put together that missile launcher,” Hezekiah explained.  “It took three boxes just to get the safety switch to work.  The smaller the part, the harder it is to bite it into the proper shape.”

“It kinda made me sick to my stomach,” he added.  “Near the end I was feeding my mistakes to the dog. I don’t think either one of us will be eating breakfast pastries for a long time.”

The NRA immediately responded to the suspension by offering Hezekiah a lifetime membership and a case of Tums.

The homeschool’s public relations spokesperson, fourteen year old college freshman Abigail Bathsheba Jedidah Smith, confirmed that her younger brother was expelled from home studies.  “He has the option of reapplying for admission at the start of the next school year,” said Ms. Smith.

 “That child!” his mother exclaimed, shaking her head. “I have half a mind to send him to military school, but I don’t want to encourage him.”

The problem, according to local school authorities, is that no one knows what to do with Hezekiah.  Dr. Julius No, superintendent of schools in Flintlock, refuses to accept Hezekiah into the local elementary school.  “I will not allow him to enroll in our school,” explained Dr. No.  “That young man is a threat to the safety of every child in our district.”

“Just imagine what would have happened if that missile accidentally launched in our school cafeteria,” Dr. No continued. “It could have hit another student.  Children might have gotten red sprinkles in their eyes.   

Students could have gotten raspberry filling stains on their shirts. I cannot jeopardize the safety of our children by allowing Hezekiah Smith to attend one of our schools.” 

The boy's father, Bob, thought the incident was ridiculous. “This is insanity. With all the potential issues faced by homeschools today, threats from bullies,  whatever the real issue is, it's a pastry, ya know?' he said.

For the time being, Hezekiah is spending his days on the family’s patio, reading books, and creating a life-sized replica of the Easter Island statues out of Spam.

“It’s okay,” Hezekiah explained. “I’m ten years old and a high school sophomore.  I can afford to take some time off.”

When the Teachers are the Bullies, It's Time to Scrap the Plan and Start Over

 "The National Education Association believes that home schooling programs cannot provide the student with a comprehensive education experience."     - NEA Resolution #B-69

An Indiana grade school teacher was indefinitely suspended and her classroom aide was fired after it was learned that she put a diaper on a five year old student in front of his class because he was "acting like a baby."  The diaper was placed on the outside of his clothes.  You can read the entire story here.

For once, I have to agree with the NEA.  My children will never enjoy the "comprehensive educational experience" of being forced to wear a diaper on the outside of their clothing in an attempt to humiliate them for poor behavior. 

New Directions

I restarted my personal blog today, leaving behind Bedlam and moving in an entirely new direction.  To anyone who still receives updates from this page, if you previously enjoyed reading  Bedlam or THA, feel free to join me at Not Your Traditional Man Cave.  I hope to see you around the web!   

It was the Creepiest Children's Book I've EVER Read

It was the creepiest children’s book I’ve ever read.  Ada brought to me “Love You Forever” by Robert Munsch, and asked me to read it to her last night.  It started out well enough.  A young mom rocked her infant son in her arms while telling him, “I’ll love you forever, I’ll love you for always, As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.”   The phrasing was a little awkward, but the sentiment was fine.

At age two the boy was a little terror, pulling books off of shelves and flushing his mother’s watch down the toilet.  I thought, “Yeah, I get it.  I’ve blogged about stuff like that.”  The still young mom snuck into her son’s room and held him while he was sleeping, rocking him in her lap while repeating, “I’ll love you forever, I’ll love you for always, As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.” 

Fast-forward seven years.  The boy was nine years old, and she was still creeping into his room to hold her sleeping son.  And then again at age 15.  I thought, “This is getting a little strange.”  This lady was on her hands and knees, creeping into her teenage son’s bedroom to hold him while he was sleeping.  The smell alone would keep most parents out of their teenaged son’s bedroom.     

Turn the page, and the boy was a young man moving into a home of his own.  The middle-aged mom was now driving across town in the dark, a ladder strapped to the roof of her car, so that she could sneak into her adult son’s bedroom, sit on the bed, pickup her sleeping adult son and rock him in her arms while reciting, “I’ll love you forever, I’ll love you for always, As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.”   

I thought, “Cut the apron strings, lady.”  This was more than a little weird.  This guy must have been hitting the bottle pretty hard to be sleeping through his mother’s B & E and never waking-up while she held him.  The old broad must have been seriously strong, too, as her son was twice her size!   If I were him, I’d have a taste-tester check my breakfast cereal in the morning.  The old gal was one syringe away from Munchausen Syndrome by proxy.

The story continued to show the elderly mother calling her son for a visit because she was quite ill.  The adult son went to his mother, held her in his lap while rocking in a rocking chair, and recited back the poem his mother told him.  Then he went home, went into his sleeping infant daughter’s room, and rocked her in his arms, telling her the very same words that he had just spoken to his mother.  

I’m hoping this guy got therapy, and soon, or his adult daughter will be calling the cops because some old creepy guy on a ladder will be trying to break into her room at night to hold her and recite poetry while she sleeps.   This is why we still need the second amendment. 

As I finished the book, Ada squealed, “Go back to the page about the toilet.  That was funny!”   

Whew! 

No damage done.

Tonight, I’m burning my first book.

I Wish There Was a Little Warning

These are the days that test my soul.

These are the days that age me a week in an hour. They make me feel old.

These are the days where I question what it is I am doing each day, and the effectiveness of my efforts. It is April 23rd, and we are 122 lessons into the math year. There are only eight lessons and two tests remaining before my daughter’s first grade math year is completed. Today, my daughter still cannot remember that any number minus zero is that number. Friday, she could. Today, she cannot mentally add or subtract by one. Friday, she could. Today, she is guessing at everything.

It doesn’t help that she’s easily distracted. I just gave her a number line because she needed to add “0+9” and that completely baffled her. I told her to put her finger on “zero” and count nine numbers to the right. She got lost somewhere around three. Frequently, she forgets to stop counting at the number she’s adding. In the course of the past few minutes, 0+9 has equaled 14, 16, 11, and 12.

I started to write “29-10” on a small, hand-held, dry erase board, and before I finished writing she asked if we could write on the other side of the board. Why? Because the idea passed across her mind, and anything that passes across her mind must also pass between her lips.

It’s a rule.

That makes attending church a real gamble.

She also decided that she had to color in the circle portion of the numbers 6, 8, and 9. Since her coloring skills aren’t that well developed, she’s obliterated every number she has attempted to color.

We’re doing a lot of rewriting.

Just shoot me now.

In the course of this prolonged math assignment, I gave her a bag of interlocking counting blocks. The girl started correctly counting blocks, snapping them together, and completing math equations.

Who knew?

I wish my children came with a sign that gave me a hint of what’s in store for the day. I’d like a warning that my middle child is going to drag his feet about starting even the simplest of assignments, and that my day will be filled with embarrassingly flimsy excuses, such as, “Oh, I didn’t know if you wanted me to open my plan book.” That’s why it took an hour to start a cursive writing assignment. I’d like advanced warning that the key to completing the day’s math lesson will be allowing my daughter to count mini marshmallows, even if that means I have to run to the store to buy them. A hormonal-meter on my teenage son would be helpful, too. It would be nice to see a little red needle pointing to “Irrational and Grouchy” when he climbs out of bed so I won’t bother to insult him with unwelcomed pleasantries such as “hello” or “good morning.”

'Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.

I’ve been homeschooling long enough to know that there are days like this.

I just wish they came with a little warning.

Linda Can Still Pull My Strings

She does this to me because my friend knows that there are some stories I absolutely cannot let pass by without comment once I’ve finished banging my head against the kitchen table.

Linda sent me a link to a Fox News Insider article about a classroom teacher who made her fourth grade students become pen pals with a then accused (and now convicted) rapist who is serving a fifty year sentence for molesting a girl under the age of fourteen.

Let that sink in for a moment.

Fourth grade students are 10-11 years old. Their innocence concerning the depth of human depravity has been shattered by one of the adults they should be able to trust: their teacher.

This didn’t happen in a public school. It happened in Houston, Texas’ Trinity Lutheran School, a Missouri Synod Church school. It happened without the knowledge of or consent of the parents of these students or the school principal.

It just shows that private schools are not always the best resort when one is dissatisfied with their local public school system.

These children wrote letters that included their “full names, [a] description of their appearance, and their favorite things to do.” If there is one thing that child molesters are good at, it is grooming a potential victim by gaining access to them. The odds are that the creep in question will never again walk the streets of Houston as a free man, but nonetheless it is stunning that access to children by a child molester was facilitated by a teacher in a Christian school!

When man falls from Grace, he really falls from Grace.

It will take a lot of alcohol to erase the image of what this cretin might have done with those letters while alone in his cell. Luckily, the letters were discovered and removed from his possession. Parents have been notified. The teacher has been fired, and the principal placed on a paid leave of absence.

So, hug your children a little tighter when you put them to bed tonight, and take comfort in the knowledge that your choice to homeschool your children is the best defense against the stupid, thoughtless, and dangerous people who slip through the system and gain employment in our nation’s schools.

I’m off to find some Excedrin.

I have a headache.

All Good Things Must Come to an End

Sometimes life has a way of getting in the way of doing what you love. Though I LOVE to write, and have experienced a great deal of satisfaction from writing for this blog, trying to juggle full-time employment and homeschooling a 2nd grader has made it impossible for me to find the time to write. My own lack of time, combined with Arby's desire to get back to "family blogging" has brought us to the decision to discontinue our collaboration on this blog. The blog will not "go away"...there are articles here that I hope people will continue to stumble on and enjoy. But there won't be any new posts for the foreseeable future!

I hope to return to it again someday.

Arby and I have greatly enjoyed our blogging partnership over the last couple of years. For me, the best possible outcome of two years of blogging with Arby is the friendship that has been forged between our two families! It's been a joy to share this blog with him and to get to know him better. He's a man of great humor, and even greater character.

Thanks, Arby for being the best blogging partner that anyone could ever ask for! Hope to see you and The Boss again one of these days! There's a Portillo's Italian Beef here with your name on it!