Which Object Does Not Belong?

There was a line of mini vans and SUVs in the parking lot, and I pulled up in my convertible Celica with the top down, music blasting, and my spiky-haired teen and his skateboard riding shotgun.

It was our first day at the homeschool group/park day/play date/Chinese water torture. Call it a social experiment. I wanted to see what it was all about. I think it took the other homeschool mothers exactly .03 of a second to determine that I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. What teaching method was I using? Charlotte Mason? Waldorf? Montessori? Unschooling?

I'm not sure. What do you call it when you hand your kid a stack of books and threaten great bodily injury if he doesn't study them? That's my teaching method.

And, of course, once my son was off socializing with the other kids, I was the main attraction for the Show and Tell hour. The McCarthy Hearings--a stroll through the park. The Spanish Inquisition--a cake walk. Try being grilled by two picnic tables full of OC homeschool moms.

I really wanted to fit in, so I decided to tell them all about me--I'd been a single mom for 13 years and wasn't sure of the whereabouts of my son's father. I worked as a topless dancer and had recently learned to cook meth in the bathtub of my double-wide trailer. To supplement my income, I started hosting same-sex orgies every Sunday after attending services at Saddleback Church. I was still obsessed about being dumped by the man of my dreams. And I'd always wanted to be a writer.

Ok...so I didn't really say that. Well, not all of it anyway. But it certainly would've made the day more interesting if I had.

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