You wake up extremely early in the morning. You then rush out of the house, forgetting the mushy cereal on the table. You walk up two hills to the corner. You’re not the only late one. You stand in the sub-zero temps, freezing. Once everyone is there, hopefully, you cram into a five foot wide covered pen with no cushioning. If you’re not careful and don’t hurry, you get poked in the back. Getting out of the pen is as terrible as getting in. Now you spend the rest of your day pretending to pay attention and doing your work so that it doesn’t annoy you later when you get back to your mushy cereal. You are always being pressed into things you don’t want to do. Then you get back into the pen. You are quite loud when you get out of the pen the second time. You walk back up the two hills. You get back to your mushy cereal.
I wake up. I don’t eat cereal; I eat bananas and they aren’t typically mushy. I walk up stairs and start my math. I look out the window and see you standing in the cold, waiting. I’m nearly done with my math; I see that pen, that ugly yellow bus, pull up. I see someone get pushed forward. I walk downstairs for more black coffee, no cream or sugar, then continue my school day. I begin to put on my boots. I hear a scream, then look through the shades. I see you walking up the hill. Then I get in my wonderful white car. I arrive at the horse back riding ranch when you get back to your home, to your cereal and the homework next to it.
I homeschool, you don’t.