Homeschooling for Excellence by David and Micki Colfax

This is the first post in my new series about books related to teaching, learning and homeschooling. (See my previous post for a description of the series.)

When I started homeschooling in the 1990s, it was nearly impossible not to have heard of Homeschooling for Excellence by David and Micki Colfax. The book was talked about and shared at practically every homeschooling meeting and conference I attended. The book was recommended to relatives, skeptics, and those who were new to the idea of homeschooling.

Why was the book so popular? Because at a time when most people still doubted whether children could receive an adequate education without attending school, David and Micki were boasting about how their homeschooled children had been accepted into Harvard (see The Harvard Crimson article, "Homeschoolers are at Home at Harvard").

I was just one of many parents who were happy to be able to present the book as evidence, saying, "Look! Here's proof! Homeschooling works!" The Colfax family gave the rest of us homeschoolers a rallying cry. If one homeschooling family could prepare their kids for such high levels of success, why couldn't we all? Reading their book helped us believe anything was possible.

Even now, when I search for the book online, I find people who continue to rave about it. Many consider it THE book to read if you're thinking about homeschooling. And why not? The Colfax kids weren't just accepted into college. They were super-achievers. The oldest son, Grant, graduated from Harvard University magna cum laude and went on to Harvard Medical School. In 2012, President Obama appointed him Director of the Office of National AIDS policy. His younger brother, John Drew Colfax, worked his way through Harvard Medical School after earning his MA and law degree at the University of Michigan. He is now an emergency medicine physician. Their younger brother, Reed, graduated magna cum laude from Harvard and went on to Yale Law School. He's now a partner at Relman, Dane and Colfax.  The youngest child, Garth, was still being homeschooled when the book was written, and unlike his brothers he didn't end up at Harvard. He went to a junior college and currently works with a nonprofit organization helping people with developmental disabilities.

What I feel made the Colfax's book so notable, as well as controversial, was what it revealed about the way they ran their home school. They didn't rely on a prescriptive standardized curriculum or school-approved program, which many people still believe is the best and only way to effectively educate college-bound students. In fact, much of their time was devoted to homesteading, working hard on a family ranch in California. They were largely self-taught (autodidactic), learning what they needed to know when they needed to know it, an approach some would refer to as "unschooling."

Back when I read the book for the first time, I remember having mixed feelings about it. On the plus side, the book inspired me to attempt an educational alternative that wasn't simply a carbon copy of school at home. I realized "homeschooling" was a misnomer—"family-centered learning" was closer to what I had in mind. I started thinking about the world as our classroom, where everything we did could be viewed as a learning opportunity. It was very liberating, and I'm grateful that David and Micki were willing to expose themselves and their family to public scrutiny so that I could learn from their experiences.

And yet, I couldn't help feeling inadequate and overwhelmed when I compared what I had to offer my kids to what the Colfax family was doing. They were learning how to set up and run a ranch as a family business, while I was showing my kids how to knit a scarf and do their own laundry. Not only did I not know how to do what they were doing, I didn't even want to try. I remember thinking, I don't really care whether my kids go to Harvard or not.

I didn't want "getting into a prestigious university" to be the standard by which my kids would be measured and evaluated, but it felt as though that's where Homeschooling for Excellence had set the bar. The more I heard people talking about the book, the more I began to worry that it might not be wise to crow about the connection between homeschooling and Harvard. Having heard so much about how homeschoolers can get into selective colleges, would people start pointing to other outcomes as examples of homeschoolers who had failed to provide an adequate education?

I sometimes wondered how the youngest Colfax felt about his brothers' success and the book's popularity. I can't be the only one to have questioned whether Homeschooling for Excellence would have been written and widely recommended if Garth had been the oldest rather than the youngest child. While I don't doubt that his parents were equally proud of all their children, we live in a society that tends to judge people by their credentials.

I think that's why, after I finished reading Homeschooling for Excellence, I felt the need to develop my own goals for homeschooling, my own standards for evaluating whether we'd been successful. I confess I hoped my children would choose to go on to college, and I'm glad they all did, but "get into college" wasn't ever on my list.

In case you're curious, my goals for homeschooling ("Homeschooling for Life") are listed below. How might your own goals be similar or different than mine?

Homeschooling for Life—Our Family's Goals

• Read for pleasure and to obtain information. 
• Write well enough to connect with friends, record events in your life, and make your ideas known to the world.
• Speak clearly enough to be heard and understood when asking a question or articulating your thoughts.
• Calculate solutions to problems by working with the “universal language of numbers” and in this way explore ideas that can be expressed more effectively with numbers than with words.
• Experiment with materials in the physical world. Form questions, observe what happens, be tenacious but open-minded when looking for answers. 
• Think carefully and critically to solve real-world problems and avoid jumping to conclusions.
• Create something appealing to your heart and soul. See, hear, smell, taste and touch appealing works created by others.
• Locate yourself humbly within the grand scheme of things. Study enough geography, history, and social studies to place current events in context and empathize with people from different times and cultures.
• Care for others and yourself with compassion. Love wholeheartedly.
• Apply your talents to make this world a better place.

A New Series of Posts: Books About Teaching, Learning and Homeschooling

I believe we all know what it's like to need help. Whether we are homeschooling parents, professional educators, student mentors, instructors or coaches, we've all had moments when our own expertise wasn't enough. When that happens, where do you go for advice?

Back in the 1990s, before everyone started carrying the internet around in their pockets, my options were limited. I relied heavily on the library. Although I did my best to connect with experienced homeschoolers, that wasn't always an option. Where I live in rural New Hampshire, homes are widely scattered, and homeschoolers are even fewer and farther apart. So, to become a better parent and educator, I turned to the wisdom collected in books.

I started with books about homeschooling written by homeschoolers, but then I broadened my selections to include books written by education researchers, professional teachers and psychologists. I read about parenting, education, cognitive psychology, child development, and human motivation. These authors who shared their knowledge helped me to understand and form my own ideas about what it means to teach and learn. And, whenever I came across a particularly good book, I would start recommending it to other homeschoolers.


Books were so foundational to my experience as an educator that I can't seem to help someone who is thinking of homeschooling without mentioning at least one or two titles. That's why I've decided to write a series of posts on this blog about my favorite books, specifically the ones related to education, and what they have meant to me. I'll begin with the oldest and dustiest ones, the treasures I latched on to when I was just starting to think about homeschooling. Then I'll work my way up to more recent releases.

The first book in my series will be Homeschooling for Excellence by David and Micki Colfax.

While I'm writing these posts partly because I'd like to reflect back on what inspired me, I'd also like to start a discussion here about what inspires you.

If you'd like to join in, just post a comment below and tell me which writers, past or present, have most influenced your choices as an educator. Which ideas resonated with you—and which ones turned you off? What impact have the best (or worst) books about parenting and education had on you?

Am I Doing This the Right Way?

After my youngest child finished with high school and left for college last fall, I was faced with an "empty nest" and an opportunity to embark on a new career. For nearly twenty years, I had been a home educator and advocate for other homeschoolers, but that work was over for me. I felt both excited and terrified as I explored different job options.

Doing something new is scary. Of course, doing something new can be exhilarating, too, but feelings of joy and excitement aren't usually a problem. It's fear that threatens to stop us in our tracks. Not knowing for certain whether or not we're doing something the "right" way is so disconcerting, especially when we care deeply about the intended outcome. Raising kids, educating them (at home or in a formal setting), providing guidance of any kind to another person—in each of these situations, making a mistake can be painful or even devastating.

So I think we can be forgiven for trying to do everything we can to avoid mistakes. It's not at all unreasonable to read instructions, follow directions, and chart a course that seems as certain to succeed as possible. Choose the safe path.

As a young adult, I liked the safe path. I had already experienced plenty of chaos and instability as a child and adolescent, so my goals by the time I graduated from college were to minimize risks, avoid embarrassment, and choose the safe route whenever possible. If you had asked me at the time, I would have denied it—I wouldn't have been able to tell you those were my goals—but looking back on my life now, I realize I rarely took chances on making big mistakes. I planned and prepared for everything meticulously, and I avoided actions that felt risky, unfamiliar, or uncertain.

High Stakes, High Levels of Uncertainty

My neat, organized life began to unravel when I became a mother—and I'm referring to the precise moment my daughter was born. Predictable and "in control" didn't really apply to childbirth, so letting go was really my only option from day one. Not that I let go easily or willingly. I read lots of books and tried to do everything "right" as a parent, but having a baby with colic who wouldn't sleep and wouldn't stop crying forced me to admit: there is no "right" way to calm a baby. You just have to try one thing after another and hope that eventually something will help.

And so it was with homeschooling. I started out thinking, "If only I can find the 'right' curriculum, all will be well in my homeschooling family," but I learned that wasn't true. There was no perfect fit, no one-size-fits-all program for us. Homeschooling, like life in general, was an ongoing process of trial and error.  It wasn't easy. My mistakes—such as introducing a difficult concept too soon, insisting we study a particular topic, or providing too much or too little guidance—led to messy conflicts and me wishing I could avoid all the pain and just get it right on the first try.

When the stakes are high and the outcome matters very much, it's hard to make peace with our own limitations.

Inevitable Messes

Of course, getting it right every time all the time would have required me to be perfect, and that was (and still is) an absurd goal. Fortunately, while I couldn't be perfect, I could be tenacious and open to possibilities. Over time, I discovered that the more I challenged myself to go "all in" and take chances, the richer and more rewarding my life became. I gradually became more comfortable with all kinds of messes: from the paper, crayon and play-dough messes that toddlers squash underfoot, to the wrinkled fenders of teenage drivers, to the emotional wrecks that adult relationships leave behind. If I had fought to avoid those inevitable messes—insisting on a perfectly neat house, a car that stayed in the garage, and carefully screened friendships—I would have missed out on opportunities to learn patience, practice compassion, and deepen my feelings of empathy and connection with others.

To be clear, I still don't enjoy not knowing whether I'm doing something the right way. While I've heard the cheerful anecdote about Edison and his "2,000 ways of how not to make a lightbulb," and I know the story is meant to inspire, I'm not consistently upbeat when it comes to my own mistakes. If I had been Edison, I would have cursed out loud and kicked myself hard after each one of those not-a-lightbulb attempts. I don't claim my pride is an admirable quality, but in general I prefer to get things right on the first try.

Helping Imperfectly

Recently, when I was editing pages for a writer who is eager to get published, I was afraid I might give her poor advice. So I did what I always do: I planned and prepared as much as I could beforehand. I gathered information, consulted with other editors, and thought carefully about the best way to present my feedback. Inevitably, though, I reached the moment when I had to trust myself and send a response.

I could hear the nervous voice in my head saying, "Are you sure you're presenting this the right way? What if you create a big mess and lead the writer astray?" But there were other voices (sounding a lot like my children) asking me, "How much help will you be to this person if you give up without trying? And if you bungle the first attempt, why not apologize and just try again?" Buttressed by past experiences and current networks of support, I made my final edits, took a deep breath, and pressed Send.

Words of Encouragement

I want to encourage others who, like me, struggle to accept the messiness of life. It doesn't matter whether your goal is to make a friend, draft a persuasive essay, teach a child, or write a book. Whatever your aspirations, it's unlikely you'll succeed perfectly the first time you try, but don't let that stop you.

Go ahead and try anyway. Solicit feedback. Evaluate as you go. And if you ask yourself or others, "Am I doing this the right way?" don't be surprised if the answer you get is vague or unsatisfying. Maybe your way is right for you but not for someone else, or maybe it was the right way in the past but it isn't the right way now.

So be brave, make your very best attempt, and humbly admit to your mistakes before going back to try again. If we can be patient with each other, learn to tolerate or at least see the value in temporary messes, then perhaps fewer people will fear their own mistakes. We have to keep trying, failing, and trying again. We don't have to enjoy failing, but we do need to recognize that it's an essential part of living. How else can we be expected to discover for ourselves what works and what doesn't? Even if we don't always manage to reach our loftiest goals, at least we won't have given up too soon.

Aren't You Curious?

"We tend to dismiss curiosity as a childish, naïve trait, but it can actually give us profound advantages."—Curiosity: the Secret to Your Success, by Rosie Ifould

I choose to believe all people are innately curious, especially given the right circumstances. I understand there's diversity, and as individuals we are attracted to different subjects, but even so. Doesn't everyone want to learn as much as they can about as many subjects as they can? Take economics, for example. Not exactly the most interesting subject for non-economists, and yet 5.5 million people bought—and presumably read—Freakonomics, a book about economics (or, as the authors describe it, "a book about cheating teachers, bizarre baby names, self-dealing Realtors, and crack-selling mama’s boys"). And the Freakonomics Radio podcasts gets 5 million downloads a month. Isn't that incredible? All those people—and me among them—willing and perhaps even eager to follow Levitt and Dubner on an improbable journey that involves asking and answering bizarre questions about economics.

Now imagine if everyone were as curious about everything as Levitt and Dubner are about economics. Wouldn't that be amazing?

I get worked up about this idea—wanting curiosity to be a national pastime—and sometimes my kids feel the need to reign me in with a gentle reminder of the status quo.

"Not everyone cares about [x]," they'll say (where "x" could be anything, from abnormal psychology to zero sum games, depending on my passion du jour).

"Really?" I'll say, before I've had a chance to consider what experience has taught me about human nature. Then, after a moment of searching their eyes to see if they're serious,  I'll realize they're probably speaking the truth. Not everyone wants to know the defining traits of a sociopath, or why optimum and equitable might not be compatible goals, or even whether the information on their evening news show is accurate.

I get it. Being curious can be tiring. Answers aren't always simple or easy to find. Sources of information vary—not everyone can bring a topic to life the way an entertaining, award-winning journalist can. So, we give up and turn our attention to less intellectually demanding ways to occupy our time.

But choosing apathy over curiosity is a terrible waste of human potential, because curiosity isn't just a quaint personality trait. Being curious can help us learn and grow. It can lead us to better jobs. It can even improve our quality of life.

"One of the most reliable and overlooked keys to happiness is cultivating and exercising our innate sense of curiosity. That’s because curiosity—a state of active interest or genuinely wanting to know more about something—creates an openness to unfamiliar experiences, laying the groundwork for greater opportunities to experience discovery, joy and delight."—The Power of Curiosity, by Dr. Todd B. Kashdan

So, tell me, what are YOU curious about?

Looking at Student Work: Should Exposure Be Mandatory?

A few years ago, I participated in a Deeper Learning MOOC. The topic for Week 2 of the course was "looking at student work." Specifically, we were asked:

• What can teachers and students learn from samples of student work? 
• What methods have teachers used to evaluate project-based learning (PBL) or expeditionary (Outward Bound-style) learning? 
• Can we establish objective criteria for assessing deeper learning? 
• What happens when teachers encourage students to look at each other's work? Are they able to facilitate effective peer reviews? 

I wondered how these questions might apply to me as a home educator because I didn't think of myself as an evaluator. I was more like a coach or a mirror, reflecting back what I noticed, calling attention to what had been accomplished, pointing out to my kids (and other students) where they had grown strong and where they might still have room to grow. My goal was for them to learn how to evaluate their own progress, set their own high standards, and then do their best to live up to them. I didn't believe in testing or grading my kids (as I explain in The Testing Effect).

Over time, however, I began to understand why assessments based on objective criteria were important—certainly for schools, and perhaps even for home educators. Sure, my casual one-on-one assessments through conversations with my kids enabled me to get a sense of how they were doing overall,  but there were times when I also needed to evaluate their progress based on specific goals. Were her writing skills strong enough to permit enrollment in a college-level literature course? Had he mastered algebra well enough to go on to calculus? Formal assessments, or evaluations based on predetermined criteria, served a key purpose: they let me (and my kids) know exactly what had been mastered and what hadn't. They gave us feedback that said, "Hey, you might want to pay more attention to this!" or "These skills are solid. You can move on to something else now." Without that sort of feedback, it would have been hard for us to evaluate the effectiveness of our approach to learning a particular subject.

It's human nature for people to become complacent over time. If we think what we are doing is working pretty well, we tend not to change our practice. In a classroom, a teacher might be muddling along with one lesson plan after another without realizing that a few tweaks here and there could dramatically enhance student interest and retention. In a home, a parent might be going through each day's routine as always, unaware that her child hasn't really mastered geography as well as he (and she) thinks he has.

How can teachers and students get the feedback they need to do a better job? How can they determine to what extent their actions are helping or hindering progress?

The old-school method for evaluating progress was standardized testing. Granted, if the goal is to assess retention of facts (1+1=2), testing might be the answer. However, testing is limited and clearly fails to measure "deeper learning," those qualities of education that make it meaningful, relevant and lasting. That's why another form of assessment is necessary.

Which leads me to back to the topic of this post—peer reviews and "looking at student work."

What the Young and the Old Have in Common

Atul Gawande is the kind of person who makes the rest of us feel inadequate. It isn't enough for him to be a Rhodes Scholar, Harvard Medical school graduate, and surgeon at Brigham and Women's Hospital (arguably one of the finest teaching hospitals in the world). He's also a researcher, a journalist (having written articles for Slate and The New Yorker), the author of four popular books (Complications, Better, Checklist Manifesto, and the recently released Being Mortal), and—oh yes—a loving husband and father to three children. According to his Wikipedia entry, "He enjoys reading." How he finds the time is anyone's guess. In short: he's amazing.

I've always been fascinated by medicine, and there's nothing I enjoy more than curling up with a well-written nonfiction book. So, not surprisingly, I've loved everything Dr. Gawande has written. Being Mortal is his best so far. It is terrifying (because he makes us think about our own mortality), poignant, informative, tragic and brilliant. And, quite unexpectedly, it includes insights into why schools aren't necessarily the best places for our kids to be spending so many hours of their days, so many months of the year, for so many years of their young lives.

Did Dr. Gawande intend for his newest book to be a commentary on our educational system? I'm sure he didn't. In fact, he might not even agree with me. But as I was reading along, I kept coming across passages that I believe apply as much to education as they do to elder care. 

Transferable Skills: What I'm Learning from My Kids

After nearly two decades of being a home educator, and with the youngest of my three homeschooled children now living and studying at an out-of-state college, I've finally got the time to pursue my own career. This is both exciting and terrifying.

It's exciting, because I can put myself first, instead of second, third—or last. Make no mistake, I'm no martyr. No one compelled me to be self-sacrificing; I simply chose to make my kids and their learning community my highest priority. I always knew it was only a temporary arrangement (that is, if you can call 24 years "temporary"), and so with that in mind I gladly volunteered to confine all my plans, my hours and days, to fit the schedules of others. But now, at long last, my time is my own. I can try doing things I've never done before. I'm ready for a change.

And yet, this transition is also somewhat terrifying, because I've been an at-home mother and educator for so long that doing anything else feels really strange. Applying for jobs is intimidating, my resume looks unconventional and skimpy, my last paid employment was back in the '80s, and I expect the learning curve for any new job will be steep.

Luckily, I know three young adults who are wonderful sources of advice and encouragement.

When I turn to my kids and wonder how I'm going to make my way in the wider world of rapid change, independent contractors, and new technologies, I hear my own words coming back to me.

"You can do it, Mom!" they say. "You've got loads of experience: researching, teaching, organizing events, planning curriculum, keeping records, writing newsletters and reports." They remind me of all I've accomplished over the years, just as I used to remind them of their achievements when they were feeling unsure of themselves.

"Look at all you've done this year!" I'd say. "Remember how you couldn't do This or That back in September? But now you can!" Whether or not our school district required an annual written evaluation, I always prepared one for each of my children, so that they (and I) could see their progress. Now my kids are returning the favor, lifting me up in my time of self-doubt and helping to restore my confidence.

When I tell my oldest daughter I'm not sure what to do next, she tells me, "do what you love." (Now where have I heard that before?) I think about writing, tutoring, mentoring. She helps me consider the pros and cons of different jobs and opens my eyes to the possibilities. Never one to shy away from adventure or a new challenge, my eldest knows how to inspire me to try new things.

When I ask my youngest daughter—a college senior—for help with my resume, she says, "think about not only the things you've done, but also what you've learned in the process, the extent of the impact you've had." I think about the dozens of kids who have learned in my home, all the ways in which I've had to change and adapt, and the hundreds of homeschoolers who have contacted me over the years. I smile as I reminisce, all the while feeling so proud of the remarkable young woman who is giving me this advice.

I even confide in my son, who is home for mid-year break after his first semester. I tell him I'm feeling nervous about starting my first job, and he says, "You'll be fine! You've done much harder things than this. You've got this, Mom." I feel momentarily overwhelmed by his words of encouragement. Afraid I might embarrass him if I start to cry, I give him a hug instead, so he can't see my face. He towers over me by at least six inches, and when I step back to smile at him, I notice there's a dark shadow of stubble on his upper lip and jawline. Only a few months away from home and already he seems older, more self-assured.

Maybe it seems weird for me to turn to my kids for career advice and support, but oddly enough, they understand what I'm going through. Considering career options, updating resumes, applying for jobs: these are things they've either done recently or will be doing in the near future. Even if we didn't have that in common, though, the collaborative give and take of solving problems together has become so normal and habitual for us that we fall into the pattern naturally. I value their opinions as much as they value mine, and we trust each other to be honest, fair, encouraging and forthright.

It's now 2015, and my husband and kids have helped me transition from homeschooling to a new job. I suffered through a few months of dead ends and a couple rejections, but I've found part-time work that I love. I'm an editor for Author Accelerator, a startup company formed by Jennie Nash (editor, author and book coach) and Matt Richter-Sand, entrepreneur. My new "students" are writers who are serious about getting their books written and published, and I enjoy working with them. It's challenging to find the right balance between critique and encouragement, but Jennie is a wonderful mentor and I'm learning all the time. It seems like a perfect fit for me, and I'm happy to have found a use for many of the skills I cultivated as a home educator.