I just want to say that you might want to consider public high school. There's a lot of social development going on there, even if most people come out of the entire system bitter.
I'd rather they not develop 'socially' the way most high-schoolers do: conform to the group, if you're different you're wrong. Our children get plenty of socialization among their cousins and other home-schooled friends.
My oldest is 15 and the decision is his to make. There are lots of avenues for social development and we talk about it as a family. He chose not to this year. I've offered both public and private options.
I think social confidence has a lot more to do with personality than it does with school experience. By all means consider public school, but don't think of it as a panacea for social problems, especially if your kids aren't on board with the idea. The benefits it provides are available elsewhere, without the bitter fruits of tedium and frustration.
I walked out of the double doors for the last time. Where I had expected to see a large crowd of people there were only scattered groups of two or three. It didn't matter, they were probably already at flapjacks. I had never heard of the tiny breakfast diner until it was chosen as the unofficial after school lets out breakfast for my graduating class. Nobody else seemed to be showing up, so I walked with one of the tiny groups I saw. I had left home with the intention of eating at flapjacks, even if I dined alone.
Getting out of school has a strange unreality to it. The thing that changes for me is home work. At least with a regular nine to five job you clock out and it's over. With school it's never over, homework is dealt in sufficient quantities to make sure that you're always left wondering if you've done all of it or not. Otherwise enjoyable activities will suddenly be interrupted by your memory trying to figure out if there's any homework that needs to be done. So when I walked out of the double doors my sense of reality was underpinned by the feeling that nothing had seemed to change. It wouldn't be until later that I'd realize my sleep schedule returned to normal after school let out.
The walk to flapjacks was nothing to write about. We crossed a road, and then a bridge, and then a train track, and we were there. As we walked into the restaurant one of the boys at the center table yelled "GET OUT! GET OUT RIGHT NOW!", to which I yelled back an emphatic "FUCK YOU!". It took a few seconds of the other kids cacophony of "He can't say that..." before I remembered that I was, in fact, in a restaurant. I sheepishly apologized to the owner (who was cashier, waiter, and manager) and sat down next to the boy who yelled, Khanor.
Immediately I started to wonder why I came. He apologized and told me that he was actually commenting on my beard, which I had shaved a few days prior, he hadn't been there for them. I inferred that he was speaking in that strange vernacular that all groups of teenage boys invent, and I had shouted at him for it. The distance between us made itself even more felt. I'd been to flapjacks exactly three times, at the end of my Freshman year, my Sophomore year, and now my Junior year. I happened to be hungry, and left with twenty dollars for food, which I spent all of.
Part of the reason I came was to get a group photo. To take a photo in a public high school you're supposed to have everyone sign consent forms agreeing to be photographed. This is of course unwieldy for a group photograph, and I wasn't even sure where to get the consent forms. Besides, I wanted the photo to be organic, to show them accurately. When people pose stiff like corpses for a photo the memory is soiled. I remembered a photo I had seen on wikipedia of the Italian Arditi. The people in it seemed so lively that I could almost imagine standing there with them. I wanted a photo like that.
Part of the problem with getting it was that I needed to take the photo before anybody left. The other problem was finding a place to take the picture, everybody was sitting too far apart to take it from the ground floor. The shot would need to be taken from above the floor level. I eventually set the camera and its tiny tripod on top of a ledge painted green that had a piano set against its side.
It took me three tries as I recall to take the picture. Getting more than ten people to not pose for a group photo, but still look at the camera is an impossible task. What I eventually ended up with was a restaurant of boys and girls striking various poses. Even I had to quickly run to my seat to get in the photo. As I looked over the final photo I frowned, somebody had flipped off the camera, the others had tried to be "wacky" to stand out.
The more I stared at my photo, the better I felt about it. These kids were the type to flip off a camera, and they were the type to make funny faces for a group photo, which in that sense gives a viewer the "realism" of their personalities. More importantly though, it was my photo, I could share it with anyone I wanted, any time I wanted. It's probably the only photo I have of these people that I can show.
School got out at 9:15 as I remember it. My mom had made sure to tell me she couldn't pick me up if I missed the bus, so I knew that after I left this restaurant it would be a long walk home. I asked the boys next to me if I could get a ride in their truck. The short one, Mason, blew off the request, telling me it was a short walk to my house. (Later when I told my mom where I'd walked from her first comment was "That's clear across town!") I got up to pay, and went over my order with the overwhelmed manager, noting the orange juice he had forgotten to write down. (Flapjacks is the sort of restaurant that charges you three dollars for a glass of orange juice.)
As I walked out Khanor drove past me, shouting in a mocking tone "Have fun at the hydroponics store!", a place I had announced my intention to visit earlier. It was right next door. When I got to the road, a man with a backpack stood there with me. He asked if I had any bus tickets. I looked at his olive face and almost considered asking him the cost of a bus ticket and giving him the money, but showing money to a stranger seemed like adding more danger than necessary to a walk across town. I told him no, which was the truth, and he pressed the crosswalk button and waited.
It's funny, the last time I'd walked around in a town was years ago, and it wasn't until he'd pressed the button and I saw the little white man on the other side of the road that I remembered if it was the stop sign or the man that told you when to cross. In retrospect it seemed obvious that it was the man. I visited every store and building that I hadn't had occasion to prior. This included a trip to Value Village, where I looked over the used book selection and found it wanting, I usually have better luck at Goodwill.
I walked out of Value Village with a book on technical writing, and started again down the sidewalk. By this point it was something like one o clock. As I walked down the side walk I became distracted by a passerby and ended up walking in front of a blue truck. The driver didn't seem pleased, and made a motion for me to walk up to the window, I declined and kept walking.
And walking, and walking. I crossed another road, passed Starbucks, bought a Jones soda at Haggens, and made the final walk down to my house. On the way there I was worried about how I would clean up the soda bottle if I dropped it on the concrete. When I finally got to the door it was almost 2:15 PM. I sat down in my chair with a vague sense of malaise. The feeling of unreality from earlier had been heightened by the walk home.
I realized it would have been better to dine alone.
