You weren't there

You weren't there when I first saw the blue line in a little window.

You weren't there when I told her father that we were to be parents.

You weren't there when I felt the first unimaginably gentle butterfly wings against my stomach.

You weren't there when I threw up all over, in the house, out of the house, and the car got hammered too.

You weren't there when I saw the outline of a real live baby on the strange topography of the scan.

You weren't there when the huge force of nature opened me and shook me and bent me and stole my breath in momentous labour pains.

You weren't there when she came out, purple-faced with blue eyes gleaming, raising hell with a piercing demanding cry.

You weren't there when she rose up and tottered towards the toy basket, and then fished inside for something she wanted and grabbed at it with a squeak of mastery.

You weren't there when I dressed her in an infinitely tiny skirt and a miniscule sweater embroidered with the school logo, and told her that she would 'enjoy school.'

You weren't there when her school shoes were put in the shower and soaked in the middle of winter.

You weren't there when she shivered and coughed and felt really ill in P.E. standing about, listening to the teacher drone on about nothing much in -1 degree weather.

You weren't there when the light died out of the gleaming blue eyes because the girls in her class wouldn't play with her or talk to her or team up with her in any games or classroom endeavours.

You weren't there when she bowed her head under the insults and the insolent stares of hostile kids.

You weren't there when they forced her up against a toilet wall, two against one, and pulled her arms back until she managed, thank God, to squirm free of their malice and their hatred.

You weren't there when the lovely girl got paler and paler, and took on the greyness of transparency.

You weren't there when we walked into school for the hundredth time to complain about the bullying.

You weren't there when they said it was her fault that she got bullied because she was 'too quiet' and I said how the hell can you be too quiet, and when was it a crime to be peaceful?

You weren't there when they made fun of her favourite comfortable shoes.

You weren't there when they tried to trip her up in P.E. because they wanted to hurt her and make her fall and make her look stupid in front of the rest of the class, and hurt her and hurt her and hurt her.

You weren't there.

Why are you there now, demanding access to see if I'm abusing her, you infernal condoners of abuse and misery. You two-faced harridans with your human rights that you choose to ignore when it damn well suits you?

Go save the children who ARE there. Those you are supposed to care for. Go. Take up your true responsibilities and leave my family alone.

When is consent not consent?

When IS consent not consent? When it doesn't agree with you, of course.

Children are to be asked if they like being home educated. "Catalina, do you like being home educated?"

"Yes, I do," replies Catalina.

The enquirer turns away, staring hard at the parent nearby. "Ah, I see your mother. Do you actually LIKE home education or does your mother want you to say you like home education?"

Catalina is six. She doesn't comprehend the question. The enquirer nods, marks it down in his little black book. Child says she likes being home educated but is only saying that because her mother wants her to say she likes being home educated.

This is one of the reasons that I don't think it's a good idea for children (in some cases) to be grilled like hamburger on a griddle by unscrupulous agents who will twist the children's words to suit the purposes of the agent. However, in some cases, some children will turn around and flame the griller to turn the grilled into the grillee.

And if we refuse to let the agents see our children, refuse to allow the agents to grill our children like hamburger on a griddle? Then there is cause for alarm. Loads of red flags wave in the breeze. Agents get agitated. Police are called. People bring riot gear. They manoeuvre battering rams into place. (Don't snort 'that is ridiculous'. It happened to one home educating family).

Children may not want to talk to strangers. Heck, I seldom do myself. Young people may not enjoy speaking to people with forked tongues and be too polite to say "Mrs. Agent, you are talking complete bilge. Will you please go away now and let me finish watching 'Hamlet' in Greek?"

This is why we don't 'engage' and 'have good relationships with LAs.'

We know, down to the bone, that these agents swallow the whale of lies that the government thrusts down their gullets. That 'school is safe' (often absolutely untrue) and that 'children cannot learn unless they're at school' (cancel their piano and kung fu lessons on Tuesday and Thursday evenings - you're wasting your money).

These agents don't think and don't question. They don't peer behind the rhetoric. They don't challenge the complete and utter rot. Don't or won't.

Either way, they are no fit company for our children.