The writer's son said he wanted to drop out of high school to teach himself. She let him, and he explored his love of travel and filmmaking.
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A few weeks before he turned 16, my older son pitched us a plan to leave high school on his upcoming birthday.
His father (my then-husband) and I took him seriously. Our son had a powerful inner drive, which I'd steadfastly supported. As a biologist trained in animal behavior and ecology — and the person lucky enough to be their stay-at-home parent — I'd been open to mothering both of my sons in unusual ways. From before their births, I'd hoped to help them connect to a wild human lineage we tend to forget in our culture of screens, social media, and intense work expectations. This included co-sleeping and potty training early.
So, I wasn't surprised when my son told me he wanted to drop out of high school to teach himself. It's what I taught him to do all along.
Early on, my sons thrived in an affordable Montessori preschool. But then, after a few years in public school, the boys dimmed.
One day, I took them for a trial run at a K-8 Expeditionary Learning school that had recently formed in our small town. Later, they scrambled into the car, jubilant, rushing to exclaim, "Mom, we loved it! Can we please go to this school?"
From then on, they were so excited they almost never needed help with homework. Meanwhile, they spent summers at a nature-based wilderness school rooted in social learning. Both boys were experienced bow-drill fire-starters, knife makers, trackers, and solo overnight wilderness campers by their tweens.
Perhaps it was inevitable, then, that my older son felt increasingly hemmed in by his year-and-a-half at a public high school. By then, on his own time, he'd been among the first kids we know to build, fly, and race drones. He'd won numerous photography awards. Then, a book I'd shared with him, "The Teenage Liberation Handbook," set him on fire during his sophomore year. So, when he asked to leave school that spring, it didn't take us long to say, "Yes."
Almost immediately, he studied for, practiced, and acquired a professional drone pilot's license. Meanwhile, he used his father's workshop to build out his first camper car. Soon, he began taking short trips near home to film with his drone.
We'd agreed he'd also do online learning through Kahn Academy, but at 23, he recently told me, "Mom, I used that a lot less than you thought."
He eventually moved out of our home and into a yurt in the backyard. For all intents and purposes, he governed his own life. Within reason, we'd approve of his trips and growing independence.
My social life included a close group of friends with similar-aged children who'd grown up together. My son spent a lot of time with that gang across his teen years — often camping, hiking, staging epic Nerf battles, skiing, and road-tripping together.
My son continued to thrive. Between 16 and 18, he began contracting as a filmmaker with the K-8 EL school he'd once attended. He made a few short documentary films spotlighting the school's approach to learning, including teaching students indigenous canoe-making skills. Then, he worked with the tribes of north Idaho to document their ancient stewardship of the lands and rivers.
My son did well on his GED and SATs, but that didn't matter much to him. He took a few college courses but ultimately decided college was not for him.
Today, he's backpacking around the world on his bike. And he's using his gear and drone to make self-shot film adventures. So far, this includes last year's hike around the Ring Road in Iceland, a bike ride from Canada to Mexico, and this spring's solo cycle across the length of the United Kingdom in epically rough weather. He's currently on a ferry across the English Channel with new friends, set to ride across northern Europe this summer. He's currently getting paid for the videos he makes of his travels.
It's there, in his recent films, that I've seen the exact kind of joy on my son's face that I saw when he was a small child. As much as I might have safety concerns while he's out there riding thousands of miles across all manner of challenges (and oh, mercy, I do), he's becoming his own true self. And that is all I ever wanted for him.
Rachel Clark is a writer and the author. Her work has appeared in Newsweek, Salon, Psychology Today, and Good Housekeeping. Her memoir, in the works, links her experience as a biologist, wife, and mother to the impacts of coercive control on people and planet. Connect at www.rachelclarkauthor.com.
