Too Close to Home (Part 1)

Of all the times for the teachers to go one strike, it had to be the beginning of my senior year.

Not that I'm against the teacher's getting more pay. I just with they had waited one more year, until after I graduated so I wouldn't have to put up with the fallout.

The school has been completely shut down, and all of the students have been **** to stay at home until the county can figure something out. Meanwhile, all the students suddenly have a lot of free time on their hands. And most parents just unleash them on the town just to get them out of the house.

Not my parents though. No, they insisted I get an education. And with all the tutors booked up, they decided to homeschool me. But not just for the learning. They said that the reason they didn't send me to private school was so that I would get the "public-school experience," whatever that means. You see, my parents are a little cooky, and they're real sticklers for the rules. And that's why they decided to transform our house into a high school, with them as my teachers.

Every morning, I wake up early and get ready like usual. I get dressed, go downstairs, eat breakfast, and then I "walk" to my "classroom."

And you have to give my parents credit, as they never half-ass anything. The garage used to be quite a musty place before, but they really cleaned it up. I take my seat at my lone desk and chair, in front of the chalkboard. I pull my notes out of my backpack, and then wait for my mother--oh, sorry--"Mrs. Gregory" to walk in and begin teaching the day's lesson. I'm not allowed to call my parents by their first names during "school hours." When I asked why they always gave me the formal answer of “it's procedure,” just as if they were actual staff members. She even makes me stand while I recite the pledge of allegiance by myself.

Then I go to gym, which takes place in our backyard. But first I have to stop by the "locker room," which is my parents' bathroom upstairs. It's large and spacious, but I don't understand why I can't just change in my room. I even have to keep my belongings in one of the cabinets beneath the sink, like it's a locker.

At this point I'm surprised they don't make me walk around the block in the mornings and afternoons to emulate the experience of traveling to school. I would joke about it, except I'm afraid they might take it seriously, and I'm not interested in giving them more ideas. And baring in mind what came later, I'm glad I never mentioned it, as it would have made my experience even worse.

Lunch was always in the cafeteria, which was the dining room. And I always sat down alone, forbidden to watch television, and **** to eat whatever was packed in my lunch box that morning and nothing else from the kitchen, for the same reason that I was never allowed back into my room: "Unless he or she is sick sick, every student is to remain at school until the end of the day, and is not permitted to go home for any reason." Then it was back to my "classroom" for history or science or whatever.

When the bell rang and I was dismissed, I "went home" and my parents would ask me how my day went, as if I wasn't with them the entire time. Then I would do my homework, come down for dinner, and then go to sleep ready for the next day of school.

Meanwhile, negotiations are going slowly, so it looks like real school isn't opening back up anytime soon.

I know what you are thinking: "That's weird, man. But it's not too bad. Right?" Wrong. If you think this story is weird so far, you haven't heard anything yet.