| 2008 SF Bay Area Scholarship winner by Emily O'Brien |
We are born not knowing anything, and learn directly from the world about the world. Contrary to the definitions given in most
textbooks, this process of education is not a flawless one, but moves haltingly over uneven ground. I sometimes think of Galileo,
and I picture him dropping cannonballs from the Tower of Pisa. I think: how did he know what to do? How did he know, when no
one knew before him? How did he know that he was right? The answer seems to be that he had climbed the tower many times
before, and his thoughts had yielded nothing. This is my world, and it prompts me to ask questions like these, questions that don’t
have obvious answers. I, like Galileo, have been given the chance to examine subjects in depth, to touch them, to experience
them, because I was homeschooled. I would not feel nearly so satisfied with my education thus far if I had not experienced so
much of it first-hand. I have stood at the highest point of Thoor Ballylee in County Galway, Ireland, with my weathered copy of The
Tower in my hand, and gazed, as William Butler Yeats gazed, on the damp, green bowl of land around me, from the effulgent
West to the darkening East. Yeats’ poetry would not awaken such a passion in me if I had not felt the cold Irish wind on my face
as he once did.
On my first day of school, my mother woke me up and I rolled out of bed into a place largely removed from time, abundant with
possibility, where I would spend my primary and secondary education. Each day, I had a number of assignments from my mother
and when those were complete, I spent the rest of the school day studying whatever I chose. At times, this freedom had some
interesting results; at seven, I could read basic hieroglyphics. I was King Tutankhamen for Halloween, to the bafflement of my
friends. By the age of twelve, I had read every cookbook in our local library. When I was fifteen, I read On the Origin of Species
twice and argued fierily in the defense of evolution whenever I felt it needed defending. Today, I am still a staunch supporter of
the theory but I have tempered my fire substantially. My schooling naturally became more structured when I reached high-school
age but I have always allotted sufficient time to my own interests. Melodramatically, I tell my mother that this practice preserves my
sanity and she always responds, laughing, that my sanity is in good hands.
The hardest part of home schooling has been motivating myself to study subjects that I find difficult. I have always thought of
myself as open-minded and willing to learn, but I believe that everyone needs some help and encouragement when overcoming
obstacles. My parents have always been by my side during all my undertakings, particularly the difficult ones. They offer valuable
criticism and advice. They are mentors, teachers, and parents simultaneously. My mother’s unwavering encouragement enabled
me to become principal cellist of my orchestra and to gain a place on the music staff of Cazadero Music Camp, a beautiful place
in the redwoods north of Santa Rosa where I not only taught music, but also learned a great deal about life. As humans, it is in
our nature not only to learn but also to teach. Having such admirable mentors in my young life has opened my eyes to the impact
I can have with my knowledge and skills.
In the words of Theodore Roethke, “I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow./I learn by going where I have to go.” I learn by
living, by sitting down and thinking about a problem, by trial and error. My little world has conditioned me for a lifetime of heuristic
learning. As I look out from my own little tower of discovery, the world Galileo looked out on is the same world that now looks back
at me, and I hope that I will always have the time to absorb it.
textbooks, this process of education is not a flawless one, but moves haltingly over uneven ground. I sometimes think of Galileo,
and I picture him dropping cannonballs from the Tower of Pisa. I think: how did he know what to do? How did he know, when no
one knew before him? How did he know that he was right? The answer seems to be that he had climbed the tower many times
before, and his thoughts had yielded nothing. This is my world, and it prompts me to ask questions like these, questions that don’t
have obvious answers. I, like Galileo, have been given the chance to examine subjects in depth, to touch them, to experience
them, because I was homeschooled. I would not feel nearly so satisfied with my education thus far if I had not experienced so
much of it first-hand. I have stood at the highest point of Thoor Ballylee in County Galway, Ireland, with my weathered copy of The
Tower in my hand, and gazed, as William Butler Yeats gazed, on the damp, green bowl of land around me, from the effulgent
West to the darkening East. Yeats’ poetry would not awaken such a passion in me if I had not felt the cold Irish wind on my face
as he once did.
On my first day of school, my mother woke me up and I rolled out of bed into a place largely removed from time, abundant with
possibility, where I would spend my primary and secondary education. Each day, I had a number of assignments from my mother
and when those were complete, I spent the rest of the school day studying whatever I chose. At times, this freedom had some
interesting results; at seven, I could read basic hieroglyphics. I was King Tutankhamen for Halloween, to the bafflement of my
friends. By the age of twelve, I had read every cookbook in our local library. When I was fifteen, I read On the Origin of Species
twice and argued fierily in the defense of evolution whenever I felt it needed defending. Today, I am still a staunch supporter of
the theory but I have tempered my fire substantially. My schooling naturally became more structured when I reached high-school
age but I have always allotted sufficient time to my own interests. Melodramatically, I tell my mother that this practice preserves my
sanity and she always responds, laughing, that my sanity is in good hands.
The hardest part of home schooling has been motivating myself to study subjects that I find difficult. I have always thought of
myself as open-minded and willing to learn, but I believe that everyone needs some help and encouragement when overcoming
obstacles. My parents have always been by my side during all my undertakings, particularly the difficult ones. They offer valuable
criticism and advice. They are mentors, teachers, and parents simultaneously. My mother’s unwavering encouragement enabled
me to become principal cellist of my orchestra and to gain a place on the music staff of Cazadero Music Camp, a beautiful place
in the redwoods north of Santa Rosa where I not only taught music, but also learned a great deal about life. As humans, it is in
our nature not only to learn but also to teach. Having such admirable mentors in my young life has opened my eyes to the impact
I can have with my knowledge and skills.
In the words of Theodore Roethke, “I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow./I learn by going where I have to go.” I learn by
living, by sitting down and thinking about a problem, by trial and error. My little world has conditioned me for a lifetime of heuristic
learning. As I look out from my own little tower of discovery, the world Galileo looked out on is the same world that now looks back
at me, and I hope that I will always have the time to absorb it.
Emily O'Brien is the 2008 recipient of the SF Bay Area Pitt Club scholarship. Emily is a Freshman at the University. We asked
Emily to tell us about herself, and here is her story.
Emily to tell us about herself, and here is her story.