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A Boarding School Education, Part I: Hard Choices
After I was excused from lunch one afternoon at boarding school, I stood out in the side yard whacking at the tether ball, trying to give it enough momentum to whip around the pole a few times. Solitude was time for a nine-year-old to do some thinking, and on my mind was this: What if I had been born somewhere else, like in the States? And just grew up ordinary, went to a regular school, didn’t get to travel and stuff? How boring would that be? I’m sure glad I’m me.
Boarding school is a controversial topic on the missionary kid (MK) Facebook group I’ve joined. One’s experience really depended on individual circumstances: how your parents handled challenges, who your dorm parents were, how old you were, how far away from family, and so on. MK’s often express that their years in boarding school were painful ones, that they were too young, felt misunderstood, and shaped by approaches to discipline that were often harsh. For me, in spite of some difficult semesters, the three years I spent at school were overall positive ones. They developed my mind in both expected and unlooked-for ways, providing exposure to American culture, time with peers, classroom experiences, and a long list of enrichments that included music and swimming lessons.
I was eight when my turn came to go to boarding school in Chiang Mai, Thailand. At the time, my parents worked in the Northeast in a town on the Mekong River. My dad, with daily assistance from local Christians, was translating the Bible into Isaan, a language similar to Laotian. My mom was creating language lessons for local missionaries and homeschooling the three of us who hadn’t yet reached third grade and thus weren’t old enough for the school the Protestant mission was offering.
Anticipating my joining my older brother in Chiang Mai, my mom spent afternoons sewing several dresses for me to wear to class, with a light pink lacy one for Sundays. My dorm parents, she reminded me as she took my measurements, would be Papi and Aunt Inga, a German couple who were my parents’ dear friends. I would see my age mates every day, and get to go swimming on Saturdays. Among the items I packed was a small cookie tin filled with attractive scraps of fabric and sewing supplies that my mom had put together for me. I would not have given up my chance to do this for anything.
Why boarding school? Why did my mom, despite it being “one of the hardest things” she’s ever done, end up sending all four of her kids to a distant city for their education? Back in 1980, missionary families faced limited options for educating their kids. Many of us started out homeschooling. This option was helpful, but it came with drawbacks. In hindsight, I found learning at home to be tedious, yet I was energized and motivated in classes with my peers that boarding school provided.
Missionary families often sent their children to local Thai schools, too, where we started learning to read Thai. We loved playing with our Thai friends every day, and, depending on our situation, might see our fellow English-speaking MKs, with whom we shared strong bonds, only occasionally. The gap in acculturation meant that MKs needed to have some immersion in Western culture, too. A larger school would have resources to not only provide this, but also electives and experiences that would have been difficult for parents spread out over Thailand to give their children. A centralized education effort with these prospective advantages appealed to my mother. So once the mission leadership organized the boarding school, my mom didn’t need convincing when, for various reasons, headquarters strongly encouraged parents to send their children.
Today, our mission provides traveling support personnel for homeschooling families. There is a thriving international school in Chiang Mai in the place of the small “Educational Center” that was started up by a close community of missionaries in 1980. Now, travel is easy and fast, with more towns offering airports. Wifi is available even in remote jungle villages, and families can easily video chat. Some families formed a homeschool co-op and found they were happier with that arrangement.
In the early eighties, however, the school was a two-day drive from our home. It was rare to own a working telephone, and so during our annual three semesters away, we exchanged weekly letters with our families. The heavy sadness of homesickness could weigh down our enjoyment of friends and activities. For me, the feeling might be visceral at the beginning of semesters but especially struck right after what felt like an eye-blink brief “Parents’ Weekend” in the middle of the semester. I could have done without an extra parting with my mom and dad. Most of the time, though, when not reminded of how far away my family was, I got carried away in the rich daily experiences and didn’t have time to dwell on how much I missed home.
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Sawatdeeka, when I went to the States as an adult – after five years of missionary school – i found that missionary culture is a definitely separate subculture. [And I was at a Church college.]. Did you find that?
Also – our food was dependably awful in school. Yours?
When I was a punk kid in Africa, the MK’s all lived in. less a boarding school than a dorm, while all their folks were up-country. We all attended the American Cooperative School in the capital together.
My background and beliefs were way different than the MKs’ but there are four or five that definitely, specifically improved my life. The rest generally contributed to enriching my life.
We had a pretty good food: homemade bread, Thai food cooked by the hired helpers, and casseroles and other homecooked fare. I think we discussed where you went to school, but I don’t remember. I’m so interested.
I hadn’t stopped to think about missionary culture being a subculture, but I guess it was. They seemed to share similar ideas on discipline and child raising, and when new families came later that didn’t share that, they definitely stood out. What are your “subculture” examples?
Boss, I’m wondering whether any of the kids you knew are on my MK site. Probably so, since there is something like 10,000 members. What country were you in, again? What was your family’s work there? How long were you there?
Wow. You guys had interesting childhoods.
Me too.
Woodstock, in India.
Living simpler lives, consciously, when it came to material things. They had already made a choice about what was important to them and acted on it.
It was sort of like a time warp? But at the same time leavened by the experience of living in another culture and learning it and relating to it, so in some ways more thought out. Just my impression. Going to a Church college in the US was a very gentle entry after Woodstock – so it’s similar, but imho the missionary experience broadened people.
Liberia, 80 thru 82 (mas o menos). Had a blast.
I begged my parents to send me to boarding school. No luck.
I think the phrase “dependably awful food” modifies the term “boarding school” rather than “missionary school.” At least, that was my experience. Although I loved what the British call “stodge,” which is any sort of boiled pudding (dessert) with cold, lumpy, custard sauce.
I have fond memories of mine, which I wrote about in a post some time ago a title like “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.”
So true. But Sawatdeeka says that their food was good. Where’s the justice?!
It’s really hard to have bad Thai food.
Was the food you got western or Indian? I’ve never had bad dal or chana – and those are about as basic and inexpensive as you can get but also really good.
So my four years in a Catholic boy’s boarding school in HS now not looking so rough. At least I never got accused of raping drunk girls at parties like poor Kavanaugh. But then he was around much richer kids.
I think that might be an even more interesting story of growing up.
A mix, and you’re right – the Western was worse.
(It was also a very privileged problem to have in India, so with a large pinch of adolescent self absorption.)
I believe I have already done a post or a long comment about my uncomfortable childhood.
Also true. Unfortunately, I wasn’t in Thailand at the time. So I have just two words for you: Mushy peas.
That’s the thing She. They could have stopped with mediocre Indian food where I went. Insisting on adding awful Western food to the mix shows an unreasonable bloody mindedness.
LOL. I think you’re right.
Noooooooo. Lumpy mash is also a nightmare. Served in university cafeteria every day I was a student in London. Along with mystery meat in paste they called gravy. Fortunately I was old enough to rely on the local shops and a good enough cook and innovator to make do and no mushy peas.