High School. For some it was the pinnacle of their glory years: the time when they were Johnny football or Jenny cheerleader. For others like myself, it was a time of freaks and geeks and being unique where oddness percolated into a foundation for the future. Regardless of your level of inclusion or exclusion, though, all of us ran smack dab into to future almost from the very first moment we walked through the doors. We had to have a purpose, figure out a destiny, and decide what path our feet would walk upon. It was daunting, but not nearly as terrifying as being on the other side of things -- the parent/teacher side where all of a sudden you realize that all of the fun exploring and delightful discovery has to coalesce into something the world can put into tiny boxes. It's like you have to take your flesh and blood, three dimensional wonder of mood swings, growth spurts, sprouting hairs and awful smells and flatten him/her into a scantron sheet. Faced with this moment, many homeschoolers make the decision to let the state do its own flattening, shaping and molding. I have to confess, I thought more than three shakes about it, but after I was finished curling up in a ball and whimpering in the dark, I decided that all I needed was a bit of information, a bit of planning, and I could make high school work just like every other grade.