Borrowing someone’s house while they are gone is an interesting experience. Especially if they have a lot in common with your home of origin. The apartment we have parked in belongs to a homeschooling family and their bookcases overflow with books, books I grew up on. As I look them over the thought occurs of how much I have changed since I was a homeschooler. Half formed arguments and refutations float through my mind as I browse. Fond memories well in my heart and mingle with the painful. What would the mother who lives here think if she could hear my story? Would she change the way she views these books and ideologies? Would she change the way she spoke of them to her daughters and those she counsels? Perhaps she would.