Hoodie Patoodie

Hoodie Patootie

I must make a confession, because I think this is very funny. Weeks ago, I saw the Bob the Unschooling Hoodie page, before the link was up, and the words stayed in my consciousness.

Without a definition provided, my brain came up with its own. I began to think of dear Bob the Unschooling Hoodie (pronounced, in my brain, "hoo-dee") as the Prototypical Unschooler. You know the one I mean. The sort who builds solar ovens, learns obscure dialects, pushes his/her wheelchair alone through the wilds of South America, and designs an award-winning webpage. The kind who has a black belt in pretty much every martial art there is and manages to write feature articles for the New York Times, meditate, open an ice cream store/mechanic shop, win the lottery, volunteer at a homeless shelter and still have time on the side for crafting his or her own private jet. Oh, and s/he even gets along with his or her parents.

I even used the word a few times. "Yeah, he's a real hoodie." I thought of it as the unschooler equivalent of the yiddish "macher", or bigshot. It was half envy, half admiration; half bitterness and half respect. It's a useful term. We all have hoodies in our heads. I don't know a single camper or staffer who is confident that he or she is doing enough. There's always a higher hoodie. Hoodies can make us feel smaller, or they can make us feel like we have even more options than we already thought.

But let me tell you something: When I drew up that joke list of the hoodie's activities, I actually culled it (with some exaggerations) from the unschoolers I already know. We all have hoodie potential. Jessie O. once said to me that she likes feeling jealous, because it reminds her of where she needs to go. Furthermore, I'll bet that while you're ensnared in hoodie snarkiness, someone is muttering similar stuff about you. "That hoodie. God, I never could..."

Yeah you can.

Yours in Hoodiness,

Jessica/witchbaby