
When Parents Want What Is Best for Them, Not Their Unschooling Kids
I stretch out my legs in front of me and immediately realise I’ve brought something back from my recent dog-walking expedition in the wet bush. I leap to my feet and scare Quinn by screaming, “Get off me!” A leech is feasting on my blood. I try flicking the leech off, but I know this won’t work: it’s firmly attached to my skin. What should I do? I remember a…