Archives for posts with tag: Tim Tebow
Tim Tebow Florida Field

Currently, there are 24 states that allow home-schooled children to play sports at their neighborhood schools.  This list includes: Alaska, Arizona, California, Colorado, Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Illinois, Iowa, Louisiana, Maine, Massachusetts, Michigan, Minnesota, New Hampshire, North Dakota, Ohio, Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, Utah, Vermont, Washington state, and Wyoming. Vermont.  (Contact your state representative for further information.)

If your state is not on the list, you are homeschooling your child, and you expect to let him/her participate in secondary school athletics, you may have a battle on your hands.

The Tebow Bill, named after Tim Tebow, the UF football legend, will allow homeschooled children to play high school sports.  Obviously, using the name Tebow carries some weight as well as highlights his rise to football stardom in Florida, where he was homeschooled and allowed to play high school football.

The State of Virginia is the most recent state trying to pass this bill.

Opponents of the bill argue that home-schooled children don’t have the education level of a typical high school student.  (Really?  So, your high school football star who’s getting recruited by top colleges around the country can barely score in triple digits on the SAT’s and you think homeschooling is poor? Doesn’t this happen every year?)  There are also those that oppose this bill, because it will create a ‘recruiting’ type of atmosphere between homeschooled kids and local high schools.  (If you didn’t already know, that stuff already happens with normal high school students.)

On the other side of the coin, some taxes goes to supporting public schools.  So, even though you may home-school, you are still paying money towards a local high school.  So, shouldn’t your child be allowed to play sports with the other taxpaying students?  Or maybe all the homeschooled children’s taxes would go to a separate sports/activities program.  (Then the s#!t would hit the fan…)

Below are some of the articles outlining what is going on with the Tebow Bill.  If you know you are going to homeschool your child through secondary school, then you may want to start looking at your state’s legislature now.

You could be growing the next Tim Tebow in your very own house!  Wouldn’t the world be a better place if there were just a few more Tim Tebows?

The Tebow Bill

More Tebow Bill

Even More Tebow Bill


Sports Participation for Homeschoolers



Can't a guy get a little privacy over here?

For all things concerning Jesus or God, I will be using the term Tebow.  He’s the revised, updated Jesus for the new millennium.  Either love him or hate him, He’s awesome.  And as a University of Florida alum, I definitely love him (in a manly sort of way, of course).

It’s dinner time.  Steph and I were having pizza.  We were soon interrupted by the telltale poop signs on the Worm:  concerned face, grunt, relieved smile, concerned face, grunt, relieved smile.  Who’s on diaper duty?

Since Steph was done eating first, she took Gavin to the back room for his diaper change.  (For the record, I chew every bite 25 times, so I’m now the slowest eater you know.)   Thinking that I could continue enjoying my pizza,  the mastication continued.  Then I hear Steph calling me from the back.  “Dylan, come here!”  So, I run to see what was up.

Gavin’s entire back was covered in poop.  Nice.  Thank Tebow I didn’t have to clean it up.

With my quick thinking, I told Steph to use the already soiled onesie to wipe off Gavin’s back.  She complied and I went back to the kitchen to finish my meal.

Not two minutes later…”Hon, can you take the dirty onesie out to the garage and rinse it in the sink before we put it in the laundry?”

(I don’t so much mind breastfed baby poop.  No smell, simple to clean, easy on the eyes.  But solid food baby poop is disgusting.  I mean, it’s chunky, stinky, and…need I go on?  Yeah, disgusting.)

Boy, I'm pooped!

So, diaper duty for Steph turns into something worse for me.  I lightly pinch the cleanest part of the onesie and haul it to the garage.  As I walk to the utility sink, I see a spider dangling right overhead.  (Since night-time and darkness makes every spider look poisonous, it was a brown widow.)  My first reaction was to smush the spider before it disappeared.  Like the idiot I am, I grab the closest thing to me, (well, I was already grabbing it) the onesie.  In a flailing motion, with one part of my brain anxious to kill the spider, and the other part of my brain trying to avoid touching poop, I swiped at the lethal spider.  And missed.

The spider, laughing at my coordination, glances the oncoming blow and is nowhere in sight (and probably not dead.  You’re welcome, PETA.) Needing proof of death, I figure it must be in the onesie biding its time, planning an escape.

So, cursing softly to myself, I know that I must find that spider, dead or alive.  I reach into the onesie.  Nothing.  With baby poop all over my hands and spider never found, I lost my appetite.  I go back into the house and feed the rest of my pizza to the dogs.

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