All ages, from pre-school to 12th grade. The classes were divided into three age groups: K-3 in one room, 3rd-6th in another, and 6th-12th in the third.
The cirriculum was self-guided. You read the text, then answered the questions after each section, grading your own work in central answer keys. At the end of each text, you would take a test monitored by the teacher. If you got a 90% or above, you could move on to the next text. Once you completed a certain number of them, you graduated.
One teacher was considered sufficient for each room. We sat in little cubicles and had two flags that we would mount on the edges. The Christian flag indicated you wanted to get up and score your work. The American flag indicated you had a question or needed to use the bathroom.
In the morning, we had a one hour long “devotions” session, in which the principal preached at us. We had to take notes and were tested on the content. On Mondays, we had a two hour long “chapel” session where the preacher from her church did the honors. (And in all my days I have yet to see another speaker as boring as he.)
We didn’t have uniforms, but we did have a strict dress code. Girls had to wear skirts that covered the bottom of their knees and shirts could be no lower cut than two finger-widths below the collar bone. (And they would press their fingers against your skin to check.) Shirts could have no logos. Denim skirts could only be worn on Fridays. Boys had to wear cotton slacks and shirts which had collars. (Buttons also required on Mondays, when we were supposed to dress up for chapel.)
Our physical education was comprised of mandatory basketball for the boys and cheerleading for the girls. Of course, we weren’t allowed to do any flips or splits, so our cheer routines were mostly arm work. It was as embarassing as hell because the league we played in was comprised of other Christian schools which weren’t as conservative. We’d go out there to do our arm-waving routine after the opposing team had just done a super-coreographed dance routine.
My grandparents were impressed by the aura of private school and believed the principal when she bragged about their academic standards and the success of their graduates. They didn’t believe me when I told them she was lying shortly after enrolling. They knew I hated the place, so they chalked it up to exaggeration.
I graduated from there. The woman in admissions at the first college to which I applied actually laughed at me when I told her from whence I came. I never did go to college, but that probably has as much to do with my lack of confidence and not pushing the issue as it does with the lack of accredidation. (Where there’s a will, there’s a way. I didn’t have the will. Apparently, none of their graduates ever did, because I have yet to hear of one of them attending a secular university.)
It did have a slight positive side: when employers saw the name of the school on my application, it gave me a bit of a boost. They thought I’d be honest and hardworking coming from such a place. (Suckers!)
Classmates who left the Christian school to go to regular schools were generally made to catch up on all they had missed. One girl I knew basically had to take three years simultaneously in order to graduate on time.
No, I don’t. My grandma occasionally bumps into my classmates around town and so keeps me up to date on the latest gossip, but I really have very little interest.