School is
never far from a mother’s mind, but it’s been on mine a lot recently, as I have
been helping my oldest apply to colleges.
I used to think that day care was the worst part of being a parent, but
really, all the parts where you turn your angel (hah!) over to strangers and
their value systems are challenging.
I remember
preschool so well, in some ways. My
oldest needed to get registered just after my second was born. Of course, I had put no thought whatsoever
into this, not realizing the cut-offs were so draconian, as he was my first
born. It’s pre-school, for crap’s sake,
you probably register at the door, or something, I reasoned. Now I know that if you don’t apply by
February, you will be lucky to get into a second tier preschool, and you may
not get in at all! Fortunately, I had a
neighbor with an older only, who had done all the research, and could keep me
on track. In hindsight, C. probably had
done white glove inspections, median student IQ surveys and teacher background
checks, but at the time, all I was knew was that her daughter had been happy
there, it was reasonably close by, and (just) affordable. It turned out to be brilliant, and an
excellent choice for both my knuckleheads, for which I am eternally indebted to
her, but that’s not my point.
My point is
this: Parents make such a difference.
Naturally, I joined the preschool coffee
klatch crowd, hoping to gain insights into the whole child rearing business,
and boy was that an eye-opener. It turns
out that I had wandered into the preschool for the rich and famous. C. and I lived in a non-descript suburb with
30 year old houses we were all busy remodeling.
I was totally used to having the oldest and dirtiest car swimming
through the teeming gleaming Lexii like a lost cod in a school of Atlantic
herring, so I hadn’t noticed the parking lot.
But when I started visiting the McMansions for coffee, I realized how
out of my depth I was. Not only did the
nanny usually handle the other offspring, and the dog, as we sipped our select
brew on white sofas, but the conversations were sometimes surreal. “Should we put little Jasper in a French-Immersion
Kindergarten?, one would query. “I hear that French is language Dartmouth is
into these days.” “Perhaps Dartmouth is,
but I believe Brown is leaning toward Spanish, and Yale to Chinese! How confusing it all is! I do wish they would make up their minds!” Of course we talked about normal things,
like when it was appropriate to start piano lessons, Judo v. Tai Kwan Do, the horror
of household help, and whether or have clowns or ponies for birthday parties,
but I never felt quite comfortable asking if anyone else had a kid who chewed
on his own toenails. I probably needed
to talk to the nanny about that one. My
last coffee was one where they were heatedly debating how many of them could go
to Lakeside, because, you know, Harvard only takes one person from each school’s
graduating class, so if their children were to continue on as lifelong friends,
this would take careful planning. FYI:
the Ivies may take more than one from a school’s graduating class but
you probably don’t want to plan your life around any given year’s admissions
committee anyway.
After
preschool, you might think you are done with choices, unless you can afford
private school, because, you know, there’s this school down the block where
your kids are supposed to go.
HAHAHAHA!
Is my little
darling ready for Kindergarten at all?
Must I hold him back a year until he stops running with scissors? Is he ready for full day, or should I enroll
him in half? What if I want full day,
and I only get half, which is all that is guaranteed? How will I keep him enriched and level with
his peers? Can a child actually grow to
maturity in this day and age without Kindermusik and Zen Poetry with Bonsai as
actualized by Ball Pits? What if the
only thing he eats, ever in his life is peanut butter sandwiches, and the
school doesn’t allow them? Is it wrong
to keep a child in gymnastics until he falls over from exhaustion just one day
a week so I can get some peace already?
I mean if he likes it. What if
he gets into full day, but with the wrong teacher, the one all the other moms
say should have retired 5 years ago? Should
I ask for half day instead?
Okay. You’re in.
Kindergarten achieved, and now you have to figure out what all those ambiguous
teacher notes mean (my, what a curious child he is smiley face), and why your
child is the one not getting invited to birthday parties, and what a 5 year old
could possibly do to merit a trip to the principal’s office. But the year flies by, filled with construction
paper and songs about the alphabet and firemen; and reading stories, and
suddenly you are asked how to help place your child for 1st
grade.
It hits
you. You are never out of it. You have to decide whether or not to test for
gifted pull out, or full day, you have to know about every teacher in the
elementary school, and how they would manage with your child, you have to know
about all your child’s classmates, so that you can ask never to be placed with
that one mean kid who always gets away with bullying somehow. You need to know who the IA’s are, and if
they get your kid’s sense of humor. True
story: Boy2 was getting in trouble at
recess for not playing in the group games, like wall ball. He
didn’t like the long wait, and the rules seemed stupid to him. He was walking around talking to his friend
when he should be playing, doggone it! We
bought some extra balls for his classroom, but he still never seemed to snag
one. He finally figured out how to get a
ball, and he and his friend started playing Calvinball. Calvinball, of course, has no rules and
anyone can play, but you have to get the scope of the game. The boys didn’t exclude other players; in
fact, a few other kids did join in. But
the IA didn’t understand the game. She
banned it. Because it was wide ranging,
and involved shouting, the principal backed her up. And Boy2 went back to hating recess. Something that should have been a win-win
situation was yet another headache in what was the worst year of El for Boy2
because an IA had no imagination and was irritated often by Boy2.
These are
the things that make you crazy. This is
when you quit your job, decide to run for PTA president, and spend as much time
as possible at the El, hoping that you can somehow make things work for your
child/ren. Or maybe you will hire on as
an IA yourself, just so you have the inside line.
Because
parents make a difference. We make a
difference when we help with homework.
Or kick start a project for the science fair. We make a difference when we eat dinner
together at the table with the TV off and ask how was your day, demanding an
answer. We make a difference driving to
Mosaic appointments twice a week to do sensory integration or anger management
classes. We make a difference when we check parent viewer and ask about missed
assignments. We make a difference when
we read bedtime stories, go on a nature hike, or play the eleventy billionth
game of Candyland. We make a difference
being soccer moms, or hoop dads, or baseballs martyrs. We make a difference when we spend some time,
doing whatever it is we do with our children, if it’s what our children want or
need to do.
It doesn’t
stop in El, you know. In our school
district, there are the choice schools for Middle School, and those involve
mandatory visitations, and essays, and such. You spend the pre- application days in hushed
whispers and anxious texts requiring information from people you met once in a
police lineup. Do they really pull blackberry brambles in the rain? Can my budding scholar manage 6 hours of
homework a night? Does the headmistress
really stand on the desks? “I heard Midge Thumbweezil said that The Academy
for Extreme Knowledge couldn’t possible stay at the top of the pile once the
Awesome Principal switched schools, but I rather liked it, and really how fast
can it fall apart if she was that awesome?”, you ask over gulps of wine. “ Won’t
they hire another Awesome Principal?” “I don’t know, Midge always seems to know
the dirt” “I think she’s a twit”. You were supposed to be a friendly game of
dice, but none of the tables will be able to move, because no one is rolling
except the woman with the infant who has exactly two hours until she has to
breast feed again….Applications finally in (yes, you walked yours into the
office and handed it to the secretary, because we all know how unstable the
Post Office has been lately!) and the waiting period begins. The mailbox is checked twice daily for the
week leading up to the promised date.
Facebook flutters. Anxious hearts
are soothed, sometimes your child’s, sometimes yours. The letters finally arrive and there is some
rejoicing and some ruffled feathers, some angst. More anxious muttering. What does this number mean? Is #52 52nd on the wait list or 22nd?
Historically, how often does the list
move? Reality finally sinks in for
everyone. Resignation. Then your child finally gets up the nerve to
tell you that they really wanted to go to the feeder middle school anyway, because
she has always wanted to try out for cheerleading, or his best friend will be there. And life goes on.
We were very
fortunate with the lotteries for choice schools, and I can’t say enough good
things about them. But even if you don’t
get into a choice school, there is Honor Society, and Honors classes, and all
sorts of new things to worry about. Will
wrestling cause brain damage? Can I stop
my child eating only cookies and pizza for lunch?
It starts again in High School, with the AP or
IB/Cambridge programs. By 9th
grade, you are already in a panic about college, and extra-curricular
activities, and service hours. (I mean, if you weren’t in preschool) Volunteering still helps, but there aren’t as
many opportunities. I’ve learned about
how to write college entry exams, what wins scholarships and a few other useful
things by volunteering in High School, but mostly, it’s just feeding people,
and selling tickets. You find yourself
on the home pages of various colleges looking at scatter shots of incoming
classes. Hmmm…. 35% of the freshman
class last year only cured cancer before being graduated from High School. Still a chance! There’s always Potawatamie
U. Uncle Buck went there, so we’re a
legacy and they consider dog walking a service credit. I think their minimum GPA is 1.8, and if we
donate to the football team…. Good Fallback school! You ride the parent viewer
like it was a bucking bronco. What do
you mean, you didn’t turn in that extra credit in Art? Just because you have a 4.0 doesn’t mean you
can’t use the extra credit, mister!
At 15, they
can get a learner’s permit, and then you have to decide about driving
schools. Driving! He can’t be trusted with the vacuum!
When I was
growing up, I had a job at a fast food restaurant to pay for my gas money, and
clothes and stuff; and I still was supposed to get all A’s. My oldest is allowed to babysit and do odd
jobs, but we tell him his first job is school, and that we expect him to pay
for his gas, but that’s about it. I’d
rather subsidize his extra-curricular activities than have him short his
studies. I want my boys to learn
life-work balance, too. Just because I
am peripatetic, doesn’t mean they are, or need to be. I love that I can set the example of
volunteering, working, parenting, and home-making. But I want them to learn how to prioritize
and not go crazy. And most of all I want
them to know that I believe in them and love them.
In the end,
though, I believe that is how you win the education lottery. I think the choice schools succeed because of
the kind of parents who are drawn to enroll their kids in them. I think whatever choices you make for your
children are the right ones, because, by golly, you know your children, and you’ve
thought about it. Whether you had the
luxury of planning your education strategy since difference.preschool, or faced
it on a day to day basis like most of us, you were there. And that is what makes all the difference.
Pass the Teacher's. On the Rocks, please.
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