I am no fan of private school
Having been raised in public school in a public school neighborhood – the sole kid who went to private school did so because his priest informed his mom that he would be going to parochial school – I have numerous misgivings about private school. If I were honest with myself, I’d probably have to admit that some of my misgivings are really prejudices. There might even be a bit of jealousy thrown in. Luckily, I’m not honest with myself.
I did go to a private college, and those were four incredibly happy years that I’ll be paying off for another twenty. I frequently dream that I’m back in college and wake feeling sad. Private college is kind of like private school, I think, except better. So I can see that there must be some pros to private school: small class sizes, high percentages of teachers who care, compared to public school, fewer teachers who went to school to avoid the draft … the list could go on and on.
Nevertheless, I remain rather unimpressed with private schools. After all, I went to a public school from kindergarten through high school, and here I am today writing this post. I haven’t spent even one night in jail, and I’ve yet to inject even a single, solitary drop of heroin into my eyeballs. Right or left.
Private schools are nice and all, but they’re not perfect. And they’re not necessarily that much better than public schools, despite the advantages. My elementary school was in a poor part of town, for example. It was – this is true – built as a “temporary” school back in the 70′s. A temporary school. In a permanent community. It’s still there today, and I won’t contradict the cynic who suggests that has something to do with the socioeconomic status of the voters in the area. But I simply can’t imagine that there is a single private elementary school in town that provides a better experience than the one I had. I also still dream of that school, just like I still dream about college, although when I wake I’m glad to have been dreaming. Puberty was unpleasant once; I’d rather not repeat it.
But with private school, there’s stuff like this that Katie went through earlier this week:
It was already dark outside and the school felt thoroughly deserted. I walked into the cafeteria, where the last three kids and one or two aftercare workers were hanging out, waiting for the neglectful working moms. As I walked in, I could see the look of disapproval on one of the aftercare worker’s faces. I tried to ignore it.
I approached E, who was sitting at a table, and in a cheery voice that belied my tiredness, asked him to gather up his things. As he did, the aftercare worker with the disapproving mien approached me, and told me that E had been loud during the study hall period of aftercare. I turned to E, who had his things ready by now and was waiting to leave, and I asked him to apologize for his behavior. But before he said a word, the aftercare lady turned to him and said in a tone of voice CLEARLY intended to convey that what she was about to say was actually for me, and not for E, “That’s okay E. All of us at the school understand that it’s REALLY, REALLY HARD to behave when you are so tired of your mother leaving you in aftercare so late.”
I’m not going to go into detail about what I think about this poor woman, although I will say that I am somewhat amused by the crazy hypocrisy in her statement. Even if she doesn’t have kids, she has a weird double standard. And I can only assume that the other kids who were still there had parents just as terrible as E’s.
One difference between my elementary school and E’s was the daily train of vans at my school, lining up to take kids to the daycare centers where many of my classmates spent the time between when school ended and when their parent(s) got home from work. I never had to go to daycare, but I did spend time at neighbors’ houses after school instead of mine. And there was a period when I had a key to the house and would spend some time alone at home every day. I don’t think I ever got upset that my mom couldn’t always pick me up at school every day and take me to get a cherry Icee, but I was very aware of how lucky I was that my mom was a teacher and got summers off.
Meanwhile, my step-kids get upset about staying at their posh school an extra hour or two before Katie can get off work and pick them up. Not that I blame them, and it certainly isn’t their “fault” that they feel this way, anyway. It’s just that they’re in the minority at their school, where, like most private schools in our area, few moms work. And all they can see is that their friends’ moms don’t work, so why should theirs?
It really makes me frustrated, because there’s no way I can explain to them how truly lucky they are. And if I even try, I end up saying something ridiculously along the lines of “kids these days don’t know how good they’ve got it.” So instead I sit there, biting my lip and explaining one more time that their mom does work and will work and that’s just life even if they don’t like it. And then I say a mental prayer for Katie, who I’m sure feels slapped in the face every time the kids complain that she has to work.
And maybe they’d still feel this way if they went to the schools where I went, but I don’t think so. The pros of private school likely outweigh the cons, but the cons sure can be unpleasant. I just hope we can find some middle ground for C when she gets old enough. I understand that the neighborhood school for our gentrified part of town is a Montessori school a few miles away, and I’m not sure that I’m ok with that.
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Tonight, my excuse is that I am solo parenting, and I have a lot to do before I can put C to bed. The kitchen needs to be cleaned, the trash needs to be taken out, the diapers need to be washed, the dogs and cats need to be fed, and – oh yeah – C needs to be fed, too.
