The Longest March

During admissions month, a middle schooler’s parents know no shame. None whatsoever.

By Kathryn Robinson

About a year ago I sprang awake from a dream in which Samantha brought home a tattooed lounge singer for a playdate. “Tom, Tom, wake up!” I gasped. “Whatever it takes to get her a good middle school—we have to do it!” In the morning when I blinked awake I realized with certainty that this absolutely included trading away my principles. We were already old pros at this, having thrown over our mediocre south-end neighborhood school (which desperately needed our volunteer energy) in favor of an excellent north-end out-of-my-neighborhood school (which did not).

Of the valiant neighbors who stayed south, few in my acquaintance found academic satisfaction. One friend complained that chronic misbehavior in her son’s classroom kept teaching to a minimum. “He’ll be happy,” she said mordantly. “Dumb…but happy.” She considered enrolling him in private school. If they bagged vacations, fired the housecleaner, and stopped their 401(k) contributions they could just swing it. Instead she chose to live the public-spirited values she espoused.

I stand in awe of my friend’s integrity. But if the last seven years and my middle-of-the-night epiphany has taught me anything, it’s this: that in any grudge match between my liberal piety and my child’s well-being…the piety was going to be the one hauled away in a stretcher.

And so Samantha and Tom and I spent January filling out private school applications. To heighten our slim chance of getting in—one school accepts 18 of 75 applicants—Tom and I have been whoring in earnest, volunteer-teaching journalism at the one we want most. If Samantha still doesn’t make the cut, then we’ll attempt to land her in the more challenging smart-kid track at the public Washington Middle School. If she doesn’t gain admittance through the district-administered test, then we’ll scrape up the dough for a private test. (This test costs around $700, we’ve heard. Many kids who fail the public test get in through the paid test, and we are quite sure we don’t want to look too hard at why.)

And then in three years we’ll be at it again. But for that we’re a little more sanguine, having already strategically abandoned our beloved south-end neighborhood in favor of one that guarantees access to our first-choice public high school. At least we won’t have to resort to the tactic of some of our friends, and fake our home address on the application.

Not that we wouldn’t.