Guest Author
“I’m not old enough to have kids in high school.”
My twin sons were graduating from the 8th grade, and this became my mantra, despite all evidence to the contrary. My reading glasses had become a permanent fixture on the end of my nose while Jacob and Zachary were concerned about their “online presence.” There was no way around it, we were all getting older. My boys would soon leave the familiar hallways of their close-knit, world studies, middle magnet program to discover a world of vapor cigarettes, keg parties, and more.
Oh sure, there’d be Advanced Physics and Geometry 2. But that’s not what kept me up at night.
I wanted my kids to be safe. I wondered about tossing them into a crowd of 2,500 students, some of whom use weapons and curse words to express themselves, without doing some research. The more I study something, the less I fear it.
I wanted to get into potential schools and look around. Was there a thug element, an entitled and spoiled element, a “wow those skirts are short” element?
Not only did I remember my own experiences as a teenager, I taught high school for eight years. Based on those combined experiences, I was concerned and, quite often, felt the need to scream into a pillow.
Instead, I toured prospective schools and tried to remain calm.
When I started making the rounds, here’s what I didn’t want to see: teachers acting like teenagers, unsupervised locker rooms, boys with more bling and longer rap sheets than (insert favorite rapper here), girls who could easily star on next year’s Teen Mom, administration officials who either looked like they were on drugs or should be, chaotic hallways, gang warfare, smoke coming out of bathrooms, or anywhere else for that matter, and drugs.
I definitely didn’t want to see any drugs.
As I began this agonizing and anxiety-ridden project, researching schools, I realized quickly that choosing a high school was the most important decision of our lives. My husband couldn’t help but chuckle.
“More important than choosing pediatricians?” Marc asked. “You told me we had to interview dozens of doctors because they’d be making life-or-death decisions for our babies. What about preschools? You said we had to pay a fortune for the JCC because early education set the stage for the next 20 years. Then middle school options were an ordeal. Is this even more important than countless family meetings when we had to choose between a minivan and station wagon?”
“This is our new priority,” I said, trying not to smile.
Here’s what we wanted to see: high graduation rates, lots of different colors and cultures, as well as kids like ours, who spoke Hebrew and imitated Andy Samberg, opportunities to compete athletically, advanced classes, a decent theatre department, access to technology, teachers who commanded respect and a little bit of fear, and healthy cafeteria food.
Too much to ask?
Private, public, magnet and charters each have their own particular sets of strengths and weaknesses. Parents, who know their kids better than anyone, must find where their children will thrive. That’s our job.
I met with educators and administrators, as well as current students and their families. In many settings, the educators’ professionalism and love for teaching, as well as impressive students who actually liked their school, were on display.
I dug deeper.
I asked about online gradebooks and how often they’re updated, counselors who actually provide guidance, and tutoring after school.
I peered inside classrooms and observed teachers in action. I walked hallways filled with a blend of ethnic identities. Marc and I met both satisfied and disgruntled parents.
Friends and family members had their own opinions.
“Put your kids in private school and you’ll wind up with spoiled brats who only relate to other spoiled brats. Don’t you want them to be able to survive in the real world?”
“Stay away from that school. It’s like naptime for four years.”
“Public schools are dangerous, with fights every week and most of the kids are on drugs.”
We took Jacob and Zachary to visit our top two choices, one a magnet and the other a traditional high school, in order to get their important feedback. This was, after all, their life and I didn’t want the decision to be all ours. At first, Jake and Zach preferred the magnet program, where many of their friends were going and it felt comfortable to them.
Then they discovered an amazing bit of news. At the traditional school, they’d be able to try out for an excellent tennis team, and the cafeteria served pizza.
I liked the salad bar, graduation rates, teachers, and advanced classes.
My boys liked the girls, who smiled and giggled. A lot.
While Jake and Zach slept peacefully that night, dreaming about carbs and sports and other more frightening fantasies, I tossed and turned, wishing we could see into the future for a hint that we weren’t making a mistake.
But after 14 years, we knew parenting gigs didn’t work that way.
All we could do was make an informed decision, and hope for the best.
We selected the traditional public high school, moved ourselves into the zoned area, and with this year’s first semester behind us, we’re all happy with the decision.
So far.
My boys are enjoying the tennis team, no one is doing drugs, and we’re still monitoring their “online presence.” The girls, though…
Wish us luck.
Catherine Durkin Robinson is a political advocate and organizer, living in Tampa. Column courtesy of Context Florida.
