Pulling My Child From Private School Has Made Me A Richer And Poorer Person
In the past couple of months, I have become a bitter rich person. Not Mitt Romney or Mark Zuckerberg rich, but rich in the sense that I am probably better off than maybe 90% of people worldwide. By New York City standards, I’m pretty squarely middle-class though, I think, but within my little Brooklyn private-school community, that’s just not rich enough.
This is my issue, of course. Although it feels like it’s an issue for lots of other people, too. I want to preface this post by saying that everything that follows falls under the umbrella of ”white people problems,” as one (presumably rich-ish) private-school mom told me at a 5-year-old princess birthday party recently, where the host had made from scratch a castle cake worthy of Walt Disney himself.
Our daughter has attended preschool for the last two years at a private, reputable school that continues through middle school. The tuition for the first year ($14,000) seemed expensive, but sort of manageable when both my partner and I had full-time paychecks. The second year’s tuition was already half paid (and all committed to) when I lost my job at a major corporation. I transitioned into contract work and cobbled together a pretty good living for the first year.
The second year of contract work hasn’t been quite as fruitful. And while we were on the fence about continuing with private school for our daughter, who will enter kindergarten this September, we always had entertained the hope that she’d switch to public school eventually. Meanwhile, we also have a son who will be 3 this summer, and who we’d hoped would go to preschool for 3s, presumably the same school his sister attends.
When it came time to pay the deposit, nearly $5,000, to reserve my daughter’s place in kindergarten for the fall, I had had a particularly dry couple of months financially, and it felt less and less realistic to be able to pay the $29,000 tuition for her for kindergarten. We applied for financial aid, and based on last year’s (good year!) tax returns, were denied. My partner felt very strongly that we couldn’t afford the tuition on the income so far this year, and felt partial to public school anyway. I think most people in our situation choosing between this private school and public school alternatives for their 4- to 5-year-olds opted to pay the five grand as insurance, and then roll the dice to see what cheaper options might be attractive.
The deposit was more money than I had made so far that year, and it just felt like bad life management to pay out, as a maybe, more than I had brought in. Largely on principle, and partly on realistic parameters of our finances, we didn’t pay the deposit.
The school inquired about our daughter’s status, and we reported the truth. The school administration was very understanding, but in no uncertain terms told us that our son would not receive sibling preference for admission, because our daughter was not considered enrolled for the next school year. Even though I understood the school’s position in maintaining the growth of the school and pursuing families who can support the school financially, it felt like a fuck you; it became clear that community is secondary to income, which of course, I was naive not to assume from the get-go but it somehow feels counter to what you want in a preschool-oriented educational institution , especially after being active members of the community for two years.
I’m walking away from the school feeling, while my daughter has had a wonderful early-childhood educational experience, that the politics behind admissions trump the positive, warm-and-fuzzy feelings I have about her specific classroom. And that feels sad to me. We pursued other options for our son.
We have a couple of suitable options for our daughter, too, for school, but as the school year comes closer to the end, other parents whom we’ve befriended (or at least acquaintanced) are starting to ask if she’s is returning to school next year (and if our boy is attending next year). The ones whom I actually consider friends, I tell the truth, and it feels fine to be honest. The ones who are acquaintances, it’s a little more awkward. Usually the questions are asked in the school halls, before drop-off or during pickup, usually with my daughter standing right next to me. It feels strange to tell people I don’t know well, but whom I’ve seen regularly over the past two years, and been to their houses for birthday parties, that she isn’t returning because we can’t afford it.
I know we’re not the only ones in this position, but it brings to light subtle socioeconomic differences that no one really wants to discuss. I remember a New Yorker piece from years ago saying that sex isn’t taboo to talk about any more, only money is (i.e., you don’t tell people how much you earn, how much savings you have, if your parents do or do not have money that you may inherit some day, if you really can or cannot afford $30,000 a year per child for private preschool). And I know I don’t know the details behind anyone else’s finances, either, and I don’t want to be a hater just because there are lots of people who are choosing private school, and we aren’t. (Although am I allowed to be a hater because I never was interested in going into finance?)
I can’t help but look around at the parents whom I know do have returning children, and many, a second child returning, and feel resentful of them for presumably having greater means than we do. I’ve had plenty of friends and colleagues who were much wealthier than I’ll ever be, but I’ve never quite experienced class strata in New York City on a personal level like this. And I’m not saying cry me a river we’re by no means a needy family but aren’t I still allowed to feel a little addled by how socioeconomic differences for me have come to the surface of idle chit-chat?
I’ve kept the conversations brief for the most part, because, well, it’s not that I feel ashamed, but on some level it does feel defeating to not be able to let my daughter continue the early education she has begun. It has made me bitter about private school, finally really understanding that it is for the rich (and a few very lucky poor), and has made me ashamed that I didn’t want to work harder, earlier, to make public education in New York better.
It has also made me hate the finance/corporate law types that surround me in the halls at drop-off. And believe me, I understand that those (for the most part) guys work about 100 times harder than I do. And I still feel bitter. And I know I have to move on psychologically, and put just as much energy into the next school we become a part of, and make it a wonderful experience for our child and our whole family.
In talking to another mom in a similar situation to ours, and asking her what she replies when asked in the school halls if her child is returning, she told me she says, ”No, believe me, if we could afford it, we’d be right back here next year.” I thought that was tactful and honest and also distancing from the question-asker, as if to diplomatically say, let’s not continue this conversation. But I’m still bitter, and as I walk off after drop-off every morning, after every innocent mom questions our return status, I think about all the things I really want to say. Like:
- ”I spent some time down at Occupy Wall Street during my unemployed months this winter, and I no longer feel comfortable pretending to be part of the 1%.”
- ”We’ve decided that traveling to Europe, all four of us, at least once a year, and buying more designer clothes, will lead to more career opportunities for me which I really need right now than will private-school tuition.”
- ”My son didn’t get accepted and I’m too bitter about it to continue to wander the halls here every day.”
- ”I’m tired of pretending I care about fakey rich-people parenting concerns when I could be burning another 50 calories on the elliptical trainer in that time.”
- ”I’ve decided public education needs us more.”
But instead, I’ll continue to be diplomatic, and go with my friend’s answer, because I know no one intends to be hurtful with their questions. And I don’t need to make any enemies I might have to run into to at the gym.
(Photo: Sam72/Shutterstock)