Searching for a school.

And reconciling growing up.

My son loves his school.

Nestled amongst several acres of pacific northwest wetlands, the campus is overseen by towering Douglas firs. At recess, he and his friends wander wet, wooded trails. In art class, he learns about Kandinsky, Kahlo and O’Keefe. His canvas comes alive imitating their styles. His music teacher took an interest in him and became his private guitar teacher after school.

His class is on the small side. Ten kids. But it’s perfect for him. 

The four boys in the class are a gang in the best sense of the word. All different in ways that may have pushed them into different cliques at a school any larger. Instead, brought together to learn from and enjoy each others’ differences. 

However, the magnificent campus masks our misfortune. My son graduates from 5th grade next spring. Where we live, this marks the end of elementary and the start of middle school. His serene setting is slipping away. 

What comes next?

The choice is akin to offering my son tofu, anything with mayonnaise, or zucchini. A scrunched nose, a wince, and an “I don’t like it.” Unfortunately for us, as is typically the case for him at dinner, there are no good alternatives. 

There is the local public option. 

Lying twenty minutes in one direction from our house, while his brother continues to frolic in the woods thirty five minutes in the opposite direction, however, necessitates a school bus or teleportation. The bus seems like a no-go for him. There’s trauma there and bad history from our first attempt to try the local public option for 3rd grade.

There’s the elite option. 

It presents a picturesque campus, perfect for a postcard, even if it lacks the rustic charm of his current campus. The quality of the curriculars, extra-curriculars, and connections, however, are second to none. But when I think of its name, I also think of a bath tub full of water. The drain stopper is pulled. Glug. At first, nothing changes. Then a funnel forms. Slowly, and then all at once, our savings have gone down the drain. 

There is the option to transfer to a different public school in a better, more convenient district. 

The class sizes are 2.5X bigger than what my son is used to, and it has fewer extra curricular options, but the nameless faceless ones who decide such things and who do not know my son have anointed it one of the top school districts in the state. 

And did I mention it’s more convenient?

Or there’s the more affordable Catholic school that my wife attended growing up. 

If you think my wife’s familiarity with the school is a good thing, you’d be mistaken. Her sister also taught there a few years ago. Also not a good thing. It means we’re all too familiar with this school’s inner workings and shortcomings. 

So where does that leave us?

With a shit sandwich tofu, mayonnaise and zucchini sandwich. 

I dwell, resigning myself to the fact that adult life is a never ending series of imperfect choices, some of which have life altering impacts on my child’s life. 

If this sounds dramatic, it's because my heart breaks thinking of my son having to live through my own middle school experience. 

I keep that experience pushed deep down inside, reserved, like a fine wine at the back of the cellar whose vintage commemorates awful moments in time I would rather just forget. And while I know my experience cannot be inherited, I also know my son's experience will leave its scars no matter what. Because that’s what middle school, and life, does. 

Thoughts of my own trauma pass quickly however, to thoughts of what could be. Of potential. I think of how many parents must feel exactly like I do, having to settle or choose from the limited suboptimal options that are before them. There’s a market and a need for better school choices. 

Every story I come across of a frustrated pandemic parent starting a school or education-tech alternative gives me hope. I wonder what life would look like if my wife or I gave up our job to stay home and give more time and attention to the kids. Of how an online option could be supplemented with real world people interaction to build friends and social skills. 

At the end of the day, there are no perfect options. It’s comforting to know that there are options beyond tofu, mayo and zucchini, however, if one is creative and willing to do things differently.

Time will tell where my son ends up going for middle school, and I try to remember that the choice of where is less important than the choice of how I spend my time preparing him. Of instilling values and as much self confidence as will fit into that eleven-year-old soul. 

As I sit there waiting to pick him up from school, I think about these things. And as I do, I stop to appreciate what he has, what I have and what we have, and I deeply breathe it in along with the fresh, thick, rain-cleansed air.