Growing Up, Moving On, Hanging Tight: Kindergarten...High School

One morning, in the first week of kindergarten, the burgeoning parent group held a coffee and doughnut get together on the playground after drop off. Having survived a few days of leaving my children with relative strangers I was eager to connect with parents more seasoned and well versed in school matters. I knew no one and so lingered awkwardly near the coffee table while others chatted about teachers and after school programs and reading levels.

"Do you have a child here?", asked a woman on the receiving side of the table.

"Two actually, we have twins in kindergarten."

She was the parent of a first grader and was curious as to how we found her neighborhood school, a small grade school that had been on the brink of closing only the year before.

In Chicago you can attend your neighborhood school or, if you prefer, you can apply to schools outside your attendance area and hope. When our girls were starting kindergarten our neighborhood school was simply not an option; there had been a shooting in front of the school at 3:00 in the afternoon. Safety trumped all my other concerns, we filled out the forms and entered the girls into the vast school by school lottery. Their names were not drawn anywhere, there was no choice to be made. We entered the round two lottery: one four year old was put into first grade at a nearby school, the other found a seat in second grade at a school several miles away. They tested for the gifted and classical school program; one was put in a school in the south loop, the other on the northern suburban border, a distance of over an hour in a car. Jack walked into the CPS offices to appeal our situation. They apologized for the clerical error that put the girls into first and second grade but suggested that perhaps being in two different schools might be a good thing.

"You don't have twins then, correct?'

The veteran parent listened to my long story, offering sympathetic nods and an "oh no!" where required.

"You know, as horrible as that sounds, I've heard finding a high school is even harder."

We were day four into kindergarten, having survived the long and arduous process that ended in a wonderful school, a place that has now been our home for the past nine years. High school? Was this woman serious? High school was years into the future, further even than kindergarten had been from pregnancy. I dismissed her comment somewhat offhandedly, I had far more pressing things to concern myself with, high school was not even worth considering.

That was yesterday, maybe last month.

This past Friday Mary got her high school placement, Kate having secured her spot when she moved to a middle school in 7th grade. We were in Rome when we got the email, physically as far away as I felt from high school nine years ago. Against almost all odds the girls will be back in the same school this September, having been separated for the past two years. Somewhat surprisingly they are both happy about this; separation was hard but they have enjoyed these years apart, each finding their own place.

The search for a high school was, thankfully, far less problematic than we had been warned. Perhaps because this was the girls' search, their choice, helped greatly by their nine years of hard work.

Walking into school Friday I had a moment of finality, the very familiar feeling that something has come to an end. What has been an open ended question for months now has an answer, they have a place to be in September. They are both registered, they have school t-shirts, they are looking at after school clubs and sports. Finding a kindergarten was a relief, after months of unknown, as is finding a high school. But for something that has loomed so long on the horizon, having an answer to a question posed nine years ago seems an abrupt stop to a very long conversation.

Now I stand on the other side of the table, handing out the doughnuts. Finding a school is difficult, finding one that is hard to leave, even trickier. How lucky we have been to have called this place home for nine wonderful years.

All This Snow and No One to Play With

The girls returned to school this week, Jack went back to work, I went back to the library. Order has been restored in our lazy lives. Given the general assumption that mom and dad can hardly wait for school to start again, I'm always a bit off in my want to keep them home just a few days more. "Mom, it's got to happen, we've got to go back to school, we've got to learn.", said my painfully logical seven year old, the one who burrows under her pillow and begs for more sleep when we come in at 6:30 to wake her.

At every possible opportunity I voiced my displeasure with CPS and their decision to continue classes through December 23rd, giving us very little time for holiday merriment before Christmas. School was over, it was Christmas Eve. We wedged in a trip to see the windows at Field's (generally disliked, "there was no story Mom, it was like a commercial" from the logical child), we saw Santa, we decorated the tree, we made a gingerbread house, but there was no carol singing, no Kris Kindl Market, no falalala and precious little hohoho, but plenty of homework. Not my idea of a silver bell kind of build up to the big day and I was not pleased.

As it turns out, having the extra week in January was nice. Very little pressure to do anything, and, given that Chicago has recently become a warm weather get away, a little like taking a vacation right at home. It was 58 degrees last week; we went to the park, we walked, we ran errands, we went ice skating, and we enjoyed the true wonder of being on our own schedule, if just for a few days.

The holidays are over, the new year has begun, and, as I sit here in my dining room awaiting the arrival of 8 to 10 inches of snow, I realize that I have found my way home again, back to Chicago and the order that dictates our daily lives, back to some other's schedule.

It's hard to love snow when all your playmates are in school.

Six months until summer break.

Half Day, No Way

One year ago when I was hunting for a half day kindergarten program there were none to be found. Having the youngest possible kindergartners to be, ones who had never been to preschool, I worried that a full day at school was going to be too much, too soon. Full day was pushing, making kindergarten more than I thought it was intended to be. Every school we considered was full day, and the experts told me I would regret doing anything less.

They were right. Six hours allowed for reading and writing, math and science, but also music and art, multi cultural studies, P.E. and thankfully, library. Once a week they had drama, there were field trips to the theatre, an edible garden and Chinatown, all of which would be eliminated in a half day class. Kindergarten would become an abbreviated period of basic learning without the enrichment available in a full day.

For some children the negative effect of a half day could be minimized, hours away from school still challenging and educational, but for others the reduction in school time could mean an increase in television time, parents who work two or three jobs left scrambling to find adequate child care in the off hours when their six year old was not welcome at school. In a school district where 86% of families are classified as low income, full day kindergarten helps to level the playing field, allowing everyone to step into first grade assuming a similar base of preparedness. Eliminating these valuable hours only widens the gap, when education should be helping it to close.

It appears the school district now agrees. CPS announced today that they will fund full day kindergarten next year, and reduce elementary class size to 33, rather than the proposed 37. Parents have worked hard to make this happen, we certainly appreciate the district listening.

Books For Everyone

Reading makes me a better writer. Reading reinforces proper grammar, increases my vocabulary and makes me a much more interesting dinner party guest. Reading challenges me and makes my bag very heavy.

Not everyone agrees. Schools are closing libraries en lieu of media centers, or because there is no funding for books, or a librarian. We've spent the past year recreating our school library: painting the walls, ordering books, tearing up carpet, cataloging our collection and welcoming back the students who were turned away years ago when the library closed.

Some believe that funds could be better spent elsewhere, or that students who want to read can use the public library, or chose from books they have at home. The reality is that an urban school with a 60% low income population may not be drawing families who have personal libraries, or the time to spend at the public library. Children who spend afternoons at after school programs and don't arrive home until after 6:00 have little time to stop off at the library for a weeks worth of books. Providing access to quality reading material at a place where they spend six hours a day is vital to creating readers, a habit that will keep them learning for the rest of their lives.

Yesterday as I stepped on to the playground I was grabbed by a second grade girl, shrieking, "Ms. Ally! I don't want the library to end!". It's not going to end, we'll be back next year, and the year after that. Books are important, and I appreciate the reminder, everyday.

Parking for Kindergarten

Most nights the parking lot sits empty, teachers, administrators and staff gone hours before. But one night last week the lot was full and we were over $300 closer to full day kindergarten.

CPS budgets for next year allot for only half day kindergarten, two and a half hours, as compared to the almost six hours that my girls now enjoy. And so parents, when threatened with a mini class day, have come together to raise the missing $125,000 needed to provide the necessary classroom time for their incoming kindergartners. There is a direct appeal to parents for a per child contribution, there are in home fund raising events, there will be a rummage sale and there was parking.

The empty parking lot sits just blocks from Wrigley Field. With several home games on the calendar before the July deadline, parents organized to sell parking spaces to wandering fans fool enough to drive to the game. Energetic teachers with hand written signs recruited cars and space by space the lot filled, while the budget gap narrowed.

Assuming similar success for the remaining games the parking effort was expected to bring us over $3,000 dollars closer to the goal. But the gas station across the street also sells space and they didn't like the competition. A phone call to the school district immediately shut down the parking aspirations, for reasons entirely logical and legal I am certain.

The school district, who will not pay for full day kindergarten, is now halting the efforts of the parents to raise funds independently, aided by the gas station across the street. Good schools bring good neighbors and good neighbors support neighborhood businesses. But not this gas station, as if being owned by the Venezuelan government wasn't enough, I'll be driving by Citgo even when the tank is empty.

On a Smaller Scale

As it stands, in the proposed budget for the next year, the state of Illinois plans cut $1.3 billion dollars in funding for education. In Chicago, that means a $368 million dollar cut to the Chicago Public School system. Statewide the jobs of 30,000 teachers will be eliminated, in Chicago 2,700 teachers will be without jobs this September. As proposed by Governor Quinn and itemized by Ron Huberman, CEO of the Chicago Public Schools, the proposed budget is scary and full of big sweeping numbers that sound intimidating and wholly detrimental to the ability of our state to educate our children.

But in the practical sense, what does all this mean? For us, a grim setback to what had promised to be a running start at creating a really great school. Specifically, the loss of 3 teachers with an enrollment increase of 85 children. Principals are left to make decisions as to how best to allocate resources, weighting the lower, and more populated grades, with more teachers, and crowding the older classrooms, at a time when a good educational experience can make a difference in the lifetime learning of the student. Dance with the numbers a bit, separate the Pre-K, add the special education teachers and you are left with more than 30 children per class, including kindergarten.Kindergartens are reduced to half day, two and a half hours to learn and play and grow accustomed to school, a time frame I find impossible to imagine having spent the past year watching two girls blossom in their full day kindergarten class. And my children take this wonderful kindergarten experience and head into a first grade class with more than 35 students.

And the focus shifts, administrators become fund raisers. Parents are asked to contribute, beyond bake sales and walk-a-thons, we are being asked to donate $2,000 per child, for a public education. Our school is a relative bargain, a larger and more established school nearby is considering a $5,000 per child donation. We'll pay, although in principle I find it alarming, but I can't stand on principle when my children's education is being threatened. What becomes then of the roughly 60% of the children at our school who are categorized as low income? And what becomes of the schools in neighborhoods where that number is higher; who contributes at a school where the low income student number hovers near 94%?

Fund raising is difficult to sustain, and only a superficial response to a systemic problem. A knee jerk reaction to some alarming numbers, in essence a loan to keep a school afloat, for one more year.

The Chicago Public School system is currently responsible for the education of 409,972 students, two of which are mine. The numbers do matter, to me, to our family and to the other 409, 970 students and their families. The children matter, and they should matter to to you and to Governor Quinn and to Ron Huberman, but do they?

Appreciative, Then and Now

There are those who subscribe to the commonly held belief that cooks don't bake, and bakers don't cook. I am a believer, and in that I consider myself a decent cook, good not great, it follows then that I don't bake, or at least I shouldn't. But Monday night I was up late, buried in a lemon blueberry bundt cake, elbows deep into a cinnamon crumble coffee cake, chopping pineapple and cutting strawberries, way past my bedtime. Tuesday was the Teacher Appreciation breakfast at school, for reasons unknown I was left in charge of the bakers.

Aside from my want to someday be one of those moms who can whip up cupcakes for the entire class in minutes more than the actual required baking time, I have a genuine affection for teachers, and a need to thank them for choosing to spend their days with my children, exposing themselves to every kind of childhood illness imaginable, understanding just how precious these children are to the parents who dropped them off that morning. Two little girls who like school more each day than they did the day before, their teacher has provided them with a wonderful place to learn and grow, and I believe, without a doubt, the kind of beginning to education necessary to foster lifelong learners. For that I am forever grateful.

Mrs. Unruh scratched on almost every paper I handed in "write more! write more!". She kept me after school, as I remember, every day for talking out of turn; she was challenging, tall, and sometimes scary, and she encouraged me to do what I loved. Mrs. Grow, tired of hearing me yell out "gadzooks" every time I needed an expletive, suggested I create a dictionary of my own words. Mrs. Willingham, in all her sing song glory, taught me to recite poetry and to remember to always send a written note. And Mrs. Chamberlin patiently showed me book after book, imploring me to explore behind the cover, to read things on the other side of the library, and to discover characters beyond Ramona, Encyclopedia Brown and Henry Huggins. Maybe the best way to thank the teachers is to remember them, even when you are old, and to know just how greatly they impacted the person you became.

The lemon bundt cake was beautiful, perfectly shaped and covered in a pretty yellow glaze. The crumb cake was brown, spotty, lumpy and reminiscent of what I assume an underground sewer eruption might look like, at the street level. Confidently I sliced a piece of the lovely bundt, it was gooey, a beautiful yellow mess, a molten like somewhat raw cake, probably not edible, at least not safely. The hideous eruption was wonderful, moist and unsightly, tasty and not full of food borne illnesses. But of course I knew, as Mrs. Chamberlin taught me, you can't judge a book by it's cover.

37? Not Our Choice

There were so many of them, Moms, a few Dads, many with children. They packed into the library last week, Friday being decision day, looking for something to tell them that this was right, this was the place. From the back of the room I watched, and listened to the very convincing presentation from the principal, the principal who really wants his school to be the best that it can be. I had heard it all before, just a year ago I was touring, listening, hoping and making the decision. And now the decision is made, so I sit back and listen, impressed with what I hear, and so happy to only be eavesdropping.

Of course if given the opportunity I am happy to share with anyone who cares to listen just how wonderful I think this school is, and how encouraged I am with what I see happening every day. A principal whose door is open, almost always; a teacher who asks the right questions, and is always ready for the onslaught of hugs she gets before the morning march into class; involved and interesting parents, and an diverse student body full of children eager to learn all lead me to believe that we made the right choice, even if it was made five days before school started. Mary and Kate's lifetime of education is off to a great start, and that is what I really wanted in a kindergarten, a place for them to be safe and to learn that school is a wonderful place full opportunity.

It is possible that the Chicago Public School system doesn't agree; threats to drastically cut the budget mean that we could quite likely see classrooms bulging with 37 students. Teachers could be reassigned, music teachers posing as kindergarten teachers, in the name of seniority. Gifted programs, varsity sports, bilingual education, and full day kindergarten are all at risk. And the real insanity is that parents are being asked to make choices for next year without the full benefit of information; the deadline for school registration was Friday, April 16th, and the budget has yet to be released for next year.

It appears that my volunteer librarian gig is safe, unlikely that the new budget will allow for an actual paid librarian to take over the job I love. The responsibility falls to the parents, to paint and shelve and read and raise money to protect the things we find basic and offer the chance to continue to dream of things we hope to someday have. The big schools have committees, the small schools have raffles, and auctions and parents who work hard to keep libraries open and science labs possible.