Middle School Madness

Friday, February 22, 2008

Page 15

AT THE SIDEBAR (Column)

Middle School Madness

By J’AMY PACHECO

When I dropped my little girl off for her first day of kindergarten, I thought it would be downhill from that point forward. She started school in 2001 — just days after 9/11 — and leaving her in the care of strangers in the wake of such horror was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do.

There have been other times when it pained me to drop her off: in bad weather, when she didn’t feel well, when I knew she had some challenge she would have to overcome, like taking a difficult test or having to cope with an unpleasant substitute. But she’s always managed to get through each challenge, each day, without too much trauma.

For the most part, her elementary school years have been good. She’s an excellent student and a good citizen. She’s been student body president, a leadership representative, a tutor — all in all, she’s been a high achiever, an ideal role model and a great student.

I wish the elementary years could go on, but in June, they’re over. That means we’re now faced with having to figure out where she’s going to attend middle school.

It should be a simple task – there is a middle school just around the corner from my house, within easy walking distance. Unfortunately, this school’s students have performed abysmally on state standardized tests, and emphasis there is on bringing the student population — most of whom perform in the second-lowest category possible – up to the point where they at least meet the basics.

My daughter currently is enrolled in a small public school for highly gifted students, and is taking a supplemental math class through a nationally recognized university. Clearly, the local middle school has nothing to offer her.

Academics aside, students from the middle school have made their collective mark on the neighborhood by setting a neighbor’s shrubbery on fire, marking walls with graffiti and, my personal favorite, playing a game of chicken with cars – including mine. On several occasions, I’ve phoned the school to report dangerous behavior committed by students on their way home from school. Once, it was having a student pushed into the street in front of my car that motivated me to call. On each occasion, school officials told me there was “nothing” they could do, because the students’ actions took place off-campus — even though it happened within two blocks of the school.

Confronted with officials who were so quick to shirk responsibility for the safety of their students, I made the decision that they would never be entrusted with the care of my daughter.

Unfortunately, the school district has, thus far, refused to release my daughter to enroll in a more appropriate school. A transfer request we turned in more than a month ago is yet unsigned, and now, the district refuses to even return telephone calls.

This puts us in the difficult position of having only a few months to figure out what to do. One friend, whose transfer was submitted after ours, somehow managed to squeeze a signature out of someone. Another friend, foiled like us at every turn, vowed to use a fake address to register her child in a better district.

Almost 18 years ago, my husband and I moved to the High Desert for a business opportunity. We liked what was then a small-town atmosphere.

Today, however, the region holds little appeal for us. My husband commutes daily by train to downtown Los Angeles, making him essentially a weekend father. An unpredictable mountain pass separates our home from my workplace as well. Those things, combined with our desire to be free of the neighborhood school, have forced us to consider some big changes.

We’ve come to the realization that it’s time for us to move.

Before we were parents, we thought nothing of moving. We considered changing cities, or even counties, to be something of an adventure. Now, our child’s best interests come first, and we’re left wondering how to find a good new school and an affordable home in an unfamiliar place.

I don’t even know how to begin such a search, but I know it’s something we have to do. It’s almost overwhelming to even think about taking this giant leap out of our comfort zone.

Kindergarten was, I realize now, only the first of many new beginnings. Somewhere out there is the right school for our daughter; the right home for us.

We just have to figure out how — and where — to look.