My daughter was two years old the first time I mentioned her in this blog. She had surprised me one day by reciting most of her alphabet from the back seat of my car, and I realized how quickly time flies. Before we know it, our kids have learned (or not learned) how to read, write and think critically. And to be honest, this is the urgency behind our education equity movement.
Fast forward to today: I have been the Founding Executive Director of Educators 4 Excellence: Los Angeles for five years. My baby girl is now a curious four-year-old who wants to know if the moon is made of cheese or rocks. And I have found myself in an unexpectedly humbling new place. I am now the frazzled and frightened parent searching for her daughter’s first school.
As I’ve been sharing this journey with colleagues, friends and family, they have encouraged me to blog about my experience. So, this is the first installation of a three-part blog series documenting my honest account of what it’s felt like to be a parent navigating the very issues I confronted as an educator and advocate for public schools.
At first, I began my search by taking stock of the tools already in my tool belt to help me find the right school for my daughter.
- I know the system, education leaders and teachers pretty well.
- I know several parents who have navigated this very system.
- As a teacher and policy advocate, I am aware of all the important things to look for in a school—things like disaggregated data, staff retention, stability in school leadership, Common Core shifts in content delivery, community partnerships, etc.
- And I know what I’m up against—the challenges, complexity and promise facing our schools and communities.
While I now identify first and foremost as a mother, my teaching experience is always with me, inspiring me to tackle this challenge for my child and all children. So, I began by creating a rubric to help me navigate this important decision. In lieu of having a local or state system that would enable me to efficiently and transparently compare the offerings and performance of schools, I created my own spreadsheet that included “multiple measures of performance.” I have used this phrase many times when talking about policy change, but now I’m a parent, seeing my hopes and anxieties behind every measure. This is one of the most important decisions I’ll make for my kid, and I don’t want to fail her. So, I stay up late researching schools for my rubric. I believe a similar anxiety is at the core of many parents who face this decision and feel powerless and frustrated by lack of information, options or support. My rubric helps me feel some sense of control over the education fate of my daughter.
Here are the top three categories in my rubric:
- School type: Traditional, Magnet, Pilot, Charter. This indicator matters to me because great schools come in many structures and forms. While I have been a student and teacher in traditional school settings only, I want and need to be open to different school settings. I have quickly realized, however, that my options are limited because there are only a handful of magnet and pilot schools in my neighborhood. My options shrink further when I factor in the second indicator in my rubric.
- Student demographics: We live in a community that is predominately Latino and my daughter and I are the only black faces within blocks of our home. Having attended public schools in predominately white suburbs, I know all too well the importance of seeing your culture embedded in your learning experience. I want a school that has at least a small black student population. Sadly, there are no or only a few black students in my immediate and nearby schools. In fact, I have to look as far as Pasadena to find public schools within miles of my home that have significant black student populations.
- Disaggregated Data. This term can feel like edu-speak. Each time I have used or heard this word, I’ve thought to myself: My mother, whose number one priority was my education, would have no idea what this word means or why she should care about it. But now, this term—which can feel like policy jargon—is deeply personal. I see my daughter in the disaggregated data, which feels like the disclaimer buried in the fine print: All kids are achieving at this school, except the ones that look like your kid. This disclaimer lets me know what I’m up against: Will my daughter slip through the cracks? Will there be assumptions about her potential based on achievement trends? Will she make assumptions about her potential or her peers’ potential based on these trends?
In these anxiety-filled moments, my rubric gives me peace. It is something concrete that makes me feel like I can tuck my daughter into bed knowing that we have a game plan.
But my rubric also frightens me. The truth that is my assets as an educator and an advocate make me better positioned than most to navigate our public education system. And yet, I still feel overwhelmed, powerless and like I have taken on a second full-time job.
I can only imagine how my parents, both immigrants, must have felt. They didn’t know the system, what to look for and who to ask for help. Before they could afford a house, they rented apartments in the neighborhoods that had whiter, wealthier public schools. They made sure I didn’t get buried in the disaggregated data by pushing me to the honors track where I could be with peers who looked nothing like me, but were achieving and bound for college.
I understand the decisions my parents made and I’m forever grateful for how they sacrificed and advocated for my public education. But, I want something different for my daughter and for all students in Los Angeles. Parents shouldn’t have to rely on their zip code or their ability to wade through education statistics to find the right kindergarten for their child. We can and must create an easier way for families to make these tough educational decisions for their children.