More than a Homecoming (so much more)

Before my qualms about all things b-a-b-y took center stage, I was struggling with a myriad of issues about what to do regarding school for my big little guy. I am his mother. I love him fiercely. I have been entrusted with a great gift. I want the absolute best for him. But what does that exactly mean … or, how will it play out …

This multi-layered onion of a decision was too big for me to gulp in one shot. So, thankfully, I peeled off each layer at time, prayed about it, addressed it, questioned it, waited, prayed some more … and then came an answer (well, maybe, kinda-sorta). After a few of these more tolerable layers came the next dilemma, and the biggest: where to send my precious boy.

I prayed. I fretted. OK, those two verbs shouldn’t necessarily go together, but what can I say. I constructed mental lists of “pro’s” and “con’s.” I talked to friends, to teachers, to family. I prayed some more. Christian school or public school? Back and forth I went, like a ride on a splintered see-saw, back and forth, with no answers forthcoming. My “heart’s desire” cried for the former, but the one obstacle in the way was a biggie: the price tag.

Last night Don and I attended the Open House for the Christian school. When Don held the door open for me and I walked over the threshold, that odd time machine started whirring as I went back 30 years … to my childhood, to my school. Indeed, I saw a little red-headed girl in awful '70s clothing in that same hallway; the room into which we were ushered was my kindergarten room. I saw the gym where we had our chapel/assembly each week, where my older cousin worked as our gym teacher and where she taught me to tie my shoes. I saw the office where I sat crying when I missed my bus one afternoon. I saw the nurse’s office where I sat in stunned silence, my head split open from falling on some giant plastic block. I saw my first grade classroom where Greg threw up his hot dogs and where I embarked on my first foray into the dramatic arts, portraying a tiger in our school play of Noah’s Ark. It was an incredible experience to walk through those halls again.

Then suddenly I was momentarily gripped by some self-questioning: is my reason for desiring Aidan’s attendance here based, for the most part, on my own nostalgia? Can I picture my son in that building because simply I myself graced the halls? Oh, I know there is more too it than that, but what is the primary foundation of my wanting him to go there? Is memory lane the strongest player in this game? If so, then I've got a big problem.

After we signed in and picked up our white folder chocked full of information, we headed for the restrooms (note to self: chill out on the lemon-lime seltzer at dinner before events like this). I quickly tossed up a mini-prayer, feeling those long fingers of doubt starting to squeeze. God, what’s really the driving force here? If mere nostalgia is the primary reason I want Aidan to attend this school, then show me. Show me why he needs to be here … or if not here, then elsewhere.

We found a seat with other parents in my former k-room, now media room, and the principal got up to pray to open the evening. The more he spoke – followed by the superintendent, the assistant principle, the teachers, etc. – the more I felt those fingers of doubt slipping off, losing their grip. I can’t avoid nostalgia; I can’t ignore memories. But what my eyes were opened to last night was the real reason why.

In a conversation months ago with my friend Jen about this topic, she gave me some good advice. While I can’t remember the specific wording, she said that one priority revolves around excellence – finding the school that will provide my child with the best education. In some cases, a public school would provide that, rather than a local private school. You have look at your options, be informed, and strive for excellence. In all of these months I have never forgotten that advice.

Interestingly, after the program was over and we had visited the teachers and classrooms, we had a conversation with the superintendent (who, as it turns out, is my mother’s cousin). He said to two very cool things that I feel answered that Kwik-E-Prayer offered outside of the restroom earlier that evening. He acknowledged that the school is not cheap, but then he said this: we are providing excellence on every level and in every discipline, and this excellence is our offering. I just loved that – it answered what I had been holding on to. I thought of Hannah, wrestling with God in her own passionate prayers, being given the gift of Samuel, and then offering her son -- her gift -- back to God. It's a profound way to look at education and it hit home. He went on to say, “We look at the kind of individual we want to graduate from 12th grade, and then we take that back and start it in kindergarten.” Excellence indeed.

The kind of peace that I felt after we left was beautiful. I was extremely thankful to realize that my reasons for wanting to choose this school were not based on nostalgia or continuing some kind of legacy. It’s nice, yes, but it’s not important. What is important to me is the kind of education he’ll be receiving – one centered on God, and one steeped in excellence. I felt tremendous peace.

Now I need tremendous faith.