Yesterday, I took a leap of faith and scheduled a tour for a private school. The last time I toured a preschool was 2 years ago for my then 3.5yo. The preschool spent multiple days assuring me they understood our situation, the director seemed so kind, but then, when I was finally convinced to enroll my daughter and turned in most of our papers, I received a voicemail two days later that my “ME looked funny” so she had decided to “turn it into the Public Health Department” and that they “might be looking into” my doctor now. It was because I had turned in our copy and not our original with its seal. (enter facepalm) Needless to say, we didn’t end up attending or finishing our enrollment there and I spent weeks after horrified at how trusting I was and how desperately hopeful I was there would be a place for my daughter. I was crushed.
But today, I decided I would go, see, ask questions, and get a feel for the environment. I felt like I owed it to my kids to at least see if it would be a possibility for us. I decided to be dressed decent, make up on, somewhat put together, in order to make a decent first impression. I walked up to the building with “School Office” on its tinted doors and I took a deep breath before walking in. I didn’t expect the nerves that were coming out of me with every breath I took.
The front office woman greeted me warmly and offered me some water while I waited. Finally, the principal came out to conduct our tour and already, I could tell she was well-loved and revered here because the children were immediately interjecting and stopping her to give her a hug, say thank you for coming to their basketball game, or just wanting to chat with her before even making it into the first classroom. I could tell I had stumbled upon a really special place.
We started the tour in the Kinder classroom. She was talking to me and I couldn’t even concentrate because I was looking around in awe. I was fixated on their little crafts and the tiny chairs and size appropriate desks. I’ve seen dozens of preschool classrooms but for some reason I couldn’t shake my emotions. I caught myself not hearing a word she was saying and tried to tune back in…
Small classrooms ✅ Music program ✅ Family community ✅ and so much more... It felts like little jabs of torture hearing each amazing thing this school had to offer, things my kids typically can’t be a part of. I questioned what I was doing there. I almost made her stop so that we wouldn’t waste both of our times. But it went on.
We walked a couple doors over to the 2nd grade classroom. She wasn’t doing or saying anything out of the ordinary. She mentioned they taught cursive here, that it was Seuss week, that they created a little pet who sat in the corner and the kids were obsessed with him and so on. On the wall to the left directly behind her, was a black history month wall display, where all the children wrote about someone important to Black History. I fixated on the cursive of 7 and 8 years olds and I began to cry. Not just teary eyed, I was uncontrollably crying. I didn’t expect it. I tried hard to repress it, but being in that classroom made me realize how much hurt all of this has caused me. I stood their grieving the experiences my children have never had and the experiences, I, as their mother used to dream of before this all began. I have loved and still do love homeschooling, but it was never my first choice. In 2015, that choice was taken away and furthermore all of our choice, this last year in 2019. I sat in this classroom like a complete lunatic grieving over the childhood my children have never been allowed to be a part of.
She stopped speaking, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you were crying,” she said as she reached for some tissues. And then I had to explain. I had to tell her my kids are not vaccinated, that my son went into anaphylactic shock, that there are risks we have to take just to be able to even consider putting our kids in a school. I explained what happened the last time we toured a school and tried to enroll. She stopped me and shook her head in shock. She assured me that of course they follow the law, but they weren’t there to “turn people in,” and assist in “their” agenda. I felt so much relief and we continued to talk about our options at the school. I was elated at how accommodating their school had been to families who were transitioning from homeschool to brick and mortar.
I left feeling so hopeful. But that was short lived after rereading the law. Like I said, there are risks associated. If you know anything about the law recently passed, (SB276 in CA) you’ll already know that the law as written leaves so much up to interpretation with its lack of definitive answers and ambiguity, it is hard to know how it will be enforced.
My youngest daughter would reach her next check point in 2 years and then no longer be allowed to attend any type of private or public school, leaving only 2 of my children able to get a brick and mortar school experience. It is also not entirely clear if our medical exemptions are even valid per the new law anymore. It’s not clear if my children would or would not be entered in to a statewide database, based on their medical exemption, when it was written and when it was “turned in” to the school. It’s also not clear if our doctor who wrote our medical exemptions would be up for investigation simply for having written 3 exemptions in one year, because who knows how many more were written by that same doctor. As the law is written, once that doctor meets their ME quota (5 in one year), an investigation would automatically be launched concerning ME’s and every child with an ME from that same doctor at risk of losing their medical protection. Then lastly, with such a small school setting if my three children contribute to bringing down their vaccination rate, we also put the school at risk of being investigated as well. There are no sure answers and no easy decisions here and I’m back to the paralyzing feeling of failing my children who I just want the very best for. Isn’t that what we all want? To give them what they deserve?
And so I sit here frustrated, hating California, heart broken, and angry at the system that has demanded my children be treated as second class citizens. And I come back to, “My children deserve more than this.”
I never thought I’d be here contemplating whether to even give my real first and last name just to schedule a tour at a school, out of fear that if I mention anything about our situation they’ll know who we are. It’s ludicrous the extra precautions that seem so nominal to most sit so heavily on parents like myself. I never imagined such discrimination would still exist, that my children would be the victims of any type of discrimination at all. But fear does a good job at convincing people to believe in things that are not logical. Like my children who are not diseased could somehow pass on a disease they don’t have.
I don’t know that we will ever find peace here in this state for my family and that breaks my heart. My home is no longer my home if my children can’t be welcomed here. I don’t know what we will do. I am still hopeful. I know that if we don’t try now, we will lose that chance later, but I also fear that because of everything still yet to be interpreted and enforced, things may not work out at all. And at that point, I’m 1000% certain we will leave California.
If you’re the praying type, send some of that magic up above for me so I can have some peace in what decisions we make in this next year. We are going to need it.