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I’m a nervous wreck

This is the week that parents all over Los Angeles have been anxiously awaiting – maybe even dreading. No, I’m not talking about the fear of hiding a dozen colored eggs in their living rooms without being caught by eager, bunny-loving children or making edible matzoh-brie…I’m not even talking about locating and organizing those charitable donation receipts in time for the tax deadline. I’m talking about private school admissions. This is the week that parents in the City of Angeles are checking their mailboxes looking for letters accepting their perfect offspring into the coveted world of private education – aka the super highway to successful lives, or rejection letters, dooming their babies to certain failure. Unless you are one of the few fortunate enough to be geographically located in the zone of a good public school – of which there are few in Los Angeles, you are sweating it out.

Thankfully, I am one of the few. My much talked about move has placed my family proximate to one of the best public schools in LAUSD. Phew.

Even though I have been spared the application essays, interviews and recommendation letters highlighting my five-year-old’s academic achievements and extra curricular activities, I am not without anxiety about her matriculation into the big K this coming fall. My greatest fear is that she will be named “Student of the Week.”

I know, it seems strange that I wouldn’t want my child to be singled out for her superiority during five of the 180-day school year. It’s not that I don’t want her to earn this distinguished honor, it’s that I don’t want her to come home with a bumper sticker flaunting her status. That bumper sticker would do nothing but stick me between a rock and a hard place because, you see, I hate them and the thought of sticking one on the bumper of my car makes me feel sick.

Now, I am NOT a person who is fanatic about her car. I honestly don’t care much about it. I get it washed only a few times a year, I have never had it detailed, and I’m pretty indifferent about the raisins on the floor and the cracker crumbs in the seats. Unlike most people in Los Angeles, I don’t see my car as a status symbol and I actually daydream about trading in my SUV for the convenience of a mini-van. You would think I’m exactly the type of person who would be pleased as punch to slap that bitch on her bumper and drive away in pride…but I’m not! It’s a bridge that I’m just not willing to cross. I’m just not that person and I dread having to explain to my daughter that while I’m super proud of her Kindergarten achievements, I’m not proud enough to share them with every tailgater on the 101.

So, as my peers sit and wait for the all-important, fate-deciding letters to arrive, they can at least feel relieved that their children’s academic stature will not come with adhesive backing. Sure, they are going to be hit with $20,000+ school bills, but at least they will be dodging the bumper sticker bullet.

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