Back to School is Worse than Christmas

Today I went to the local North Shore high school to register my daughter as a freshman. I paid for tech fees, bus transportation, books ($78 for her health textbook alone), orchestra fees, and God knows what else. I swear they must have a committee at that high school that makes up plausible names for new fees every year.

All this for a public high school in the United States of America, where every child is entitled to a free compulsory education. (Article 26 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights.)

Somebody has to pay for all this mandated compulsiveness, I guess. A free public education is actually quite expensive. The $1018.86 I paid today covered not quite 10% of the cost to educate my child for a year. The balance is footed by homeowners and businesses in the form of taxes and by the way, I include myself in this group as well, so I’m actually paying a larger share than the check I wrote today indicates.

I’m a teacher.  While I don’t complain that I’m underpaid, because I don’t believe I am, I don’t get paid during the summer. I haven’t received a paycheck since June 15 and I won’t get another one until September 15 even though I’ve been working since August 12. I guess the payroll office has to wait until all the parents pay their fees.

I save money all year in order to make it through the summer, but I didn’t budget a thousand dollars for high school registration. I asked if I could post-date the check or  at least part of the check and the blond-bobbed Ralph Lauren model across the table yanked all my daughter’s locker combinations and schedules and forms out of my hand and told me I’d have to drive across town to the registrar’s office to file a form requesting a deferment and I should’ve done that months ago.

How the hell was I supposed to know that?

I said “Nevermind,” and I wrote the check, fearful that the people in line behind me would be judgmental because they had smartly budgeted for this event. I gathered up the papers that the bitchy lady reluctantly gave back to me and I half-listened to her condescending instructions about freshmen orientation. I cried in the car on the way home.

“It’s okay, Mom,” my daughter said. Even she was horrified at the amount of money I’d just shelled out.

“Well, no, it’s not really okay because we were supposed to go shopping for your birthday guitar this weekend and now we’ll have to wait ‘til Columbus Day before you get your August birthday present.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” she said because she's just a great kid.

She'll get her guitar and she'll get her education, but if today was any indication, this is going to be a long four years.

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