Private School, Public Lessons

Uniform was optional, getting yelled at by a teacher wasn’t. Assemblies were about drug safety and how to avoid jail time. Field trips repeated each year, the same farm, museum, and show. Each experience has blurred with the other, but the feeling of joy lasted a lifetime. The bus rides to and from the trips were better than the actual destination. Cracked seats, Taki dusted fingers, and shared earbuds. There were kids whose parents worked nights and days, who shared bedrooms and beds, who couldn’t afford lunch, and we were best friends.

Now, picture this, pleated skirts or slacks, knee high socks, an advanced and luxurious campus. Shiny black shoes and frozen yogurt for lunch. Science labs that could compete with university ones. And of course, tuition costs more than some people make in a year. And that’s not including uniforms, textbooks, food/snacks, and the other miscellaneous things. 

I don’t remember everything about my years in private school, but I remember walking by homeless people on my way to school and watching kids drive home in BMWs after school. I remember being taught a variety of prayers, Our Father, Hail Mary, the Prayer of St, Francis, and a million others, before I learned about sex education. I could recite just about any prayer before I knew that condoms weren’t 100% effective. I knew the 10 commandments by heart, but none of the boys in my class knew consent. I learned about the parables in the bible before I learned how to stop my period cramps. I learned that sinning was wrong, while my classmates lied, cheated, did drugs and got away with it. 

“Where are you really from?” 

No one outside of the Spanish teachers could pronounce my last name. There were always added letters or syllables. My teachers complimented how “well spoken” I was, while asking me if they could touch my hair. I got dress coded for my natural curves, the same ones my mother has. I was too woke for the prep kids, and too whitewashed for the kids I grew up with. All while experiencing microaggressions from teachers that were disguised as discipline. My natural hair was too big, too distracting, or I was expected to tame it. No hoops. My White classmates were cherished for their leadership skills, while I was called out for having an attitude. Asking for clarification and getting in trouble for “talking back.” “Global” history was still focused on western countries. 

The meanest girls came in uniforms. They will smile in your face, copy off your test, and throw you under the bus all in the same class period. Their handbags cost more than most of my wardrobe, put together. They wore their crosses around their necks while stabbing you in the back. Master manipulators. They weaponized their tears, and used their words to slice at my throat. Hindering me silent and unable to defend myself as the teachers took their side. Their cruelty was subtle, effective, and long lasting. 

Private school taught me the rules, public school taught me how to play the game.