I have been grumpy all summer about the Catholic high school. If you are new here, the nutshell version of the saga is that my 17yo complained all year about anti-semitic epithets being thrown around among a subset of the junior boys. The principal told us in December and again in February that he could only intervene if our son coughed up a list of names; our son remained adamant that he wasn't going to rat anybody out. I called the diocese to ask for advice the day after I received that February email, and on their recommendation I left a message for the chaplain. When I found out that the chaplain had a lot on his plate due to a local pastor's illness, I scheduled a meeting with the junior theology teacher. He had just issued a detention for this selfsame offense to a clueless junior boy -- "You can't give me a detention for that!" -- and we had a really encouraging conversation. He told us he'd get back to us immediately after his conversation with the principal. And...nothing. No reply to my follow-up email. Insert an unpromising phone conversation with the chaplain in there somewhere, and fast-forward to my husband's May exchange with the freshman theology teacher. He was really fired up; he said all the right things. He was going to meet with the principal that week and would get back to us right away.
And...nothing.
I wanted to flounce in a big way, you guys, to say, "My kids will be better off in public school!" I wanted to blab; I wanted to kick up a fuss. My fingers were itching to pen a letter to the diocesan office about the utter failure of the school to respond to legitimate concerns after months of effort. But more than I wanted to be right (and OH do I love to be right -- not my most attractive quality), I wanted my son to feel listened to. To preserve whatever faith he could preserve in the willingness of adults to act in his best interests. To have the best senior year he could have. And he felt that the best of the bad options was to finish up at the Catholic high school.
"Are you sure?" I asked him repeatedly. "What if we homeschool until you're 18 and you enroll in college right away? We could take the Catholic school tuition money and spend it on a graduation trip to Edinburgh." (This is the boy who was born in Edinburgh.)
He was sure.
So I wrote them a deposit check, bitterly and after the deadline. I filled out the paperwork, sputtering under my breath all the while. I rolled my eyes every time someone in my Facebook feed said anything positive about the school. We weren't asking for the moon, you guys. We didn't expect them to chase after offenders with pitchforks and Orwellian re-education schemes. We just wanted them to say, "Hey, there is a long and ugly history here, and we expect you to do better now that you know better."
Just yesterday I learned that most of my summer angst was unwarranted. My husband did hear back from the freshman theology teacher when he sent a follow-up email in mid-June. He wasn't impressed with the email, which read to him as "We'll form a committee to discuss this further." That's why he didn't even mention it to me. But I am MUCH more satisfied with this response than he is. The freshman and junior theology teachers met with the principal and decided that they are going to address this. They agreed to meet over the summer to make a plan. (Underpaid theology teachers, who are not getting paid over the summer, are willing to do this on their own time.) They are resolved to include students, so it's not a top-down thing. They want to change the culture, and not just call it good after an all-school assembly. They asked us to pray for them.
Will it work? No idea. Will I send Pete and Stella there? Doubtful. But has it eliminated my angry arsonous thoughts? Pretty much. PHEW, that's a relief. Plotting arson is not my favorite state of mind.
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