Catholic Herald Parenting™

	Training Wheels

Why do you send your boys to a Catholic school?" my sons' pediatrician recently asked, looking at the St. Monica School sweatshirts and uniform pants my two boys had strewn on the floor of the examining room. It was the boys' yearly check-up, and they sat expectantly in their Hot Wheels underwear as the doctor walked in.

"You live in one of the top school districts in the state," the doctor continued, taking out an instrument and peering into 4-year-old Liam's ear. "You're paying for those schools with your taxes. You should be taking advantage of them." He tapped Liam on the knee with a tiny hammer and Liam's eyes widened as his leg shot up in reflex.

One of the reasons I like my sons' pediatrician is that he's not afraid to challenge me. Whether he's trying to convince me to buy more organic produce or switch the boys from regular milk to soy milk, the doctor has an opinion on everything, and I always leave his office with something to think about.

As the doctor finished with Liam and moved on to 7-year-old Jacob, I explained that while my husband and I have great respect for the public schools in our area, we want our boys to learn about their faith on a daily basis.

"But you can teach them that at home," the doctor said. "Save your tuition money."

At home? I don't know how other people's homes function, but to match St. Monica's 45 minutes of daily religious instruction would be a stretch in our household where some days we don't have an extra 45 seconds to find a matching pair of socks.

But even more than the daily religion classes, there are a thousand tiny things that happen over the course of a year at a Catholic school -- things I would have to give up if we chose public education over Catholic.

If we chose a public school, I could maybe commit to pray more with my boys at home, but I still would not be able to give them the prayer experience of 20 children and a teacher gathered in a circle, reading from a Children's Bible. And our prayers together wouldn't be nearly as age-appropriate -- I wouldn't know where to begin looking for all the cute hand-motion prayers and Jesus songs they've been taught over the past few years. I doubt that I would find the energy to have the boys make their own Advent wreaths or draw Stations of the Cross booklets for Lent.

A couple of weeks ago, I was packing Jacob's lunch in the morning, and I asked him if they pray before lunch at school.

"Of course," Jacob said, looking at me as if I had asked him if they use pencils in second grade. Not wanting to be outdone, Liam pointed out that the kindergarteners pray before snack, since they don't stay for lunch.

If we chose a public school, we'd need to give up the Wednesday morning all-school Masses, where some days, the same boys Jacob plays football with at recess are that morning's readers. Where his babysitter might be one of the eighth graders bringing up the gifts. Where kids from his school bus are singing in the choir.

If we chose a public school, we'd give up the one homily per week that's aimed at our children -- homilies that include such things as what Jesus says about how to treat your friends or how to act toward your brother or sister.

A public school could possibly mean teachers who have bigger budgets for classroom supplies, but it would also mean passing up the opportunity to have Christian values blended into all subjects -- hitting would be against the school rules, but the Golden Rule could not be brought into the discussion.

Liam's kindergarten teacher couldn't call her science lessons "Learning About God's Wonderful World" and Jacob wouldn't be writing Bible verses for handwriting practice. As my boys grow, they could not discuss serious social studies topics such as war, poverty, racism and terrorism within the context of how we are called to respond as Christians.

The thousand reasons that add up to a rationale to pay both property taxes and Catholic school tuition are as small as a whispered prayer before a test and as large as the bronze crucifix hanging on the outside wall of the school, near the playground. The reasons are as varied as the different languages, cultures and backgrounds of the saints our boys learn about in school. The thousand reasons for choosing a Catholic school are imperfect -- as imperfect as the people of God who make up the school. Some of our reasons are not reasons at all, but rather questions -- questions about faith and life and God that my husband and I have not figured out yet -- questions a Catholic school cannot answer, but only honor.

This Catholic Schools Week, I give thanks for the teachers, students and parents who form the school community of St. Monica, and all Catholic schools.

Somehow, I believe that my sons' Catholic school tuition is indeed a property tax. Ultimately, my boys are property of God. It's a tax I'll gladly pay.

(Scobey-Polacheck attended Holy Family Elementary School and Dominican High School both in Whitefish Bay, and Marquette University. She and her husband, Bill, send their sons to St. Monica School, Whitefish Bay.)