Why I’m Sending My Black Son to Private School
Since before he could even talk, I’ve been worrying about where to send my son to school. I know that having a choice to make at all is a mark of status: I am part of a group of parents who have enough money, time, and education to decide what is best for our children. And the fact that I can make a choice means that I can make the wrong one. So whenever I meet an educated Black parent, I inevitably ask for their advice about school. I remember one person answering, “We took the Nikole Hannah-Jones approach.”
I knew exactly what he meant. A decade ago, I read the cover story Nikole wrote for The New York Times Magazine about her and her husband’s struggle to decide where to send their daughter, Najya, to school. They ended up putting her in a “high-poverty, all-black school” because they believed that middle-class families had a responsibility to such neglected institutions. Parents like them could advocate for less fortunate students. And, she wrote, “I also knew that we would be able to make up for Najya anything the school was lacking.” This week, she published a new article, in which she wrestles honestly with her daughter’s feelings of anger and loss about spending years in schools that failed her. In the end, she writes, she agreed to let her daughter go to any high school she wanted—no matter how selective and segregated.
I have always admired Nikole’s writing, and over the years, she has become a confidant and friend. Although many on the internet have accused Nikole of sacrificing her daughter for her ideals, I think she’s courageous. Still, as my son approaches school age, I realize that I could never make the choice she made. I know too well what can go wrong. I’m sending him to a private preschool, and I plan to apply for private kindergarten too.
Growing up in Lexington, Kentucky, I received an abysmal education. I always loved to read and write, yet I was in college before I realized that I’d never learned basic rules of grammar. I spent two years catching up on math. I’m still dealing with the shock of realizing how little I was taught. When my son was learning to talk, I started using the pronunciation feature on Dictionary.com because I didn’t want him to inherit the southern accent that syrups over my words. “Say it like the voice,” I’d tell him. Just last week, I purchased a grammar book from a thrift store. I’m a staff writer for The Atlantic, and I’m writing a memoir, and I still can’t shake off my poor education.
