Prospective Students - Why Catholic School

Why Catholic School?

By: Annemarie Scobey-Polacheck

“Why do you send your boys to a Catholic school?” my sons’ pediatrician asked, looking
at the St. Monica school sweatshirts and uniform pants my two boys had strewn over the
floor of the examining room. It was the boys’ yearly check-up, and they sat expectantly in
their Hot Wheels underwear as their 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 onto 7-year-old Jacob, I explained to him 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 simply 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.

And in thinking about all this, I have come to the conclusion 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.

Annemarie Scobey-Polacheck and her husband, Bill, send their boys to St. Monica
School in Whitefish Bay, WI. She is the author of the book "Discovering Motherhood".