The Complexity of Choosing a Kindergarten in Modern Times
When I was growing up in the Sacramento suburbs during the 1990s, kindergarten enrollment was a straightforward process. My mother simply sent us to the elementary school closest to home. However, as a parent in Los Angeles today, I’ve discovered that finding the right kindergarten is anything but simple.
As someone who works in education, I expected to understand the system better, but I was still overwhelmed by the complexity of enrolling in this sprawling metropolitan school district. Over the years, I had heard discussions in my mom group about permits, lotteries, point systems, school ratings, and even the idea of buying a house in a “bad” school zone. It became clear that finding the best fit for my son soon turned into a part-time job.
I learned that my experience is becoming increasingly common. Beyond sending their children to their zoned school, many parents now have options such as applying for magnet programs, dual-immersion classes, gifted-and-talented tracks, and publicly funded charter schools. Others choose to homeschool or send their kids to private schools.
“Raising kids has always been work,” says Bailey Brown, a sociologist from Spelman College who studied the school-search process in New York City, the nation’s largest school system. “But the concept of school choice adds a new layer of intensity.”
According to federal data, 42% of parents have some level of choice within public-school systems, with 17% of public-school students attending a school other than the one assigned to them. In her book, “Kindergarten Panic,” Brown argues that the burden of choosing a school is being placed on parents—mostly mothers—whether they like it or not. While more options help parents find the best school, not everyone knows how to navigate the process, she found. Middle-income parents were more likely than low-income families to learn how to work the system and enroll their children in higher-performing schools.
Brown’s findings helped me make sense of my own search, which began more than a year before my son started kindergarten. I live just three blocks from a school that, like my home, dates back over 100 years. The initial tour disappointed me—the kindergarten play area offered little beyond hot asphalt and a few tricycles. I was concerned that the school had fewer than 250 students across eight grades. What if the school continued to decline?
So I began looking around. On tours of two nearby schools, parents filled the multipurpose rooms and queued on waitlists to get in. Both are highly sought after due to their gifted-and-talented programs. However, we quickly realized that so many kids lived within the boundaries that no one else stood much of a chance. That didn’t stop the dozens of touring parents from seeking an edge. They asked variations of: So you let in two students from outside the neighborhood last year—what exactly did they do?
A Spanish-language dual-immersion program within walking distance gave me my first glimmer of hope. Two parents with children at the school led the tour and gushed about their experience. A grant meant the yard was being “greened,” offering a break from the typical sea of asphalt. The Spanish program competed with a more well-established dual immersion down the street but had grown so popular it could no longer take everyone who applied.
I detoured from my neighborhood to visit a school I’d long pined for in the district next door, one with an Italian-language immersion program. Though I’m Italian-American on both sides, I have struggled to master the language. Having my son learn it at such a young age sounded idyllic.
Our upbeat tour guide quickly walked us around the yard before launching into an hour-long slideshow on the pedagogy of dual-language immersion learning. As the minutes ticked by, I grew confused about why she was trying to sell us. The school is incredibly popular, and we just wanted to know how to get in. She finally got to that question on the last slide. The school did take applications from families outside the district, but our priority would fall to the bottom. Still, kids with some Italian knowledge got an edge, so I eagerly followed up to tell them my son had been taking weekend lessons for a few years.
A friend connected me to a mom whose daughter attends my zoned school. She said the play yard only has tricycles, but her window overlooks it and she sees kids play happily all day. The teachers, she said, have worked there for years, and she loves walking to school and being part of the community. I appreciated the testimonial but remained unconvinced. With so many schools offering something unique, picking a standard neighborhood school felt like settling.
On a lark, I toured a nearby Waldorf-inspired charter school. We saw kindergartners baking bread and middle-schoolers learning a dance that triggered bad flashbacks to square dancing as a child. In the “handwork” room, parents cross-stitched while our guide explained that all students learn crafts. “What if my son doesn’t want to knit?” one mom asked. The guide replied: “Everyone can make a bunny. There are many different ways to do it.” I stifled a laugh.
Each tour touted the school’s distinction: a visual and performing-arts focus at one, a science and math bent at another. By the 10th tour, I had refined my questions. Do students get two recesses a day, or one? Do they take field trips? Is there after-school child care?
Months later, decision day arrived. Parents anxiously awaited notice. In the neighboring district, emails went out at 5 p.m. My friends began texting their results. My son had been waitlisted for the Italian program. As I rapidly cycled through grief and contingency planning, I checked my email again. There, just hours after the initial email, was another message offering my son a spot. I was ecstatic.
Brown said she hopes her research helps school districts understand that parents need more support in the search process. Tools like hotlines or simplified applications would help—as would making assigned schools more attractive.
In the vast Los Angeles Unified School District, families always have a seat at their neighborhood school but can also apply to 700 specialty programs. A district spokesman said that while navigating the options can feel complex, the district has tried to streamline the application and offer support such as regional fairs, targeted outreach, and enrollment counselors.
In her work, Brown saw the “panic” of the kindergarten search manifest in many ways, including in the pressure parents put on themselves to make the perfect choice. “They thought it was a reflection,” she said, “of who they were as a parent.”