I sat on the couch, flipping through Netflix, as the four-year-old
I babysat came into the room and complained that he could not sleep. Sighing, I
told him to lie down on the couch, but to close his eyes and try to fall asleep.
“What movie could put a child to sleep?” I questioned myself as I settled on a Frontline
documentary on Chinese adoption. He fell asleep within ten minutes. Once it
ended, I continued to flip through Netflix and discovered what has since become
one of my favorite movies: "Nursery University." This documentary on the insane
nursery school admissions process in New York City intrigues me and concerns me. The filmmakers follow a few families through the process: a Harlem family,
an IVY League couple from the West Village, and an interracial, affluent, and
sarcastic Upper East Side couple. As the title suggests, applying to these
nursery schools causes the same level of stress as applying to college, which
makes the movie extremely relatable for me. I too face the same fears as the couples when they explain their “Pipe-Line to the IVIES” theory:
that the best nursery schools lead to the best kindergartens, which lead to the
best primary schools, which lead to the best high schools, which will
inevitably secure a child an acceptance to Harvard. Though I did not attend an
exclusive nursery school, throughout the college process, I too must take into
account which college degrees will lead to more job opportunities for me in the
future. Though these ambitious parents worry about securing their children spots at Harvard, they too consider job opportunities.
As they scribble notes down at admission counseling sessions, they often ask how going to a certain school will help their children secure high-paying
careers. I laughed as the admissions counselors indulge these parents,
explaining that such a nursery school education will help the child develop
skills that will help him/her prosper in future careers, such as a stock
broker, Pulitzer Prize winning novelist, or the president. I would hope so, for
$20,000 a year for a two-year-old. As I observed such scenes, they reminded me
of my parents at college admissions sessions, how they would quiz the
admissions counselor and would then obnoxiously talk me up after the session.
Seeing other parents compete for admission into nursery schools made me realize
how normally my parents act (relatively, of course!) and made me grateful for
the simplicity of the preschool admission process in Chagrin. Once I finished the documentary, I called my parents, who lived in New
York for many years, and told them about the film. On the other line, my mother
scoffed: “Don’t laugh, Meghan! That process is so stressful, and it could have
been us!” Yes, it might have. But instead, I now attempt to reach the Ivies without
ever traveling down the “Pipe-Line.” I wonder to myself whether this theory has
any validity. Maybe in New York City; but it only seems plausible there. Although I may joke about these parents, I know that if
I lived in New York and had a child, I would surely buy in to it. I can
almost imagine myself sitting in a preschool admission session, viscously
scribbling down notes as I look around and eye my competition. I, like the parents in the film, would go
to great lengths as I agree with the filmmakers’ message, a quote which interviewees stress repeatedly: “There is nothing more important than your
child’s education.”
