Travis is a co-leader of the Integrated Schools Boston Chapter and the parent of a “white, typically developing, middle-class kid.” He notes, “I am a white guy who also grew up free of the very real stresses and perils of living in poverty. In our wildly unequal society the stakes are not the same for each kid. Each family’s experience is their own. I wrote this from my perspective and it’s only my family’s experience – not an argument for how everyone should approach choosing a school.” Originally published in Boston Parents Schoolyard News on March 8, 2023 by Travis Marshall; cross-posted with the author’s permission.
“I’m so sorry you are going through this,” a friend told me as I recounted my child’s previous weeks.
Nothing horrible had happened. My son was simply at the end of eight years at a wonderful Boston public elementary school and was entering the 7th grade assignment system.
To be a parent in Boston is to be constantly bombarded with messages about the precariousness of our public schools.
This idea is at the core of weekly stories in our local newspapers, the idle chat at preschool playdates, and marketing campaigns slapped on MBTA buses and yard signs. BPS itself also contributes to this idea by ranking schools into “Quality Tiers” 1 through 4. So it wasn’t long after becoming parents that we were asked, “What are you going to do when it’s time for kindergarten?”
What my wife and I did was visit schools. We toured eight and found that once inside — talking directly with teachers, families, and school leaders — all seemed like good options. Our instincts proved right and we fell in love with a wonderful inclusion school community where our kids have thrived.
It wasn’t long after kindergarten, however, that we learned about an even more complex school decision looming on the horizon: 7th grade. Over the years we watched other families navigate that transition amid the same messages of jeopardy.
A few moved to private schools, others to METCO or charter schools, and some in their own relieved words “made it” into one of the city’s selective admissions schools — promised refuges of resources and rigor in a supposed sea of scarcity.
When our turn came, we once again visited schools, this time putting the ultimate decision in our son’s hands.
Between citywide 7–12 schools and “home base-assigned” K-8s, we had a list of more than 20 schools to rank. Some require special applications to ensure the students and their families are “serious” and “committed” to the school. Exam schools — despite recent policy changes that we support — still require a high GPA and test scores. Open-enrollment schools accept all, and require only that a seat is available.
For years this kind of school choice was framed as an answer to inequities across BPS. For 7th grade, we found this concept of choice also serves as a mechanism to filter and sort students. It places students with high GPAs and test scores into one set of schools, and students with families prepared to navigate application screens into a second set, which means the third group, Boston’s open-enrollment schools, often serve a disproportionate number of newcomers, students with disabilities, and English language learners.
Selective schools, in other words, are distinguished by which students aren’t there as much as they are by the opportunities offered.
Our son is a white, typically developing, middle-class kid — a curious, self-motivated learner with good grades and average test scores. He has spent his entire BPS career in diverse inclusion classrooms, surrounded by peers with different backgrounds, learning styles, and challenges. In that time he’s found that there are multiple ways to be and to learn. He ranked schools based on his own experience, impressions, and interests.
Exam school tours touted a multitude of opportunities, as well as intense cultures of achievement, AP pathways, and selective college admissions — but left him feeling anxious. We assured him that he was capable of doing the work but also respected his feelings.
In the end his first choice was an open-enrollment school that offers arts, career pathways, and some advanced coursework. In a city with specialized schools, it is a close approximation to a comprehensive public high school. It is also listed as Tier 4 by BPS’s current metrics.
We weren’t prepared for the social expectations for white, middle-class families in this sorting process. When the topic came up in conversation, other parents were often surprised. “You didn’t rank Latin at the top just to see if he got in?” some asked. Others wondered, “What about the O’Bryant? I hear the culture is a little less intense even if he doesn’t have a real passion for STEM.” Exam schools represent a brass ring in BPS and the instinct to reach for schools considered “the best” can be a powerful one — even if that definition of “best” is different for each student.
Like many families living through three years of a pandemic, ours is choosing to prioritize mental health and happiness. We are also choosing to trust that — just like eight years ago — there are many paths to a good education in BPS. My son won’t know his next school until assignments come out in May, but we are excited for him to move into a new chapter with all of its opportunities and challenges, and we support his decision about the kind of school he hopes to attend.
We’d love to hear about other integrating families’ experiences with the transition to middle or high school. Write us at hello@integratedschools.org, or send us a voicemail!
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