When it came time to choose a preschool for my eldest child, my approach was far from conventional. I didn’t delve into educational theories, nor did I place my son’s name on multiple waiting lists. I didn’t even consider preschools that stretched beyond our budget.
Our search for a preschool coincided with our relocation from the United States to Mexico due to work commitments. After asking around, I discovered a school just a short walk from our new home. My partner and I took a tour, and soon enough, we enrolled our son.
The fact that the preschool’s curriculum was primarily in Spanish—a language my son hadn’t yet learned—didn’t deter us. Nor did the school’s rather laid-back academic program, which introduced only one letter each month. Yes, just one.
What mattered was that the preschool had availability, was affordable, safe, and the teachers were friendly. With so many other responsibilities on our plate, we didn’t have the energy to explore additional options.
Reflecting on my pre-parenthood ideals, I thought I would be the type of parent who placed education at the forefront of my priorities. I imagined myself alongside those who, after exhausting workdays, immersed themselves in potty training guides. They would fret if their toddlers weren’t out of diapers quickly enough to secure spots in prestigious preschools that boasted extensive waiting lists.
I also believed I would be willing to endure longer commutes just to access the one school in town that aligned with my educational preferences for my child. I thought I might mirror many parents I knew who earned good salaries yet couldn’t afford occasional outings, as their disposable incomes were consumed by elite preschools that often required volunteering in class—leaving little room for leisure.
However, my expectations shifted dramatically when I found myself caring for a fussy baby and a toddler who demanded 17 bedtime stories. During one particularly long reading session, I decided to be gentler with myself. Perhaps it was acceptable to watch a movie instead of reading every single story. Maybe my children didn’t need organic, home-cooked meals all the time. And maybe an upscale preschool wasn’t necessary either. My well-being mattered too.
When the time came to make a decision, my partner and I opted for the preschool that simplified our lives, even if it meant our son might face some challenges. We required this modest neighborhood preschool, not realizing at that moment that it would also serve our son’s needs.
Initially, he had a tough time adjusting. He returned home feeling sad that his classmates couldn’t understand him and wouldn’t let him join their games. The language barrier with his teachers added to his difficulties. I can only imagine how much smoother his transition would have been to an English-speaking preschool that aligned more closely with his personality and needs.
Yet, over time, my son gradually picked up Spanish. A few months in, he began sharing stories about the amusing things his friends, Juan and Linda, said during playtime. Not long after, he started bringing home birthday invitations from his new friends, Sebastian and Maria.
Soon enough, my son was earning mostly high marks on his weekly reports, with only a few smiley faces for misusing the subjunctive tense in Spanish (something I struggled with too) or failing to complete his homework of tracing letters endlessly (a reflection of our busy lives as his parents). By the end of the year, he was eager to go to school earlier and stay later. He adored his preschool, and when the time came, we enrolled him for another year.
“Guess what!” my son exclaimed one day during his second year. “I got a special job from my teacher!”
“That’s wonderful! What is it?” I asked.
“There’s a new girl in my class from Australia who only speaks English, so I sit with her and help her understand!”
In that moment, I realized how much he had grown. Eventually, I met the mother of that new classmate, only to learn she was actually from Nigeria, not Australia. Clearly, my son’s geography lessons could use some work. He didn’t emerge from preschool reading or doing math, which I had previously assumed would be the case. But I had zero complaints.
I appreciated that this seemingly imperfect preschool had taught my son resilience. It pushed him to connect with classmates who initially felt too different. He learned to adapt, navigate an intimidating environment, and express himself. Ultimately, he discovered that with kindness and determination, he could thrive anywhere.
While I can’t claim I planned it all along, I recognized that these were the skills I truly wanted for him. The world he would encounter wouldn’t always be welcoming. It’s a beautiful place, yet it can be unforgiving. Those who succeed often embrace discomfort, confront challenges, and evolve.
In the end, what I once viewed as an imperfect preschool turned out to be just right for my son. All he needed was a globe to help him along the way.
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Summary
Choosing the right preschool for my son was not about adhering to lofty educational standards. Instead, I prioritized convenience and the well-being of our family during our transition to a new country. My son initially faced challenges, but ultimately, the preschool experience fostered resilience, adaptability, and social skills that I now recognize as invaluable. This journey has taught me that sometimes, the imperfect option can be exactly what our children need.