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A slacker mom’s self-loathing

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Nancy Wride is a Times staff writer.

IT ASSUMES TOO MUCH to think your kid can get into a public school kindergarten without camping out as if you’re after front-row U2 tickets.

Lowell Elementary is not a charter or magnet school. This is Long Beach, in a state that is 44th out of 50 in spending. Yet for this fall’s registration, I woke up on March 7 before dawn.

The experience -- daylong, requiring child care and camping gear, proof of residency and passport or original birth certificate -- made me feel as if I were crossing a border into the land of Kindergarten.

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Even among these well-behaved folk, you glimpsed the flinty potential for flashpoints and the vibe to devolve into jungle law. This in a neighborhood where homes go for millions and the PTA budget is pushing $200,000.

My plan Sunday night was to get down to the school about 5:30 a.m. I thought that was pretty anal and early. I called a neighbor to suggest we take shifts. Noooo, that is not cool, she said. Apparently there is a parental camper code of ethics. Besides, she already had a military-like plan going. She and other moms were arriving at the school at 3:30. A dad would take the morning off from his management job to watch the kids. There would be a rotation to another dad at another home.

Panic set in. Another neighbor, her daughter already in kindergarten, told me to relax. Stick with the 5:30 plan, she said. You’ll be fine. These other parents are hysterical.

I split the difference. I got there at 4:50 a.m. I was No. 62 in line.

My friends, who arrived at 3:30, were Nos. 32 and 35.

I put my parka on the sidewalk like I’m marking my space in the county jail visiting line and I’m overcome with self loathing. I’ve blown it, man. What kind of mom am I, only showing up five hours early?

As the sun rose, a guy wearing a hooded sweatshirt officiously polled parents: How many children are you enrolling today? Will you prefer morning or afternoon kindergarten? Will you request Kids Club child care?

I asked if he was from the school. “No, just a dad,” he said. He also called those of us in the back-50 half of the line the “Slacker Parents Club.”

He was No. 37 in the queue. At 6:45, he reported that there were 81 parents in line.

The school’s quartet of kindergarten teachers sweetly walked the line at about 7 with a stack of those pink bakery boxes, offering parents glazed doughnuts, thanking us for caring to come out. There was some sucking up, some foot wedging by the parents who have older kids already in the school. The message: I’m already in the club. Outsider parents looked worried.

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At about 9:30, I got a plastic yellow tag with my number, 62. I still hadn’t registered and was told to come back between 1:30 and 2:30 p.m. Again and again, the school staff assured us: No, even if a higher-numbered parent shows up before you, you will go first. I finally finished the process around 3.

I remain astounded. This isn’t Brentwood or the Fame high school. It’s kindergarten. In Long Beach.

Thankfully, I kept all tension inside and out of view of my son, who has me drive him by his new school every day, and as we pass he whispers: “Lowell, Lowell.... I’m going to live at elementary school soon.”

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