Tuesday, 27 October 2015

Is private schooling worth the heartache?

Story from The Motherish by Penny Shipway

It was like a scene out of Gossip Girl: rich girls with their perfectly braided hair and matching ribbons being dropped off to school in their flashy cars. There were Mercedes, BMWs, Range Rovers, a Bentley or two, while my parents pulled up to the school in an old Chrysler Sigma.
I would flee the car as quickly as possible in the hope no one would see our embarrassment, bomb of a car. It was mortifying.
I was that girl.
A middle class girl in a rich kids’ school.
All my friends had mansions with circular drive ways and sparkling swimming pools that resembled Barbie’s Dreamhouse. We had an old Queenslander, which Dad painted himself, and a jacaranda tree which sprinkled its purple flowers over the backyard during spring.
It was an idyllic home and a place of which I will always have fond memories – a place where we climbed trees, played in the dirt and read books on the sunny deck. But when it came to school, I felt out of place. I felt like the poor girl.


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