Your early years at a LCS' TK-4 campus will feel like you've fallen into an optimistic Rooney/Garland movie where something wonderful will be saved if you just put on a show, raise some money, and work hard. You'll praise LCS widely, give more than you can afford, and volunteer more than you should. You have great ideas, some resources, and work tirelessly to share you skills to beautify/start an orchestra/put on a show/build libraries/improve the garden/tutor Latin/promote DEI/fundraise. You'll read a lot of reviews like this and we were there too, although we never understood why the oppressed own such nice houses.
You won't understand why parents with older students are grim, slackers who don't have your righteous halo of Doing the Right Thing for this Diverse School "that meets the needs of all students where they are at." Your $2m annual donation helps us raise children to near mediocrity!
Then you enter the Selma turnstile and realize the promises written on the wall have changed because all students aren't walking on four legs! Some have crutches to support them and that it is good, even when they use them to hit another animal. You notice others wear weights around their ankles or bags on their heads, overseen by Myra Glampers. Some teachers struggle with their own voices as they stand by as plants wither, instruments corrode, while watching the books mildew. Meanwhile Amy's Army of Collusion throws severed limbs over the walls of their neighborhood, "gifts of envy and hate."
Stakeholder! We are equal now. I care a lot! We will differentiate! Please come drink some alcohol without excess at my party of the brave and equal. Leaving? As if. If I cared I'd call you an Earth-vexing baggage barnacle. But you never cared.
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