Kiddie Thunderdome: Some Advice for The Kindergarten Admissions Circus

First, a disclaimer: I have absolutely no formal qualifications in early childhood education other than having raised my own sons, which, let’s be honest, makes me both an expert and entirely unqualified at the same time. Also, I’m a bad Catholic—no offense to Catholic schools or the devout parents trying to out-Catholic one another at admissions interviews.

Now, let’s talk about the absurdity that is elite kindergarten admissions. A younger colleague recently confided in me about her desperate attempts to get her five-year-old into a prestigious, high-end Catholic kindergarten. She described taking him to a moderated play date—which, if you’re unfamiliar, is where small children are observed and ranked on their ability to share a plastic dinosaur. At the same time, their parents engage in psychological warfare to prove their moral superiority. She referred to it as Kiddie Thunderdome, which is frankly the most accurate description I’ve ever heard.

What exactly are these schools assessing? The ability to take turns on the slide? Nap-time compliance rates? Whether little Brayden can flawlessly recite the Nicene Creed between bites of an organic, gluten-free snack? And let’s not forget the parents—hovering nervously, subtly flexing their volunteer hours at the church bake sale, their charitable contributions, and, of course, their children’s precocious artistic ability.

This brings me to my central point: No matter how elite the kindergarten or how rigorous the admissions process, the pinnacle of their artistic output will still be a turkey drawn using their hand. These parents will clutch their chests in amazement at little Ava’s ability to color vaguely within the lines, convinced they’re raising the next Picasso. Meanwhile, parents of ordinary kindergarteners will also receive a turkey hand drawing but will instead celebrate the $30,000 they’ve saved for an actual investment—like a house, or college, or a retirement plan that doesn’t involve their future artist-in-residence financially supporting them through an Etsy store.

So, let’s get real. If you’re a parent caught in the throes of kindergarten competition, here’s a little perspective. First, breathe. Your child’s future is not hinging on a school with a Latin motto. The greatest minds of our time—Einstein, Da Vinci, and yes, even Dolly Parton—somehow managed without being scrutinized for their ability to stack blocks at age five. Instead of worrying about admissions interviews, maybe spend that time ensuring your child can be kind, curious, and, ideally, use the bathroom without adult intervention. These are the actual skills that matter at this stage.

And if you’re going to drop private college tuition on a kindergarten, at least make sure you’re getting a return on investment. If they’re charging an arm and a leg, they better be sending kids home fluent in Mandarin and capable of executing small-scale electrical engineering projects, not just proudly displaying macaroni art.

For the elite kindergartens out there, perhaps it’s time for a little self-reflection. Do we really need to turn kindergarten admissions into the Hunger Games? Maybe dial it back a notch—this isn’t the Rhodes Scholarship selection process. Instead of scrutinizing tiny humans on their ability to play nice, why not assess something practical? Like, can they eat a sandwich without launching half of it onto the floor?

And let’s be honest about the endgame here. No matter how competitive the admissions process, the pinnacle of their kindergarten achievements will still be singing about the days of the week and pasting googly eyes onto construction paper. Maybe, just maybe, instead of making parents battle it out in Kiddie Thunderdome, we should focus on what truly matters—raising happy, kind, and curious children who are excited to learn.

But hey, if you do survive the admissions gauntlet and your child emerges victorious, do frame that turkey hand drawing with pride. It’s going to be the highlight of your $30,000-a-year investment.