Waiting for the letter of acceptance from Friends Seminary felt like it took about ten years. But once we got it, the first day of kindergarten came up fast.

My five-year-old son and I woke up early, got dressed, and walked across Tenth Street toward Union Square.

“Take my hand, I’m scared.”

“Okay, Mommy,” he said.

I figured some butterflies were normal for the first day of school, but mine were massive, causing something closer to sharp pain than flutters.

It wasn’t just that I was nervous about meeting a whole new group of people. I’d grown up hanging out behind a Burger King in Park Ridge, New Jersey, and I was sure everyone else belonged to the Manhattan Private School World, and I didn’t.

Maybe I shouldn’t even try and fit in at Friends I told myself. I can’t compete with the blue bloods. The heiresses. The hedge-funders. I’m just going to be happy for what my husband, Ian and I have: a chance at a great education for our son.

Instead of getting sucked in, we’d be a planet revolving on the outskirts of our new universe. This way, my family and I could stay grounded.

It seemed like a good plan, but as our son’s life folded into school, I had to admit, my decision was tugging at me. Ian and I didn’t know many of the other parents’ names at the class potluck dinners. We were spending more than a few Saturday nights at home. And then there were the afternoons in the school hallway, waiting for the classroom door to open.

“Hello, Beth,” I’d say to the mom standing near me. (School parents’ names have been changed.)

“Hi,” she’d reply.

“Uhh…”

Before I could think of something else to say, another mom would breeze up and jump in.

“Beth! I brought you these shoes! I thought they might work for your event Thursday night!”

“Oh my god, Sharon! These are perfect!”

“What are you going to do for a jacket?”

“Good question.”

“My friend is having a trunk show at her apartment tomorrow. I could go with you.”

“Coffee first?”

“Def!”

By that point I’d usually have taken out my phone, because I had an extremely important text to send right away!

Text to Lori Campbell:
Milk Eggs Bread Juice Bananas

It got to the point where I’d usually walk home from school frowning, mulling over my situation. If the other moms were becoming such good buddies, their kids probably were too. If I was feeling left out, did that mean my son was feeling the same?

I should try a little harder, I thought. Search for ways to become part of my community.

As it turns out, there are many.

#1 Way To Fit In With Private School Parents:
See Stuff So You Can Say You Saw It

Many private school parents have a strict rule in their homes: Do not post pictures of yourself and your friends online that will make others feel bad they weren’t invited.

This rule, of course, applies only to the children.

If a parent has fabulous seats to a desirable event such as a new play, a concert, the Knicks, Rangers, US Open, or a coveted party, they will Facebook, Tumblr, Instagram, and Snapchat photos of themselves until their phones explode.

There is a simple mathematical equation for maximizing the number of impressions made.

First row theater seat x Snapchat + 6,000

The key is to keep Stubhub’s number under Favorites in your phone, be prepared to shell out thousands of dollars at any given moment for the great privilege of uttering the words “backstage at The Nutcracker.” And never say no to anything offered to you.

“See Stuff So You Can Say You Saw It” will be a good way to break in, I thought. Buy tickets, go to cool events, and I’ll have a natural conversation starter!

Uh, except for one thing. This is a tough area for me.

For one, growing up in Park Ridge in the 1980s meant I didn’t have much exposure to “the arts.” The closest I ever got to a real theater experience was something called The Popcert. It was an annual talent show that took place in the high school auditorium, where students showcased their best acoustic guitar, dancing, and baton talents. Where Ginny Scarpelli sang Don’t Cry Out Loud so many years in a row people did cry out loud.

I was ten years old by the time I got to see an actual movie. Not on TV but at the Emerson Theater, about a fifteen-minute drive from our house. The Poseidon Adventure was a huge hit and my parents didn’t want to miss out.

Excellent, except for the fact that
I couldn’t sleep for three days.

Another factor limiting my success in the “See Stuff So You Can Say You Saw It” category is that I’m a person who thinks movies are pricey.

“Are you sure you want to see Despicable Me in 3-D?” I catch myself saying to my son and his friend as I drop them outside the box office. “The tickets are six dollars more than the regular version.”

“Can we get popcorn, Mom?

“Okay.” I reluctantly peel a five out of my hand for two children. “Why don’t you share a small.”

Even discussing the cost of popular concerts or Broadway shows in my house is hard for me. “HOW MUCH DID YOU SAY for four tickets?” I’ll ask Ian as he suggests we take his clients to the see The Book of Mormon.

“We need to get good seats, so we have to scalp the tickets.”

“That’s a month of groceries!”

“And we should probably take them to dinner first.”

The pre-theater dinner. Where you must eat in twenty minutes
so you have enough time for the bathroom line.

On the rare occasion Ian and I do get to a Broadway show, I try to remind myself that I am going to see real talent. The best the world has to offer. Yes, I’ve shelled out an exorbitant amount of hard-earned dough for tickets, but now I get to sit back, watch the lights go down, and be transported to a different time and a magical place!

But mostly, I have a hard time wrapping my head around why all the actors on the stage are shouting so much. You’re right next to each other! You don’t have to yell!

The shouting goes on non-stop until near the end of the play, when things suddenly get extremely q-u-i-e-t. And the gas bubble, which has been building in my lower intestine since the twenty-minute dinner, chooses that exact moment to explode.

“Darling, all this time
it has been you I’ve loved.”

FAAARRRRT!

As hard as it is for me to keep up in the category of “See Stuff So You Can Say You Saw It,” I remind myself that I must try.

I must commit to my community. “At least,” I tell myself, “if someone invites you to something, say yes.” Which is exactly what I did when Shelly Adams, a mom at Friends, sent me an email.

“Hey, Lori. Allie and Helen and I are going to see a show. Would you like to come?”

“You betcha!” I answered right away.

Shelly had tickets to the enormously depressing play, Betrayal.

Shelly happened to be a super sweet person and I looked forward to a night of bonding with her and the other moms.

“Great,” she said. “Why don’t we all grab some sushi first!”

We met at a restaurant called Sen at about 6:00, and sat at a table near the kitchen. The four of us ordered some tuna rolls and saki, and then we began discussing Betrayal.

“Oh it’s very good,” said Allie, the mom sitting next to me.

“Did you read the review?” I asked.

“No. I’ve already seen it.”

“Wow, so you’re going again! When did you see it for the first time?” I asked.

“Today. I went to the matinee.”

Huh?

I knew Allie was a fan of the theater, concerts, the ballet. She was a goer-to of everything. A serious seer of stuff. In the year before Betrayal, she had gone to Beyonce, Jay Z, Madonna, and One Direction. She had been to the Broadway show Wicked a total of nine times, once even taking every girl in her daughter Penny’s grade.

But seeing the same play twice in one day? This was a whole other level. Another stratosphere. How could this have happened?

“I was invited to the matinee by Judy, a mom in Penny’s class,” Allie explained. “We went for sushi too!”

“Oh,” I said, wondering if there was also a midnight show of Betrayal and if Annie might be having a few salmon rolls before that as well.

How, you might ask, does one compete with that?

The answer is, uhh, you don’t. It’s basically a Private School commandment.

Thou shall be outdone.

Still, I was determined to make the best of it. After I got home from Betrayal, I tried to be happy for what I got out of the evening. A little bit of mom bonding, and the chance to see an A-list actor from fifty feet away.

But, I had to admit I’d never keep pace in the challenging private school category of See Stuff So You Can Say You Saw It.

Sure I could try. I could go to Betrayal three times. Eat a couple pounds of raw tuna before each show. But there will always be someone outdoing me — an Annie everywhere I turn.

Luckily, I figured, there were plenty of other ways I could try and relate to private school parents.

Get a great hair stylist. Throw a fancy dinner party. And of course, there’s always the Holy Grail. A humungous, over the top, ginormous New York bar mitzvah….

Luckyish is a series about the private school world by Lori Campbell. Click here to read Part I in the series.

Please follow me for more stories as I continue the series.