When John Edwards and his wife were getting ready to start a family, they bought a townhouse in a complex in Foster City California. It was next to a new grade school that was being built. It was to be a magnet school, with a year-round schedule, and entry by lottery.
They had three children: Corinna was the oldest, then Will, then Mary. Around age 2 Will regressed, stopped talking, and his world devolved into wheels that he could spin and non-wheels. Oh, and things that were red. John would take them swimming in the complex swimming pool, or walk across the playground of the school being built to the nearest park, where John would push Mary and Will in the swings and Corinna would chase the geese.
The school next door finally opened when Corinna was ready to start kindergarten. It proved incredibly popular: all the parents (largely Silicon Valley software engineers and executives) wanted their children, whom they were crafting to be future spelling bee champions, to go there. With so much demand and selection by random lottery, it was not surprising that John's family lost. So when Mary was starting prechool and Corinna was starting kindergarten, Corinna had to be driven to kindergarten at a school across the freeway, up in the hills. Will had to go to a different special-needs preschool in yet another direction.
In the spring the school next door had a town hall meeting to discuss if any changes in direction were needed. The parking lot was jammed full and the surrounding streets were all lined with cars. John and his wife and three children walked over too. The auditorium was crowded with anxious parents sitting in aluminum folding chairs. There was a sign-up sheet for people who wanted to speak. John signed it.
"Everyone looks angry," observed three year old Mary.
"Well, they all want to attend this school," said John.
"But there's only so many slots and there's all these people who want in. They know they can't all fit. Why would they be angry about that?"
"They all feel that they are special, and that they should be given special treatment."
"Oh. Are you going to say that we are special?"
"Mmmm ..." John pursed his lips, embarrassed. "I guess so. But only in a certain way. That we live next door."
As the meeting progressed, John was arranging what he would say in his head. Next door. Why did that matter. Examples. What was fair.
Someone was talking about the the details of the lottery, how if one child in a family was let in the others were automatically too. But John couldn't listen and arrange at the same time so he missed most of it. He was also keeping an eye on Will, in case he acted up and had to be carried out. If that happened they'd have to skip him talking. He went back to arranging.
"Next ... John Edwards?"
John stood and walked to the podium. Looked over the crowd. Took a breath. And started.
"Hi. I'm John Edwards. We live next door. We didn't drive here tonight, we walked over. Of course. Because ... we live next door. My family's over there," John pointed, and his wife and Corinna waved back.
"Everyone has neighbors. If you live in Alaska, your neighbor may be a moose, but, you still have neighbors. Neighbors are the ones who are physically near you. You don't have very many. Anyone who is your neighbor, you are their neighbor too.
"You have to deal with your neighbors every day. You can't just ignore them, because they're THERE, right in your face.
"Well, our neighbor is this school. We saw it being built. We walk across its playground to get to the park every day. Our driveways are right next to each other.
"We lost the school lottery, so we can't attend. But we're still neighbors. In the morning I have to dodge all the traffic of people taking their kids into this school, so I can drive MY kid to a different school way up in the Belmont hills." John pointed in that direction.
"It would make a lot more sense if we were attending the school next door. But we can't, because we lost the lottery. So ... I suppose we should move somewhere else? Then maybe the family that gets our house next might get lucky and win. Otherwise, they could move too and someone else could try again? Until someone gets lucky and wins.
"You could correct that. I'm not saying get rid of the lottery altogether and give it a normal school district, but, you could make an exception for the really close neighbors. Maybe, two or three blocks in each direction. Beyond that you're far enough away that you can ignore the school. But, if you're close neighbors like we are, you can't ignore it.
"This school also has a year-round curriculum. I hear it's working out really well. Yay. Excellent. Apply it to the rest of school system too. If something works, please learn from your successes.
"Mmm, that's all I have to say. Thank you."
John went back to his seat. His wife assured him he spoke well. He went over what he'd wanted to get across, did he say it, he thought he did.
The meeting was wrapping up. "Thank you all," said the head of the school board. "There's been some good input tonight. I can see there are some things we'll need to adjust."
There were? thought John. I wonder what they were. Too bad I wasn't able to listen very well.
The next year they changed the rules so that children in a small neighborhood of the school were allowed to attend, regardless of the lottery. And Corinna attended. But it was strange. All the other kids were playing on their cell phones. Corinna didn't want a cell phone, she was a head taller than everyone else, and she just wanted to play on the monkey bars. The only other kid she said was a friend was Svetlana, a silent Russian girl. She didn't really relate to her though. It seemed the main thing they had in common was that neither of them fit in.
The next year John packed up his family and moved to another state. He wasn't really sure what he was looking for, but he felt it was time for another roll of the dice.