by regular contributor Chris Belden

My wife is in a tizzy because we’re not sending our daughter, Francesca, to private kindergarten next fall. For the past three years, from ages two to four, Frankie has attended a local private pre-school, which has been expensive but worthwhile. She learned how to use the potty at two, memorized the alphabet at three, knows numbers one through one hundred, and is now, at four and a half, reading simple books. She’s made good friends and has thrived in a tightly structured environment. When I was four, I went to a nursery school where we ate graham crackers, took naps, and listened to Bozo the Clown records.

So why are we making the switch?

Her tuition for this past year was $13K, a head-spinning amount that we felt was justified by Frankie’s progress—and by the $13K gift her grandmother gave us as an estate tax strategy. Next year’s tuition at the same school will be $24K. Twenty-four thousand dollars—for kindergarten! No matter how I look at it, I cannot justify that obscene amount. Maybe—maybe—if our local public schools were below average, I would consider it; but our public schools are in fact above average.

My wife agrees that the private school tuition is ridiculous. She recognizes that the public school kindergarten has worked well for the neighborhood kids, all of whom we like and admire. And yet she has this nagging feeling that we’re hurting our child’s chances of thriving in the world by pulling her from private school. She worries—understandably—that Frankie will be bored, that she’ll be academically ahead of her classmates, that the class size will be larger. I worry about those things, too. But I also believe in the public school system, which is under attack from all sides—from self-serving politicians; from parents hoodwinked into thinking all public schools are less effective than all private schools; even from artists like Davis Guggenheim, whose pro-charter school film Waiting for Superman neglects to mention that charter schools more often than not underperform compared to public schools*—and I believe it’s important to take a stand. It’s a proven fact that, when “affluent” children (and I use that term loosely in our case—we’re affluent only in the sense that, if we scrimped and saved, we could actually afford to send Frankie to private school) attend public schools, it has a positive affect on all the students—upper and upper-middle class kids provide a positive example for kids who have fewer advantages at home. Just think if every middle and upper class parent sent their kids to public schools, how much better those schools would be!

Then there is the practical side of the argument: we’re paying property taxes for this public school, so why not send our kid there? It’s also good to be a financially responsible parent. The money we save on school may pay for a new car, or a nice vacation, or repairs to the house.

I like the private school Frankie has attended for three years. I like the teachers and I like the parents, whose Range Rovers and Lexi (plural of Lexus) I’ve weaved past in the parking lot in my old Toyota Matrix. But I won’t miss this culture of “My kid is better because she attends this tony school” or “This is the only way to make sure my kid gets into [Ivy League school of your choice].” I don’t think that I’m shortchanging my daughter be moving her to public school. I’m not in a tizzy. Frankie is going to do just fine.

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* A 2009 Stanford study showed that while 17% of charter school students performed better at math than their public school counterparts, 37% performed worse.

by contributor Matt Winkler

My son is in seventh grade, about to turn thirteen. He held the package from eBay in both hands and declared, “Yes! Now I have everything I need: An ipod, a cell phone, and a facebook account.”

I almost fell over, confronted by what a technical world he lives in. When I was his age, some kids had a cassette walkman, or call-waiting on the family phone, and the lucky ones played space invaders on their Atari, but these were luxuries, not necessities.

I’m tempted to fight the tide, to hold the conservative line – “You don’t need those gadgets!  Go play ball!” – but I know how futile it would be. The best thing I can do is teach him how to navigate the world he’s inherited. My brother says that “the internet is as dangerous as your stupidity allows, just like the streets of Manhattan.” In the 21^st century, street smarts apply equally to both environments, real and virtual.

The social network, mobile communication, and personal soundtrack are all resources that he should understand and use with discretion. We limit his “screen time” to an hour a day, and he pays for the iPod, iTunes, and cell phone bill ($10/month, data blocked). Because he needs to selectively allocate his limited resources, he learns to exercise his judgment and restraint. He’s learning to be responsible for his time, money, and stuff, which are the three things he really needs.

by contributor Matt Winkler

In education, there are three levels. If you know how to add, solving addition problems means operating at your comfort level. Your instructional level involves learning multiplication, which expands on your understanding of addition. If your teacher tries to jump straight to exponents, that’s the frustration level. It’s just too much of a stretch.

My teenage daughter commutes to college in New York City and dreams of living there, during and after college. That’s quite a step from living at home, raiding the fridge, and avoiding housework. At nineteen, she’s responsible for funding her car, cell phone, and digital media habit. That’s her comfort level. She’s taken on student loans and learned how to read an amortization chart, at the instructional level. But there are a lot more intermediate steps to true independence. We’re walking her through cash flow tracking, budgeting, and strategic planning for stuff like food and shelter.

For my part, I rode the parental gravy train straight to college graduation, and then got a job and an apartment that amounted to a monthly net zero. I might have taken college more seriously, if I had understood the relationship between study and salary and lifestyle. Too late, I learned those lessons from Professor Visa and Colonel Mastercard, who were happy to conduct classes at the frustration level. Hopefully, my daughter will avoid those pitfalls by accepting some guidance and responsibility along that steep staircase to adulthood.

As parents, we’re supposed to “provide” for our children, but does that necessarily always mean monetary support? Some lessons can only be learned with less cash-flow. What lessons are your kids learning about money?