I never thought I’d give two tons of thought to the minute details of my kids’ education. I mean, I guess I naively assumed, How hard can it be? Move into a good school district, hope no one ever gets (or gives) a swirl or a Texas wedgie, and pray they learn enough to be able to read road signs and add currency by the time they’re 40.

Okay, so you know what they say about assuming.

In a nutshell, I’ve found myself looking critically at a grade’s curriculum which I am totally qualified to do. After all, I have a degree in Japanese.

Next year, our oldest makes the leap to middle school. Which means that the elementary school rebels who say ‘hell’ will be replaced by middle school rebels who tell you to go there as they make their way to the basketball courts for a pre-algebra smoke.

I know, kids have to learn how to navigate the world and the 10-year-old smokers who inhabit it, but I’m just saying that when it’s your kid, you want to put them into a bubble where everyone says “ma’am” and “please” and the word “fart” was never invented.

So I’ve begun exploring charter schools for Grace to attend during her formative middle school years. She’s not pleased.

“Will they have lockers at a charter middle school?” she asked.

This is a huge and understandable concern for a 9-year-old girl. Because a proper middle school must come equipped with three things: a locker — for storage of Zac Efron pictures, a friend with a cell phone (especially when you’re the only 6th grader on the planet who has yet to be given your own), and a course or two in parental bribery.

After 34 minutes, I came close to convincing Grace that a locker (or the lack therof) isn’t the be-all end-all of middle school. I informed her that there are potentially more exciting things to look forward to.

She became curious.

“What kinds of exciting things?” she asked.

“Well,” I responded, seeing the window of opportunity opening, “One of the schools I’m looking at has drama, art, and a guitar club. And they even start teaching Latin in 6th grade.”

She visibly perked up. I think I even saw the formation of a few goosebumps.

“You mean, like, pig Latin?” she inquired.

“Um, no. Like real Latin.”

“Oh,” she said, deflated. “Well, if they had pig Latin, you could send me there for sure. But regular Latin? I don’t know.”

I’m thinking I’m going to do whatever I have to to ensure the school of my choice has lockers.