The idea of the consummate materialist was expanded last week when allegations came to light that former telecommunications stock analyst Jack Grubman had used his powers to upgrade stock and his connections to philanthropic millions to achieve his ultimate goal: To get his four-year-old twins into an elite nursery school in Manhattan.

Not only did Grubman purportedly upgrade AT&T stock to curry favor with the board members of the 92nd Street Y, but his firm’s parent company, Citigroup, donated $1 million for a five-year lecture series at the school to sweeten the deal.

Granted, an applicant is statistically more likely to gain entrance to Harvard than to the 92nd Street Y. And at age four, it’s hard to pad your r‚sum‚ enough to stand out from the crowd.

What can you put down on your application? Four years of professional nose-mining? Advanced proficiency in tantrum throwing? Trading in your thumb for double-integral calculus?

And parents simply must do all they can to put their little Munch-kins in the poshest vehicle on the Road of Life, ethics notwithstanding.

Not to fault Grubman’s unquestioning pursuit of the “Best of Everything” for his little cherubs, but considering the vast parade of individuals enlisted to secure entrance into the Baby Ivy, one would think someone would have raised a few questions along the way, namely, “Why should I help these little twerps?” or “How can I be assured these kids are smart enough not to lick the playground equipment in the dead of winter?” or “What kind of lecture series does a preschool get, anyway?”

Not only has no one stepped forth with sufficient proof of altruism among the involved members of businesses including Citigroup, and who has any idea what kind of hit the “Play-Doh Through the Ages” workshops were with the 92nd Streeters?

The reports on the story have been quick to point out that plenty of parents in Grubman’s social echelon eagerly shell out $25,000 to $100,000 annually to a quality preschool, presumably so top-shelf they don’t have anything on the playground to which one’s inquisitive tongue might get stuck.

Some speculate the cutthroat competition for hoity-toity pre-school spots is a trickle-down effect of “needing” to get into top colleges, hence top high schools, hence top nursery schools. While aspiring to admission to a top bachelor’s degree program is noble indeed, the perverse corollary of placing untoward pressure on someone a handful of years after being a zygote is simply insane.

Should one’s life be a giant march toward achieving a coveted spot amongst the nation’s chosen intelligentsia, movers and shakers or artists?

Perhaps. But should that march start at an age when milk teeth are more pervasive than correct verb conjugations?

I think not.

Grubman’s children began their illustrious ascent at the 92nd Street Y in 2000, and I’m sure they are worth infinitely more than their parents and parents’ parent companies showered on them.

However, by showing his children their worth is so great that ethical practices do not apply and not letting accomplishments and aptitudes speak for themselves, such children may escape a few of life’s basic lessons and end up bringing a great deal of heartache upon themselves and others while flitting about in their untouchable dimension of vaunted personal worth.

Any of us left flailing next to a slide or swing set to which our tongues were firmly attached have at least learned that no human is above the pedestrian nature of life, an especially valuable skill when forced to endure public criticisms of once-untouchable stock-jock parents.

Rachel Faber

Machacha

is a graduate student in international development studies from Emmetsburg.