by Erika Matić, taxpayer, mother, and recent graduate of the Croatian Waiting List Studies Program
There are many moments in life when you realise you misunderstood the system. You thought it was slow. It was immobile. You thought it was inefficient. It was historical.
You thought kindergarten placement depended on the needs of living children. Adorable.
It depends on the geopolitics of 1991.
My Daughter vs. The Past
For two years, my now 3.5-year-old daughter did not get kindergarten. Not because there is no kindergarten. Not because she doesn’t exist. Not because we forgot to apply.
No.
Because the Croatian kindergarten system operates on a principle best described as archaeological priority. You do not compete with other toddlers. You compete with history.
And history, I have learned, is extremely fertile.
“Don’t Worry, Next Year She’ll Be Four”
Everyone told me: “Relax. Next year she’ll be four. Four-year-olds get priority. It’s guaranteed.”
Ah yes – the famous Balkan guarantee, cousin of the Balkan promise and sibling of the Balkan “we’ll see.”
So we waited. One year. Two years. One nervous system slowly dissolving.
And then – plot twist. This year, being four is no longer an advantage. Which is impressive, because time itself has now lost administrative value.
Who Does Get Priority?
Children of:
- Recipients of unemployment benefits for veterans of the Homeland War
- Parents of civilians killed in the Homeland War
- Minorities
Let us pause here – respectfully, sincerely, genuinely.
The Homeland War matters. The suffering was real. Loss is permanent. History deserves dignity.
But.
My daughter was born in 2022. She cannot compete with 1991. She doesn’t even fully understand socks yet.
The Mathematics of Croatian Time
Let us do simple mathematics.
- The Homeland War: 1991-1995
- Today: 2026
That was 30+ years ago.
Which means: The people who were children then now have children. Those children now have children. And those children… are apparently still ahead of my toddler on the kindergarten list.
At this rate, by 2050 we will still be prioritising great-grandchildren of historical trauma while living parents quietly age into dust in front of closed kindergarten doors.
History in Croatia is not remembered. It is administratively active.
The Waiting List as a Lifestyle
If you want to understand Croatian parenting, forget psychology books. Study the kindergarten waiting list. It teaches patience. Humility. Emotional detachment. Existential despair.
You learn things like: Your child is not a person – she is a number. The number is not real – it is spiritual. The list moves – but sideways.
You refresh the portal like a gambler pulling a slot machine. Still waiting. Still waiting. Still waiting. At some point, you stop checking the list and start checking your blood pressure.
A Modest Proposal
If we are truly committed to honouring history through preschool admission, let us be consistent. Let us introduce additional priority categories:
- Children of people who queued for bread in 1987
- Grandchildren of those emotionally damaged by Yugoslav bureaucracy
- Descendants of citizens who once tried to get a building permit in Dalmatia
- Children whose parents survived the Croatian healthcare waiting list
Let us go further.
Let us introduce historical merit points:
- +10 if your family suffered under three different political systems
- +20 if your grandmother still stores plastic bags inside plastic bags
- +50 if someone in your lineage ever said, “This country has potential” and meant it
Meanwhile, my daughter can submit proof she successfully put on shoes independently, which in toddler terms is a heroic act equivalent to crossing the Alps barefoot.
The Invisible Parents
Here is the quiet part nobody writes into policy documents: Parents who work. Parents who pay taxes. Parents who have no historical tragedy attached to their surname. Parents who simply… exist now.
We are administratively invisible.
Too young for historical privilege. Too ordinary for political symbolism. Too practical for romantic nationalism.
We do not appear in speeches. We appear in queues.
The Emotional Logic of a System Frozen in Time
This is not about disrespecting history. It is about a country that cannot emotionally leave it. We have built a system where the past is not memory – it is infrastructure.
Where decisions about today’s children are filtered through yesterday’s wounds. Where policy is not shaped by demographics, economics, or child development – but by unresolved national identity.
And unresolved things tend to reproduce themselves. Even in kindergarten.
My Daughter, The Radical Present
My daughter does not know: What the Homeland War was. What administrative priority means. Why some children get in and others don’t?
She only knows:
- There is a building full of toys.
- Other children go there.
- She does not.
And in the pure, devastating logic of a child, that is the entire story.
No politics. No history. No ideology.
Just a closed door.
The Real Question
The real question is not: “Should history be respected?”
Yes. Always.
The real question is: When does the living child become more urgent than the historical wound?
Because if a country cannot prioritise the needs of children who exist now, it is not protecting memory. It is replacing the future with it.
A Slightly More Optimistic Ending (Because Applications Haven’t Even Started Yet)
To be fair – the applications for this year haven’t opened yet.
So technically, hope is still alive. Fragile. Nervous. Bureaucratically endangered. But alive. Maybe she will get in. Maybe logic will briefly visit the system. Maybe the list will move forward instead of spiritually rotating.
Until results arrive, we exist in that uniquely Croatian emotional state: Cautious optimism mixed with administrative trauma.
So we wait – but this time, not in resignation.
In hope.
And if she does get in, I will celebrate like a woman whose child has not merely entered kindergarten – but successfully crossed a historical checkpoint and reached the present.
Erika Matić writes about motherhood, systems, generational absurdities, and the quiet psychological endurance required to raise children in a country where the past is never past – it is a policy category.
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