“Lame-men’s” terms

Another one. I simply must stop reading the Sunday paper. This Sunday’s “People” section highlights yet another brilliant 16-year-old who has already in her few years done more than the average successful adult. She is the only finalist in MA in the Intel Science Talent Search. I’d give you the name of her research topic, but it’s too complex to write out, never mind understand. Her Wellesley High School science teacher got it right when he said, “It’s hard to translate into laymen’s terms.” You think? I can’t help wondering if he meant “laymen” or “lame men.”

Sometimes it does feel like being really smart isn’t enough anymore. Now you need to be stratospherically smart, do good works in the community (which our Intel finalist does in spades), and have straight white teeth (as the photo indicates that she also seems to have in spades).

I get increasingly tense as I read the article in bed. “Listen to this,” I say to my husband, happily reading the book review and unaware of the black cloud heading our way. I read him the particulars, and end with the ominous line, “She hopes to attend either MIT or CalTech in the fall.” Lordy. How do we compete with this? My husband reminds me gently that we are not the ones competing. That this is A**’s gig, not ours. Much as my competitive side wants to spring into action, to go online and research the Intel program, to e-mail his math and science teachers and push them to give him more opportunities, I quell the urge. My husband is right when he shrugs his shoulders and says that our son is who he is. We should celebrate it, rather than try to force him to be something different. He’s right. I know he’s right. I vow to remember this, but just to be safe, I also vow to cancel my subscription to the Sunday “Globe.”

And Now, a Word From Grandpapa

A’s grandfather, himself an MIT alumnus, asked if he could write a letter of recommendation for A*. We replied with a hearty, “no thank you.” Maybe it would help, but in all likelihood it would hurt. Besides, how lame is it to have your grandfather write a letter testifying to your precocious toilet training and efficient use of a sippy cup.

Sure, life would be a lot easier if all it took was a letter from an alum, ideally attached to an overly large check, to get junior into the school of his or her choice. But I said earlier that I genuinely do celebrate that admissions is
need-blind. And I celebrate that it is pedigree-blind as well. I take heart from the words in Marilee Jones’ (Dean of admissions at MIT) web blog: Things always work out in the end. He’ll wind up where he’s supposed to be, just like the rest of us.

Let the Bankruptcy Begin!

I’m beginning to think that the months leading up to college are similar to the months leading up to having a baby. In addition to the excitement and anticipation, there’s the intermittent nausea and slow but steady trickle of expenses.

Off the top of my head, here’s what we’ve already spent or will spend shortly:

Peterson’s PSAT guide: $12.95
PSAT practice test: $25
Official PSAT test: $12
SAT online review: $69
AP exam: $85.00
A++ computer repair certification exam: $200
SAT: $41.50
ACT: $29 + $14 for writing component add on
SAT subject tests: $18 for one plus another $8.00 for additional tests

Not to mention the sums I’ve already spent on aspirin and antacid tablets!

One Down, Many to Go

I disregard the stab of conscience I feel and look through the PSAT practice guide before putting it in the recycle bin. No sense holding on to it for our daughter. She's three years away from taking the test, and who knows how it will have changed by then.

I do feel slightly illicit as I flip through the pages. But I'm pleased with what I see. Turns out my $24.99 outlay was not for naught. Each and every test has been taken. There are answers filled out at every turn of the page, as well as some choice commentary throughout. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he writes on the question asking how many faces a cube has. There’s an all-caps exclamation of “Duh” next to the question of how many ounces of cocoa it would take to make enough brownies for 36 people, using a recipe that calls for ¼ ounce of cocoa for each dozen brownies.

O.K., so the boy was confident. And it turns out justifiably so. May that confidence stay with him through the many tests that remain: the ACT, the SAT, the SAT Subject Test—Math, the SAT Subject Test—Physics, the AP Biology exam, and the A++ certification exam. Whew.

P.S.A.T. Score!

A* should be getting his scores today. I try to take a sanguine attitude. What will be will be. It’s Wednesday, a day I typically pick him up from school since he stays late for Science Team. Stern stern lecture to myself as I make the 8-minute drive. “Be nice, be patient, be understanding.” I wonder why I’m prepping myself in this way. And in truth, I don’t think it’s because I don’t believe in him, it’s because I don’t believe in my ability to handle his disappointment if he hasn’t done as well as he’d hoped. I’m making this about me, when really it’s anything but.

I make the left from Commonwealth Avenue onto Lowell and there he is, waiting at his usual spot on the corner. I search his face for a sign of anything, but get no indicators. I won’t ask. I’ll wait for him to tell me.

“Hey there,” I say as nonchalantly as I can muster. “How was your day?”
He makes his usual response, and then adds: “I met with Mr. S* and got my PSAT results.” He pauses for a dramatic beat. “I scored in the 99th percentile.”

Whew. I’m so happy for him. I lean over and give him a big hug before putting the car in gear and driving off. This is really great news, and I want all the details of the results.

And I have to say the results surprise me. A little bit. Here’s how the 99th percentile, 223 total score parsed out: Critical Reading: 78, scoring higher than 99% of juniors. Math: 74, scoring higher than 98% of juniors. Writing Skills: 71, scoring higher than 96% of juniors. This is really good. I know it’s really good. But my expectations are stratospheric, and I feel all those other parents with kids who scored all 80s breathing down my neck. I feel the competition, like a palpable thing. It makes me squirm, but I try not to let on my discomfort. I do make a mental note to have him do a bit of extra studying on the writing skills, but for now I’m going to let him—and the rest of the family—glory in his achievement.

College Fair—The View from the Other side of the Booth

I know my audience. I brought candy.

True, Wellesley College has enough going for it in its own right to justify a crowd of people around the information booth, but what’s the harm in hedging my bets with a big bowl of Dove chocolates? They’re wrapped in Wellesley blue, after all, and if nothing else the kids at Newton North will think well of the school if only because of my good taste in give-a-ways. I mean, come on, do they really need another #2 pencil?

The candy was a hit, no doubt. But I’m not so sure that I was. Out of a crowd of about 300, fewer than 50 kids stopped by the booth for information—and that’s counting the boys. I dutifully distributed flyers and answered questions as best I could. Average SAT scores? Yep, got that one covered. Guaranteed housing all four years? You betchya. Division One sports? No, sorry. Pre-med? Most definitely. Musical Theater? Not sure.

What struck me about the kids was that they so clearly were kids. Some of them didn’t look old enough to babysit, never mind head off to college. As a group they were polite, friendly, and engaging. By the end of the evening I felt genuine excitement for the adventure they were just beginning. Forgive my stating of the obvious, but these kids really are our future. And judging by the group that passed in front of my booth, I think our future’s in pretty good hands--even if they are covered in chocolate.

PSAT Really Stands for Parents Stressed all the Time.

OK, so we have the PSAT study guide. It’s here at home. In a visible, easily accessible location. And I can’t say that my son is poring over it. Three weeks before the test we agreed that ½ hour per night would be a reasonable amount to review. This strategy lasted three, maybe four nights.

Then one night I noticed he didn’t pick up the book. Nor did he pick it up the next night. I made what I thought was a gentle suggestion that perhaps it would be a good thing to have another look or two. And he did. But I suspect he did it more to please me than out of any strong desire to log yet more review time.

He tells me he wants to go to MIT. And the simple fact of the matter is that there are certain benchmarks he has to hit if he’s going to make it there. He knows this. Whether he chooses to review or not to review really should be up to him. All I can do, or rather, all I should do, is to provide the opportunities and the resources. The rest should be up to him. I don’t feel right when I suggest he study—no matter how gentle the request. But I also don’t feel right when I see that he isn’t studying and don’t say anything. Isn’t that doing him a disservice of another type? Reminding him to study makes the assumption that he doesn’t realize that it’s important to study, or that he’s not working hard enough to reach his goal. But isn’t that how we figure out just how badly we want to achieve our goals? And isn’t this for him to figure out, not me? This is hard. I’m glad there’s not a PSAT for parents of high school juniors. That would be one massive study guide.