Out of Breath Already

You wouldn't know it to look at me, but I once ran, and even completed, a marathon. And while this occurred several years back, I still remember some of the hard and fast rules for getting through the grueling 26.2 miles: Be prepared mentally as well as physically; get rest; and above all, pace yourself. So why is it that we're not even halfway through the road-to-college marathon and I find myself frantically casting about for the nearest aid station?

Honestly, does this really need to be so hard?

The short answer, my husband would be quick to volunteer, is "No." The whole college app process needn't be this hard and in fact, from his point of view, isn't hard at all. Remember that he is the calm one in the family. He is the counterbalance to me, the not so calm one.

The two of us go for a walk and the door hasn't closed behind us when I begin my assault: "Shouldn't A* be doing more to prepare for summer?" "He needs something important on his resume--something big." I go on and on, parroting the scary voices that have taken up residence in my head. C* assures me that no, he does not. That A*'s fully baked and formed and our job as parents is done. Done? What parallel universe does he live in? "But, but . . . " I sputter. Only to be cut off by the sane, rational man by my side. He refuses to buy in to it. We may both be in our 40s but we haven't forgotten our lazy summers--sleeping late, watching Happy Days reruns, and collecting quarters from under the sofa cushions in preparation for the daily afternoon arrival of the ice cream truck. Not exactly resume-building activities.

He's right. I know he's right. I vow to relax. I vow to calm down. I vow to give A* the credit that he deserves and back off so that he can feel free to make his own choices. Maybe a lazy childhood will be his distinguishing feature. Maybe we--I mean he--can use this to advantage. This could be our angle. I vow to check the TV listings to see if Happy Days is available on cable.

SAT redux

Have I written about the SAT experience yet? By all means, let's chat.

Our first time at bat did not go as well as we all expected. I admit it, those PSAT scores had us feeling pretty smug. Well, take away that little "P" and it's a whole new test. A* left the test shaken, a bit stunned that he was fully stumped on four of the math questions. "How do you measure the arc of a circle again," he asks me. Like I know. I pull out onto the highway and change the subject.

Fast forward three weeks and he has his scores. Ready? Verbal: 740, Math: 710, Writing: 700. He's devastated, I can tell. It's the math score that has him in the dumps. He has a strong sense of himself as a math pro--he actually likes the subject. So when he has these real-world experiences that suggest maybe he's not as smart as he thinks, it sobers him. And this is not a cocky kid to begin with. His spirits remain low for the next few days, as we do our best to put it all in perspective. "You're still in the 90+ percentile for the country," we remind him. But he's not interested in the rest of the country. He's interested in his peers, the kids he sits with at lunch every day, the kids he knows will be applying to MIT and to Brown and to Yale, and he knows that the competition is stiff. 710 Math may be considered excellent from a national perspective, but it is the equivalent of a gentleman's "C" here at Newton North. One of the advantages of getting these tests in early in spring means there's lots of time to take them again and again.

Turns out the next test date is May 3rd, only a few weeks away. I think there's merit to taking it again quickly--like the old adage about getting back on a horse that's just given you the boot. We invest $49.00 in a half-day prep class with a local tutor. Jim Schneider is a Newton North grad from way back. He knows the drill, he knows the pressure, and he's been teaching these kids the ins and outs of the test for 20 years. Most important, he does what my husband and I can't--he gives A back his confidence as he leaves the practice test with a perfect score. "He's the only one in the class that got 800," Jim tells me, and A's smile is broad. It's not one of arrogance, it's more one of comfort that the world is once again back in alignment.

The morning of the SAT I have my husband drive him. Somehow it feels important that I remove myself from the process this time. Four hours later he's back home, happy to have that behind him and happy with his performance. He prefaces all his comments with disclaimers, but basically says that he didn't have much trouble with the math section, and had time to go back and catch a few stupid mistakes. "Well done," I think, and try very hard not to think about the results day May 31.

Fast forward once again and I come home to an ebullient A*. Verbal: 750, Math: 790, Writing: 700. He's thrilled, I'm thrilled. And while that 700 writing score nags at me a bit, I know from the few admissions officers who've spoken at the school that they're not giving much weight to the writing section. It's a new part of the test, and there seems to be consensus that the kinks are far from worked out.

With this part of the testing he's done. He's done he's done he's done. I tear up his ticket to the ACT test June 10 and send him to school with instructions to give the unopened ACT prep book--$19.99--to the career center to loan out to other students. We will not be needing it. And no one could be happier than I--except maybe A*.