College or bust. Forget football, forget rugby. In the town where I live, the college admissions process is more competitive than any contact sport. This blog chronicles the process.

Monday, March 05, 2007

March Madness

So here it is, March. Not only are all the applications in, they are more than likely sorted into their respective piles. I imagine one pile towering high, like Jack's beanstalk, breaking through the admissions office ceiling and threatening to move ever skyward. This would be the "denied" pile. Beside it, well confined within the parameters of the admissions office, sits another pile. This is the "wait list" pile, and it is a sad one, indeed. All those manilla folders seem to know their fate. There they sit, flattened against one another like fresh-scrubbed young men at cotillion trying hard to deny the inevitable. And then, in a tidy, trim pile on the dean of admissions' desk, sit the chosen few. Operative word: Few. Small in number and easily held together with a 2-inch binder clip, the contents of that pile fit easily into a standard-size briefcase, or even an overly generous coat pocket. An exaggeration, of course, but at the moment it doesn't seem like much of a stretch.

Given the current presumed status of all the apps, why is it that I can't seem to let go? An ad in the latest edition of Harvard Magazine calls out to me: "Aiming for the Ivy League?" it asks, and goes on to trumpet its "unparalleled admission rate." And I actually think about giving them a call, when my eyes register the headline: "Attention, Rising Seniors." And it dawns on me, slowly, that my son no longer qualifies for their services. The ad is targeting next year's crop of high school seniors, already muscling their way on to the bus before their predecessors manage to get off.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

<< Home