By Running Girl, of Kay Nou = Our House
There have been times along the parenting journey when I have been surprised by milestones. I honestly didn’t see them coming. Things like a baby rolling over, taking a first step, losing a first tooth, going to kindergarten, the first sleepover, I prepared myself for those events.
I was happily blindsided by the kids being able to stay home on their own. Woo hoo! Nights out without having to pay a babysitter. Or, at least, cheaping out and paying the oldest kids a fraction of a real babysitter’s fee for “watching” the other sibling, who was probably more responsible than the one being paid.
I suddenly find myself at the end of Subway Dude’s Senior year of high school. He is my oldest. I have had plenty of time to prepare for this moment. I mean, heck, I’ve been on his case about his grades all four years.
Sounding like a broken record, my mantra has been, “You need to work as hard as you can, so that you have lots of options. Don’t limit yourself by not giving it your all. You only have one shot at getting into a good college. Make it count.” I think mantras are supposed to be shorter, but you get the idea.
Every year we have attended “Music in May” concerts. During these events, we sit through a ritual called the Senior Recognition ceremony. The band director reads an index card full of facts about the Senior, sharing where they were going to school next year and what they were planning to study. I have always been impressed by these students and their dreams of the future. Each year I sit and imagine what my son’s card will say.
Here were are in the Spring and I am surprised about how excited I am about acceptance letters he receives in the mail. I love the pamphlets, flyers and glossy magazines that come from the various schools. I am surprised that my son is agonizing over the decisions that come with selecting the perfect college.
Turns out, he had a plan all along the way. However, he apparently didn’t anticipate that he would be accepted into all of the schools to which he applied, including his “reach” school. And some scholarships to boot.
Choosing Colleges: staying close to home or moving away from the nest?
Now he is faced with a big dilemma. Does he stick with his original plan of staying in town, close to home or does he go to the smaller, more prestigious school?
It is hard to stand by and let him make his own decision. My husband, The Major, and I try to drop advice here and there. “Have you started a list of pros and cons?”, “So-and-So went to this school and had a great experience.”, “Did you write to that neighbor’s cousin’s friend to see how they are liking their Freshman year?”, “Did you see they have a Quiddich team?”
It’s hard not to be annoying. It’s very hard for me to not talk about it 24/7. I bite my tongue from asking the all-important questions like, “What are you thinking now?”, “Are you leaning one direction or another?”, “Where is everyone else going?”
I turn to the 15-year old Fashionista and try to engage her in conversation about schools. She is adamantly opposed to talking about college anymore. She used to like to talk about her future, but is now feeling pressure. In her mind her brother is so much smarter than she is. She says, “Look! He got into all of these great schools. How can I possibly compete?” Meanwhile, her GPA is only a single point behind her brother’s.
I dream aloud about where my 5-year old, Island Boy, will go to school. What will he study? Will he go far away or close to home? Wouldn’t it be cool for him to attend an Historically Black College or University? The Fashionista quickly shuts me down, “Mom! Give it a rest! He’s 5. Can we please change the subject?”
Even The Major, my comrade-in-arms, has had enough. When I try to engage him by asking what he would choose if he could do it all again, he lovingly replies: “Put a sock in it.”
For now, I’m trying to keep my questions to myself. I’m valiantly trying to be supportive without being annoying. Right now, I’m officially not talking about college.
And don’t get me started on the family meals we have together these days. At every one I’m gazing longingly across the table at Subway Dude, thinking about how our meals as a family of five are numbered. I venture it won’t be long before he starts grabbing table objects to build barricades between us like he used to do with cereal boxes when he was younger.
Hey, I’m being good. I’m not saying anything. Doesn’t that count?
About the Author: Running Girl is the mother of 3, a wife, music teacher and long distance enthusiast who lives in Western New York. Please visit her blog Kay Nou = Our House
