My son, a senior in high school, is in the middle of the college application process. When he received his first response in the mail from one of his choices, both my husband and I stared nervously at the envelope on the counter.
“Do you think it’s thick or thin?” I asked.
“Definitely on the thicker side,” my husband assured me.
So much is different now than in the days when I applied. But the hope for the thick versus thin envelope remains timeless.
Sometime last summer, although my son seemed quite calm about impending applications, I started to feel a little overwhelmed. How does a good parent support a child through a process with so much emotion weaved into the importance of grades, test scores, deadlines, finances, geography, size, weather and interests?
I remember filling out just one college application, to a small, cold school in upstate New York, that I later transferred from. So I was no expert in this area. We decided that a few meetings with a college adviser might free my son from a parent’s anxiety.
And now that he has successfully completed essays and SATs, and envelopes are sealed, I relax a bit, but still wonder what will befall him.
My first two years of college had some good times, mostly dear friendships holding us all together as we tried to grow up avoiding disaster. Weekends were spent studying, with nights at fraternity parties, our feet sticking to spilled beer on wood floors. The boys who wanted to date me were all small, like me.
I coped with the stress by running two times a day, skirting snowdrifts and eating a lot of runny cafeteria cottage cheese. The scale was my iron mother, providing comfort and security for every pound I lost.
And then, at the end of my sophomore year, I telephoned home in tears. “Mom, I have to get out of here; this isn’t the place for me.”
Within a few months, I was on a plane to Boulder and unpacking my life at the University of Colorado. And now, 30 years later, I am the mom, hoping my son has a smoother ride.
Recently we visited two colleges in the Pacific Northwest. Bundled in hats and mittens, we toured campuses and were always relieved to find shelter in academic buildings. When I asked my son how he thought he’d do with the weather, he answered, “You know beautiful weather isn’t that important to me.”
This is what feels so different than in years past. Kids are asked, “What do you want?” versus the primary focus on a good school wanting them. My son brought questions that he wanted to ask his college interviewer. In my time, I remember only worrying about the impression I’d make on the interviewer, with less concern for my needs or my impressions of the college.
I believe that the goal needs to be the search for the right match instead of the quest for the “right” school.
The weekend brought my son more clarity about where he hoped to attend college. It brought me the opportunity to spend a whole weekend with my son, which felt like a rare pearl.
I smiled remembering his innocent question as a toddler.
“Is it possible for a son to be smarter than his mommy and daddy?”
My answer has always been the same, “Yes.” And I continue to believe, so much wiser.
Priscilla Dann-Courtney of Boulder is a clinical psychologist.
