Over the summer, we made it a point to visit the beautiful campus of Western Reserve Academy. Its founder, David Hudson, envisioned a New England style institution amid the Ohio wilderness. Indeed, its brick buildings and verdant campus strikes a familiar tune to the many fine academies located near our home in Massachusetts.
This being the only competitive high school in the region, I found myself wondering how my son, who would be entering a new high school as a sophomore transfer, might be able to gain admittance. Would his report card grades help? Absolutely. Would his interview skills make a positive influence? Hopefully. Teacher recommendations? SSAT and PSAT scores? So many factors. But most importantly, will it be the right school for him? For me?
Only a special prayer for guidance can ever help me sort out these musings. And only until then will I know if we should be led to "light and truth," WRA's motto.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Summer Plans Decided
There is a great amount of relief to know what one's tentative future holds. Not knowing what my children will be doing for the summer has never been such a big deal. Summer for years translated to lazy days, beach outings, museum trips, friends. A few years ago, I did worry if my older two would get into Mass Academy's Intellect Quest summer camp. It generally had a long waiting list, but that was long ago.
This summer, I was on top of things. I already enrolled my son in a math camp last month. Travel plans worked around dates from the summer programs my daughter had applied to. I knew the importance of how my daughter spent her time these following months. And with that light, business-size envelope from Smith College having finally made its way to our mailbox, rejecting us for the second year, I felt pleased to know that the waiting game, at least for now, was over.
My daughter's plans to attend a five week summer school at Exeter are now confirmed. Now, I just need to help her schedule in other necessities -- volunteer hours at a local hospital and library, and possibly an internship. I looked into the invitational National Leadership Conference Forum on Medicine, but after hours of reading reviews online, I decided that maybe it was not worth the money.
Internships, too, amazingly are very costly. I am currently looking into any connections I have to see what internship I can land for her, without a middle-man fee, which can cost thousands! I wonder how many parents fall into these expensive traps? I wonder how many parents, like me, have Ivy Eyes and are so willing to do what it takes to help their child succeed?
This summer, I was on top of things. I already enrolled my son in a math camp last month. Travel plans worked around dates from the summer programs my daughter had applied to. I knew the importance of how my daughter spent her time these following months. And with that light, business-size envelope from Smith College having finally made its way to our mailbox, rejecting us for the second year, I felt pleased to know that the waiting game, at least for now, was over.
My daughter's plans to attend a five week summer school at Exeter are now confirmed. Now, I just need to help her schedule in other necessities -- volunteer hours at a local hospital and library, and possibly an internship. I looked into the invitational National Leadership Conference Forum on Medicine, but after hours of reading reviews online, I decided that maybe it was not worth the money.
Internships, too, amazingly are very costly. I am currently looking into any connections I have to see what internship I can land for her, without a middle-man fee, which can cost thousands! I wonder how many parents fall into these expensive traps? I wonder how many parents, like me, have Ivy Eyes and are so willing to do what it takes to help their child succeed?
Confession
Why have I not updated my blog readers on those two remaining summer applications? Because I am a terrible person. I intruded on the privacy of my only daughter. It all happened like this...
It was a Saturday two weeks ago, with spring-like weather, a beautiful day. My kids had trekked off to karate lessons and the mail came promptly by 10 am. Delivery for that day included the regular bills and advertisements, with a special 12 by 15 size envelope from Phillips Academy.
I set it aside. It was the news I had been hoping for for at least six weeks. I knew from experience, by the size of the envelope, that it was good news. Worcester Academy had once sent us a beautiful letter of acceptance from a similar sized envelope, within which congratulated us with $17,000 worth of financial aid. But that, along with an acceptance to Dana Hall and a wait-list notice from Groton were all addressed to me, the parent.
For an hour I was composed, able to conquer the anxiety that had been wrenching from within these past weeks. Will she make it? At what cost? But an echo from within reassured me that I couldn't possibly, physically, wait for another 3 and a half hours for her return. I could only admire the embossed academy emblem for so long. I had chores to do, but how could I possibly do them? My counter-conscience whispered to me, at noon, that I was the adult here. I had every right to access this information about my child. The content of this, and any other letter, text mail, voice mail, e-mail, facebook comment -- all were my right to review for her safety.
So I succumbed. The disappointment of not being Vulcan-like, able to control my emotions on this matter, was disappointing until I read the letter... Not only an admission because of her "intellectual curiosity," "creative energy," and "maturity," but also a scholarship amount of $5,500! I was breathless, palpitating as I would have any way if I did not open the letter. She had made it, selected to an excellent institution once again, but I didn't make it character-wise. I opened her letter.
When she arrived home, we hugged in exhaltation. I might have jumped up and down and asked her to read the letter aloud loudly, slowly. Although her words of "it's okay that you opened it," relieved me slightly, I still felt horrible for not being able to wait. Is this the type of person Ivy Eyes is?
It was a Saturday two weeks ago, with spring-like weather, a beautiful day. My kids had trekked off to karate lessons and the mail came promptly by 10 am. Delivery for that day included the regular bills and advertisements, with a special 12 by 15 size envelope from Phillips Academy.
I set it aside. It was the news I had been hoping for for at least six weeks. I knew from experience, by the size of the envelope, that it was good news. Worcester Academy had once sent us a beautiful letter of acceptance from a similar sized envelope, within which congratulated us with $17,000 worth of financial aid. But that, along with an acceptance to Dana Hall and a wait-list notice from Groton were all addressed to me, the parent.
For an hour I was composed, able to conquer the anxiety that had been wrenching from within these past weeks. Will she make it? At what cost? But an echo from within reassured me that I couldn't possibly, physically, wait for another 3 and a half hours for her return. I could only admire the embossed academy emblem for so long. I had chores to do, but how could I possibly do them? My counter-conscience whispered to me, at noon, that I was the adult here. I had every right to access this information about my child. The content of this, and any other letter, text mail, voice mail, e-mail, facebook comment -- all were my right to review for her safety.
So I succumbed. The disappointment of not being Vulcan-like, able to control my emotions on this matter, was disappointing until I read the letter... Not only an admission because of her "intellectual curiosity," "creative energy," and "maturity," but also a scholarship amount of $5,500! I was breathless, palpitating as I would have any way if I did not open the letter. She had made it, selected to an excellent institution once again, but I didn't make it character-wise. I opened her letter.
When she arrived home, we hugged in exhaltation. I might have jumped up and down and asked her to read the letter aloud loudly, slowly. Although her words of "it's okay that you opened it," relieved me slightly, I still felt horrible for not being able to wait. Is this the type of person Ivy Eyes is?
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
The Waiting Game
The way a student spends his or her summer during high school is crucial to the college application process. I would have made a very good paycheck if I was paid per hour the time I spent scouring the internet for a good summer program. After much deliberation, we narrowed it down to three -- Phillips Academy at Andover and Exeter, and the Smith College Summer Science and Engineering program.
Each required recommendations (3 for Phillips!), essays, and transcripts. I had mailed out the finished products at the end of February and for four weeks it was excruciating.
I found myself so anxious for the mail delivery each day. I wondered how acceptable our back-up plans were (WPI Frontiers and Camp IF, plus local volunteer work). I couldn't write so freely during these weeks because I felt so affected by the stress of not knowing how my daughter's summer schedule was going to be -- where? four weeks or five? cost? financial aid? I found myself wondering and wondering how things were going to work out and I had no focus to even read a novel or write a short letter.
At one point I even e-mailed each school, with the pretense that I wasn't certain if the guidance counselor mailed in the 9th grade transcript along with the current year (indeed, he did forgot to do this for one of the schools). The responses were positive, except for the one school, and at least they had everything. All I had to do for the remainder of the weeks was play the waiting game.
Our first decision came back surprisingly by emailed, followed the next day by a letter. My daughter was waitlisted to Andover. Though the committee was "very impressed" and commended her for her "drive," there apparently were a "larger number of applications" to their program.
I was appalled. My daughter looked it over and commented it was probably because we requested financial aid. I frantically emailed back the dean, and politely inquired if she could hint how we could improve in the case my daughter applied next year -- were the recommendations too standard? could the grades be any better? do her extra-curricular activities make her look unaccomplished? To my incredible surprise, the dean replied that my daughter was a qualified candidate, but that the lack of financial aid on their part required them to waitlist her. If there was any way we could cover the full tuition ($7,600), she would certainly be accepted to attend.
My daughter was right, and what a relief that was! One down, two to go.
Each required recommendations (3 for Phillips!), essays, and transcripts. I had mailed out the finished products at the end of February and for four weeks it was excruciating.
I found myself so anxious for the mail delivery each day. I wondered how acceptable our back-up plans were (WPI Frontiers and Camp IF, plus local volunteer work). I couldn't write so freely during these weeks because I felt so affected by the stress of not knowing how my daughter's summer schedule was going to be -- where? four weeks or five? cost? financial aid? I found myself wondering and wondering how things were going to work out and I had no focus to even read a novel or write a short letter.
At one point I even e-mailed each school, with the pretense that I wasn't certain if the guidance counselor mailed in the 9th grade transcript along with the current year (indeed, he did forgot to do this for one of the schools). The responses were positive, except for the one school, and at least they had everything. All I had to do for the remainder of the weeks was play the waiting game.
Our first decision came back surprisingly by emailed, followed the next day by a letter. My daughter was waitlisted to Andover. Though the committee was "very impressed" and commended her for her "drive," there apparently were a "larger number of applications" to their program.
I was appalled. My daughter looked it over and commented it was probably because we requested financial aid. I frantically emailed back the dean, and politely inquired if she could hint how we could improve in the case my daughter applied next year -- were the recommendations too standard? could the grades be any better? do her extra-curricular activities make her look unaccomplished? To my incredible surprise, the dean replied that my daughter was a qualified candidate, but that the lack of financial aid on their part required them to waitlist her. If there was any way we could cover the full tuition ($7,600), she would certainly be accepted to attend.
My daughter was right, and what a relief that was! One down, two to go.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
I am not...
I would hate for anyone to think that I am trying to live vicariously through my children. Yes, I've always wanted to receive an excellent education. I remember when I was little, sitting on the school bus which would pass an all-girls Catholic school. Its campus was beautiful, set on a hill, surrounded by New England trees. The students wore traditional plaid uniforms and walked upward towards their school each day. I longed to be one of those girls walking on those pathways.
The public schools I attended were fairly good. I was an average student. I learned. I survived. But, I never felt challenged or invigorated. The mixture of abilities in each classroom was visible daily. I remember once being excited learning about the Flight-or-Fight response, only for the lecture to be stopped by one of the students. "You want me to spell epinephrine?" asked the teacher. "No, stress," my classmate answered. "Does it have one 's' or two?"
My children, too, have a spectrum of abilities and interests. What I want for each of them is the opportunity of an ivy league school. The best school for them might not be one, but I want to prepare each of them so that when the time comes, he or she can decide which pathway to walk on.
The public schools I attended were fairly good. I was an average student. I learned. I survived. But, I never felt challenged or invigorated. The mixture of abilities in each classroom was visible daily. I remember once being excited learning about the Flight-or-Fight response, only for the lecture to be stopped by one of the students. "You want me to spell epinephrine?" asked the teacher. "No, stress," my classmate answered. "Does it have one 's' or two?"
My children, too, have a spectrum of abilities and interests. What I want for each of them is the opportunity of an ivy league school. The best school for them might not be one, but I want to prepare each of them so that when the time comes, he or she can decide which pathway to walk on.
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