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Last night, my daughter finished her college applications. 

This is a very big deal. 

After multiple "Senior Parents" meetings at the school (and many weeks of procrastination), I received a draft of her essay while I was in New Orleans. It was rough, but powerful. And I was particularly moved when she mentioned me (the essay was about being a feminist and I was cited as one of her role models ... sniff, sniff). 

I gave her just a couple of suggestions and when she completed her second draft, she shared it with her guidance counselor and a favorite middle school English teacher. I, meanwhile, forwarded it to my college roommate, her Ivy League-educated daughter, my poet sister and my mother (also known as the Queen of Grammar and the Princess of Punctuation). 

The feedback was positive and helpful. A third draft was a mere 28 words over the legal limit. Not a problem! As an advertising copywriter, I have years (and years and years) of experience making big ideas work in small spaces. Within minutes, the essay was, as Goldilocks might say, "Just right." My daughter cut-and-pasted it into the infamous Common App, and we proofread it.

And proofread it.

And proofread it again.

For many years, I've proofed my daughter's papers. But, the stakes were understandably higher last night. God forbid she submit her application with a typo and some persnickety admissions officer notices it and rejects her and then she never ends up going to college or getting a job or starting a family or owning a home or becoming a productive citizen of this great nation of ours. (Omg.)

There's no question that I helped my daughter with her application essay. First of all, I nagged. I am an accomplished nagger, a virtuosic nagger, a connoisseurial nagger; I've had eighteen years experience (my husband might argue more than that, actually). I also made suggestions, some of which she took to heart, some ... not so much. I distributed said important document to select friends and family. And, I proofed.

I did not, however, write the thing.

"Of course not," you might protest. But, let me assure you ... I was sorely tempted. All that time when homework and concerts and horse shows (and One Tree Hill, wtf?) prevented her from hunkering down and writing, I had the four questions (they're called "essay prompts") in front of me. I write most of the day, most of my days, and a 650-word essay would be a piece of cake. But, I resisted. Here's why:

• It would be plagiarism and cheating, which would set a lovely example ... if I want my daughter to plagiarize and cheat.

• It would send a message to my daughter that I don't think she's capable of completing a compelling application. Nice way to promote self-confidence. Not.

• It certainly wouldn't encourage the independence that she wants — and will need come fall at whichever fine institution she chooses.

Yes, I have been known to help my child with her schoolwork ("help with" are the operative words there). And, I'd like to think that I've now helped with the application process (I've certainly pulled out my credit card a lot lately — sending scores, sending transcripts and sending the applications themselves all had fees attached). But, she didn't get any kind of "pass" on her essay. The words those (possibly persnickety) admissions officers will read are absolutely hers. I think they represent her authentic voice. Had I written the essay, it would be neither authentic nor hers.

Very proud of my daughter today.

And now, we wait.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my book  Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.  
 

Affluenza and Other Epidemics

Have you heard the term "affluenza?"

It's a clever mash-up of affluence and influenza, but it isn't exactly new. In 2005, Clive Hamilton and Richard Denniss published Affluenza: When Too Much Is Never Enough. The book explains that people who "aspire to the lifestyles of the rich and famous at the cost of family, friends and personal fulfilment" create for themselves stress, depression and even obesity. Two years later, Oliver James, a British psychologist, published Affluenza: How To Be Successful and Stay Sane. He talks about "selfish captalism" or "placing a high value on money, possessions, appearances (physical and social) and fame." He also sees affluenza as an important factor in the rise of mental illness. 

Last month, affluenza was used as a legal defense in a Texas case involving a drunk teenage driver. 

Young Ethan Couch was caught stealing beer on a store surveillance camera before taking seven friends for a ride in his father's truck. He was speeding with a blood alcohol level of three times the legal limit (and traces of valium in his system too). He killed four pedestrians and injured another eleven.

Open and shut case, right? Wrong.

One word: affluenza.

You see, the young man had money. The young man had clever lawyers. And, the young man, according to those clever lawyers, had never learned right from wrong because he was brought up in such a privileged family and never taught to take responsibility for his actions. Rather than incarcerate this 'poor little rich boy,' he was sentenced to ten years probation and one year in a program for troubled teenagers.

Unbelievable, right? Just wait. It gets more so.

Cited as evidence were incidents from earlier in Couch's life. He started driving, illegally, at thirteen. At fifteen, the police found him with a naked, unconscious girl in his car. Rather than look at these past events as an indictment on his character or behavior (bad seed, anyone?), they were held up as part of the defense. Since he wasn't punished for those earlier transgressions, he shouldn't be this time either.

Does this kid have issues? Maybe. Is that mighty cold comfort to the families of any of his victims? Hell, yes. And if the judge, in all his wisdom, honestly, truly (madly, deeply) believed that Couch wasn't at fault because his parents didn't do their job, shouldn't they be held responsible? As in legally?

The whole story is stunning.

Affluenza is about the Twinkiest of "Twinkie defenses" I've ever heard. It's appalling really. And, it made me wonder where we draw the line. My own teen daughter does know the difference between right and wrong, and I believe (I know) she would never do anything as stupid, as destructive or deadly as this stupid, destructive, deadly boy. But, like most upper middle-class parents, I've tried to make things smooth for her.

I wonder sometimes just how far is too far.

What about those harmless white lies we tell on their behalf? Like when we send a note to a teacher excusing an absence (or the absence of completed homework).

And how about cheating? I know many (many) well-meaning moms who have edited their children's essays well past the point of merely proofreading. Not just schoolwork either, but college application essays.

Or when we drive over the limit with our teen in the car, aren't we showing them that it's ok to speed? And even more important maybe, aren't we telling them that it's ok to break the law?

How about when they see us, y'know, "fudge the numbers" on our income tax? Or drink or get high? What about calling in sick when we're ... well ... not?

We've all heard (and probably said) "Do as I say, not as I do." But, who are we fooling? Not our teens. Do we really expect our children to live by rules we aren't following? Wake up.

Stephen Sondheim wrote brilliant lyrics about this for his show Into The Woods. The song is called "Children Will Listen."

Careful the things you say
Children will listen
Careful the things you do
Children will see and learn
Children may not obey, but children will listen
Children will look to you for which way to turn
To learn what to be
Careful before you say "Listen to me"
Children will listen

Any children listening to the judicial system of the state of Texas last month learned an invaluable lesson.

Money walks.


If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my new book Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.

Hacking the Grade

Do you remember Ferris Bueller's Day Off? Before he sets out to enjoy the greatest hooky every played, Ferris hacks into his high school's attendance records, changing his 9 absences to 2.

"I wanted a car," Matthew Broderick deadpans to the camera. "I got a computer."

This morning, I thought of this classic and funny scene from that classic and funny movie when I read a story in the news. It appears that in Pennsylvania (in the Northwestern Lehigh School District, to be precise), there was a breach of cyber security. The district's computer system was broken into and grades for two students were changed. The thing is, it wasn't one of the kids who did the hacking.

It was their mother. OMG!

My initial reaction was, "Why didn't I think of that?" 

Kidding.

My next reaction was, "Whoa. How did we get here?" We all talk about helicopter parents and, in my community, most of us do hover more than we should. But, surely there's a line, isn't there? Changing a grade, infiltrating a school's database? Yeah, I would say it's pretty clear that a line or two was crossed.

I know, I know. There's so much more pressure these days. It's tougher to get into the best colleges. Competition is fierce. Blah, blah, blah. Apparently, moms are fierce too. I come from a long line of mothers willing to go to bat for their daughters. And, I've sent the occasional email when one of my daughter's grades started to drop. But, I don't condone cheating. And, even if I knew enough to commit a cyber crime, I certainly wouldn't do it. Sheesh!

A friend pointed out recently that parents used to be on the teacher's side. He's right. If a high school student got a bad grade, they got grounded. Now, they get a bad grade, they get an attorney. We're not really setting up a scenario in which kids are encouraged to listen or follow rules. When my daughter doesn't like a particular faculty member (and, believe me, teens can get very mean and very personal when it comes to griping about their teachers), I try not only to help her be kind and compassionate but also to recognize that, like it or not, that teacher is an authority figure and deserves attention and respect.

Technology has made it easier than ever to cheat. Unsure about a date on a history test? Simply raise your hand to go to the bathroom and Google it on your smart phone. (Phones were supposed to be kept in lockers at my daughter's middle school. Guess where the girls put them? Inside those expensive UGG boots they all wear.) Want to get a copy of a quiz before you take it? No problem, your BFF can send you a picture of it by text. And, we've all read stories recently about brainy kids who were paid to take the SATs for other people. 

I even have issues with paid test preparation courses. I know firsthand that the girls in my high school who could afford those classes had a distinct advantage over those of us who couldn't. There's no law or even rule being broken there, but aren't we sending a message? Money can buy good grades.

So, what kind of message is "Hacker Mom" sending? Yikes!

Now that she's been caught, here's what we can learn from her. People, listen up ...

Unlawful use of a computer, computer trespassing and altering data are felonies. That's right: fel-o-nies. (Allegedly she didn't realize that what she was doing was illegal. Okay then.) She is out on bail and faces up to 42 years in jail and/or a $90,000 fine. When Ferris did it, it was seriously funny. In real life, it's a serious crime.

And, here's one of the most amazing parts of the story. Her son's grade was changed from a 98 to a 99.

Let me tell you, if my daughter comes home with a 98, I won't be committing a fraud. I'll be too busy opening the champagne.