Uncommon App

Since my now teenage daughter was a tiny little tyke, people — older, wiser, well-meaning people — have warned me that time was not just going to fly, but that it would accelerate, gaining speed and moving faster and faster, blurring by, each year after year, every milestone after milestone.

This past weekend was particularly fast-paced, blurry and milestone-ish.

On Thursday, the two of us said good-bye to the husband/father (and the puppy) and headed to the airport. Friday morning, we toured a college — not just any college, mind you, but one that is currently tied for first place on my daughter's short list (a little "too short," according to her guidance counselor). We were there for about three hours, sitting through a PowerPoint presentation, walking the campus with a student guide, and finally meeting with the director of the school's impressive equestrian facility and my daughter's potential coach.

This was not my daughter's first college visit or even her second or third. But, it was different. 

For example, as the group of us (four prospective students with more respective parents) set off across campus, my daughter was up near our guide not falling behind with me and my sprained ankle. When we went through the equestrian center, she walked ahead with the coach, answering and even asking questions. Our friend, my BFF and the already "been there, done that" mother of three college graduates herself (my Sherpa on this unnerving climb and much appreciated), hung back with me. This wasn't our show. And we knew it.

Back at the house, with remarkably little prompting, my daughter went online and started the "Common App."

The concept for the Common Application began forty years ago. Representatives of fifteen colleges met to explore the benefits of creating a single application that would be considered by multiple schools. Today, supported by online technology, the Common App is "common" indeed. It's used by nearly a million students to submit millions of applications to more than 500 participating institutions.

For seniors (and mothers thereof) it's also a bit of a boogeyman. I was thrilled that my daughter was starting the process, but wondered what she (with me hovering) would encounter.

Each college she's applying to has its own set of questions at the beginning. Most of these are straightforward (Do you have a parent or grandparent who attended? What do you plan to major in?), but some are open-ended and will require more thought and careful proofreading (What first attracted you to this school?).

The Common App itself compresses a lot of information into objective little character-count-limited bits and bytes. This is efficiently designed for this digital world of ours, but it is woefully inadequate if you're trying to stand out as an individual beyond "most this" and "best that." There is so much I wanted admissions officers to know about my utterly uncommon daughter that simply doesn't have a place on the Common App.

For example, she can click "Add Activity" and type in "Coaching younger riders at horse shows," but she runs out of space long before she can explain all that it entails. And there's certainly no opportunity for me to add what I think matters most. Like how much she cares, how kind she is or how much they admire her. Or the time my daughter was in first place (headed for a honkin' silver trophy too) and she was disqualified on a technicality. She was not only composed and respectful to the judges, but she stood on the sidelines and cheered a girl she had mentored on to victory.

There was also the time that she kept her head when a younger rider suffered a bad fall in the woods. Wouldn't that demonstrate her character, her wits and her compassion better than a maximum 100-character (including spaces) activity description?

She was able to add her annual community service work for a local organization that delivers school supplies and backpacks to needy kids. But, I longed to call someone (or all the someones) in Admissions and tell them about the time she contacted the head of the non-profit organization to suggest that they add "student's favorite color" to the information they provided backpack donors. She saw no reason why a girl who loved blue should be stuck with a pink backpack, no matter who was buying it for her.

I don't have an answer. The Common App saves everyone — students and institutions alike — time and money. But with so few schools requiring (or even offering) one-to-one interviews anymore, I feel like we're missing the heart of the matter. 

The hearts of our senior girls and boys.

Oh well, we can't stop to mourn the loss or even to reflect. 

You see, we're moving on to the essay.

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

College Visits Part 3: Touring In a Winter Wonderland

This past weekend, we went off for our first ski trip of the season. The drive up to Vermont was long and cold and boring and unpleasant. But, it was a veritable picnic compared with what we woke up to Saturday. Freezing rain. Black ice. In the words of Seinfeld's soup nazi:

"No ski for you!"

The good news is that I would have company all day. The bad news? I would have company all day.

I gave up schussing several years ago. Even in the finest conditions, I find it scary, expensive, scary, cold, scary, uncomfortable, and scary. (Did I mention scary?) So, you might think that ski trips would be dull, right? Wrong! As soon as I wave my husband and teenage daughter off to the mountain, the fun begins. Yoga at the resort's spa (with an extremely handsome instructor), a nice sauna or hot tub, steaming cups of coffee, an afghan (blanket, not canine) and some book I've longed to read but haven't found the time. If I feel like it, I meet the intrepid athletes for lunch at the base lodge restaurant. If I feel like it, I browse some of the boutiques in the village. If I feel like it, I go for a long walk through the woods.

I say, "if I feel like it," because, essentially, I don't have to do anything unless I feel like it. Heaven.

So, not this trip. We toasted bagels and hung out with our friends until late morning, catching up and sharing funny things we found online. (Between the four adults and one teen, we had five smart phones, two ipads and three laptops.) Then we piled into an SUV and headed north for lunch and shopping.

After some "artisanal" pizza (if that's not the most overused word of the century, I don't know what is), we drove into Burlington. With one college-bound teenager in the car and two more back home (our friends have twin boys), we decided to look at University of Vermont.

If you've been paying attention, dear reader, it won't surprise you that our first stop was the UVM Equine Center. My daughter has already toured the enormous UKY and the tiny Otterbein. With nearly 13,000 students, UVM was right in the middle. In fact, if Goldilocks visited the three schools, she might declare it to be "just right."

This particular Mamma Bear was pleased to see how enthusiastic her cub was. I know it's her decision, not mine. I know that Kentucky and Ohio are only a few hours away by plane. But, the prospect of my daughter staying in New England, attending a school I can actually drive to, and maybe even joining us for future ski trips ... well, can you blame me for smiling?

The equine center was gorgeous, and the two work-study students we ran into were informative and welcoming. They suggested we stop by the student center too. I could tell that my daughter was imagining herself there. I tried not to gush too much.

We spent the bulk of the afternoon in downtown Burlington. It's a great little city with shops and pubs, coffee and Ben & Jerry's ice cream. My daughter raided the local Urban Outfitters, our friends looked at ski jackets, and I bought a hippy-chick batik skirt (when in Rome ...). Again, I could tell my daughter was projecting how it would feel to live near this college town. Again, I held my peace.

On Sunday morning, the sun came out. It was too late to ski, so my girlfriend and I ran into the picturesque town of Warren for some quick shopping. We both found great things on sale, and as we were paying, the clerk overheard us talking about the impromptu college visit.

"You never really get over it," she confided. "Mine is ... well, she's 31 now. But I still remember how hard it was. No one really warns you, and you're supposed to keep your chin up. But, you never get over it. Then they come back and they're an adult."

My friend, nodded and I knew she was thinking of her boys waiting back at home. "I know I'll cry every day," she said.

I agreed, and mentioned the end of a wonderful movie, Enough Said. At the airport, as they watch their daughter leave for school, two parents (amicably divorced, but that's a different part of the story) comfort each other: "We made a good person."

I think we've made a good person too. And, somehow I'll survive this parting that's ahead. It occurred to me, as it often does, that having a child is the greatest act of faith. 

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

College Visits Part 2: Big Fish, Little Fish

In my post a few days ago, I mentioned that my teenage daughter and I had just visited two colleges. But, I only talked about one. Here's the rest of the story.

After spending Saturday of our long weekend at the University of Kentucky, we took a day off. (Well, only if you consider raking a massive amount of leaves, shopping until dropping, and then spending three hours on AP World History a day off.) Our long weekend was drawing to a close, but we made one more little roadtrip.

A couple of years ago, my girlfriend was biking when she discovered Otterbein University's expansive equine center. On our next visit, she took us there, but my daughter was still in middle school — college wasn't even on the radar yet.

Now ... gulp ... it is.

So Monday morning, prior to lunch in Columbus, the airport and our trip back to New England, we headed over to Otterbein.

First stop (of course): the equestrian center. It really is impressive. Beautifully equipped facilities and a most welcoming staff. My daughter made it a point to meet each and every horse and inspect all of the saddles in the tack room. Luckily, we also ran into a current student whose competition credentials put stars in my own eventer's eyes.

Next, we drove a couple of miles to the main campus. The school is in a small, historic suburb and has a lovely little academic center. In fact, after touring around UK, it seemed especially little. You could essentially roll out of bed in one of the residence halls and be at your first class within five minutes. 

Otterbein had an immediate advantage over UK. All the students in Lexington (and half the state, it seemed) were partying at the football stadium. But the Otterbein students had classes the day we were there, so we saw the campus in action. We stopped in Admissions and scored an impromptu and private tour with a lovely junior. We even got to see a dorm room.

"Wow, it's big," said my daughter.

"Yeah, big," agreed her mother out loud. Inside I was thinking, "Big. Big like a prison cell. How many cinderblocks did they kill to make this room?" I'd been spoiled my own years at school — a big house the first two, a brand new (cinderblock-free) dorm the last. But, I bit my tongue. In the dorm room and in about ... oh ... a hundred other locations.

We visited Otterbein's dining hall (with just 3,000 students, there's only one plus a few take-out places). It smelled good and all of the kids seemed healthy and adequately nourished. Our guide, who was from Maryland originally, said that everything was okay, except the seafood. She waits until she goes home for it. Having grown up on the coast of Massachusetts, my daughter will probably be picky that way too.

In addition to its prestige as an equestrian college, Otterbein has a renowned theatre arts program. Although she's naturally shy (and would never entertain entertaining, herself), this was a positive draw for my daughter. A couple of her closest friends are singers and actors at high school. (As a drama major and coming from a long line of thespians, I was happy to know that she could at least go to shows if not be in them.) 

But, that's not important.

This isn't about me, I remembered, deliberately and often. Throughout, I was careful to keep my opinions to myself. Observations were okay, though. So, I pointed out the differences between what we'd seen Saturday and what we saw Monday. No judgement. I suggested things she should ask herself. No judgement. With these first visits, the biggest question for her to ponder was "Do I want to be a big fish in a little pond? Or a little fish in a big one?"

Two good schools. Two excellent equestrian centers. Two solid options. 

Two down. About twenty to go.

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

College Visits Part 1: My Old Kentucky Home?

This past weekend was a bit of a milestone. All right, it was a frrrrkin' humongous milestone. My teenage daughter and I visited two colleges.

I don't mean we walked through Harvard Yard to pick up a young friend for lunch. I don't mean we cut across a city campus to go to a concert. We actually visited two separate out-of-state universities for the discreet and specific reason that my daughter might want to go to one of them.

This takes window shopping to a whole new level!

We were planning a trip to Columbus, Ohio to see my dear friend. She and I have been close since freshman year although my daughter might argue that she's even closer, having known my friend since she (my daughter) was just ten days old. Essentially, this woman is my teenager's surrogate aunt and my own "sister from another mother." As usual, we anticipated a great long weekend, filled with the usual restaurants, usual malls, long wooded walks followed by the usual concept coffee drinks at Starbucks. But, my girlfriend had another — unusual — idea.

"Let's drive down to University of Kentucky!"

As you already know if you've been following Lovin' the Alien, my daughter is all about the equine. She started riding when she was five and basically never looked back. She's been competing since she was seven or eight, and we broke down and bought a horse about two years ago. Over the years, I've watched other interests fall by the wayside: gymnastics, dance, swimming, piano lessons (yep, that last one fell hard, kind of like a piano from a New York City rooftop). But the horse thing stuck.

So, I have little doubt that she will carry this obsession ... er, I mean, single-minded focus ... with her as she pursues her higher education. We are only looking at colleges that have equine studies majors, competitive equestrian teams, and an empty stall for Finn, my daughter's constant companion. This diminishes the consideration set, well, considerably. And, as one might guess, the University of Kentucky in Lexington is pretty much the crème de la horse set crème.

I was struck by my girlfriend's prescience of mind (we would, surely, be making that trip at some point), and also by her extreme generosity. I mean, after all, she's already done the college tour circuit, not once but three times. Add to this her husband's game agreement to join us (game might be the operative word here; he was able to schedule a golf game with a Kentucky colleague), and I was truly in their debt. 

We arrived Friday and left their comfortable house at 6:15 Saturday morning. It's about a three-hour trip to Lexington, which they argued wasn't much (seemed like a lot to me). But soon we were in horse country: rolling green hills, crisp white fences, and enough Thoroughbreds and Quarter Horses and Arabians to satisfy even my insatiable teen.

The campus was enormous and we happened to get there as what felt like millions of devoted alumni arrived for a big game. While it was a non-stop party all around UK's stadium, the rest of the campus was calm and quiet. Either the students were all at the game or they were all sleeping in (or half were doing each of those things). Although UK is described as an urban campus, it has as many quads and courtyards and clusters of old brick buildings as any New England college. (Plus, I can't help it, I'm a native New Yorker. Downtown Lexington ain't exactly what I call "urban.")

We walked all over, visited the Agricultural College buildings (where my daughter's classroom and research work would take place), stopped into the student center and the bookstore, peeked into dorms and dining halls. We grabbed some diet sodas and headed out of town to UK's equestrian center, a sprawling farm about nine miles from campus. The countryside was simply beautiful, and all my daughter could think of was how her pony would love the acres and acres of grassy paddock space.

Yes, apparently, the horse's happiness is high on her list.

I could tell that my daughter was impressed, that she was starting to do what must be the most important part of this whole college visit process: she was imagining herself here. What really sealed the deal was a fifteen-minute conversation with two students, who happened to be working at a suburban tack store on our way to lunch. One was a biology major, but competed on three different equestrian teams. The other was in the equine studies academic program. They had great things to say about the school, the coaches, the area, the students. They tried to sell my daughter a $1,400 saddle. She turned to me with hope in her eyes.

I politely declined. After all, I'll be paying her college tuition in a couple of years. And now, it seems, I may also be paying for my own trips to see her. In Kentucky.

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