Our family's college search was a lot easier than some. Early on, we knew that we would have a significantly smaller universe of universities to consider.
First of all, the prospective schools had to offer an Equine Studies program. And not just Equine Studies: Pre-Veterinary. (My daughter decided she didn't want to be a vet the first time a beloved pony was put down at her stable.) We were looking for Equine Studies: Business.
Yes, that's an actual major and an actual, quite viable, career. Believe you me, there's a lot of money to be made (or, in our case, spent) in the business of horses.
Next, the schools had to focus on English riding, not Western. Good-bye University of Montana and University of Colorado, for example.
Then, the schools had to have equestrian teams. And not just "Hunter Jumper." Three-phase Eventing, the triathlon of the equine world (dressage, stadium and cross-country) was our — make that, her — focus.
And finally, there were some non-horse criteria to take into consideration, believe it or not. The schools had to be co-ed; and they had to be near enough to a city to allow my daughter to see her favorite bands. (For better or worse, when she isn't a rider, she's a groupie.)
According to The Washington Post, there were some 5,300 colleges in the United States. According to my daughter, there were four.
And, now there's only one.
Having completed the Common App and some very easy supplemental essay, résumé and riding requirements (two of the schools asked for 5-minute videos), my daughter did what every college-bound senior does. She waited. Luckily, she didn't have to wait long. In fact, she knew by early November about two of the schools (the two front runners, as it happened), another by Thanksgiving, and the fourth by January.
Decisions, decisions.
She had until May 1st to make up her mind, and for a while there it seemed like she was going to take all that time. Once again, I had to remind myself that I'm not her and she's not me. Back in the fall of 1979, I received an acceptance from my first choice (early-decision) school and I never looked back. One and done. As time went by, my daughter knocked one, then two, then three of the four schools out of the running. But, she still didn't pull the trigger.
"Why hasn't she committed?" I moaned to my husband when she wasn't in earshot. "Oh no. Is she going to make a case for a gap year?" Other, less stressed, parents assured me that she would make the decision official when she was ready.
A few nights ago, we were out for dinner with another couple when my phone rang. It was my daughter's mobile, so I excused myself and left the table.
"I just wanted you to know that I'm going to post tonight," she told me.
"What does that mean?" I asked.
"You know."
"Oh." Silence. "What made you decide? Are you happy? Are you excited?"
"Hmm. I dunno."
And that was it. No big deal, no fireworks, no jumping for joy. She hung up and I went back to dinner. Her post simply read the name of the chosen institution and "Class of 2020!" Like so many other huge events in our eighteen years together, this one happened with a lot less fanfare that I expected. Of course, that's more her business than mine. As it should be. And now, the countdown begins in earnest.
From 5,300 to four to one. One and done.
If you've enjoyed this post, I invite you to order the book Lovin' the Alien here.
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.
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.
