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.

Split Personality

"Who are you? And what have you done with my daughter?"

I was tempted to ask this over the weekend. With the family Thanksgiving done, my tween daughter and I flew to Columbus, Ohio to visit my college roommate and perpetual BFF.

Although our tummies were still uncomfortably full and our flight was uncomfortably early, we were both thrilled to go.

The word "family" has evolved — at least for us — to encompass not just blood relatives (of whom we have many and are exceedingly fond) but to the people we would choose to insert into our family tree if we weren't limited by a higher being. Or DNA.

Our Ohio family includes a mother and a father and a dog and three pretty grownup kids: two in college and one in medical school. These are my daughter's surrogate cousins (if not spiritual sisters and brother). So, the long weekend was a particular bonus for me. Not only could I anticipate many hours of talking and talking and coffee and talking and talking and wine and talking and talking, but I could also benefit from my daughter rubbing shoulders with three excellent role models. If they tell her to work hard and get good grades, she nods enthusiastically, hangs on their every word. If I tell her to work hard and get good grades ... well ... not so much.

Where my tween may welcome advice from the younger generation of our honorary family, I downright seek it from their mother. Bullying, skanky fashions, hormones ... all the angst I encounter as a tween's mom? My friend has been there, done that. Three times! She reassures me that we're doing fine.

And, another interesting thing happens on our visits (which are few and far between, much anticipated, and over too fast). My daughter treats me nicely. Gasp! She doesn't roll her eyes. She doesn't hiss exasperated sound effects. She says "Please" and "Thank you." She sits on my lap. She leans against me on the couch while we watch a movie. She says "I love you too" when we all go to bed.

OMG! WTF!

There's a downside to this. For months on end, my friend lends a sympathetic ear (or email or Facebook message) as I bemoan my lot as an overworked, underappreciated, thoroughly neglected mother. Then, we step off the plane and suddenly Miss Hyde has turned into Miss Manners. My friend, to her credit, has never actually called me a liar, but she's got to wonder.

"Really," I insist, "She's SO not like this at home."

But, despite my protests, I sit back and enjoy it. I'll take the affectionate daughter I remember so well (and love so much) wherever and whenever I can find her. All good weekends come to an end and I know things will be back to normal soon.

Too soon.