The "helicopter parenting" phenomenon seems to be getting nuttier by the minute and it's easy to harrumph over the latest anecdote about a mother calling the academic dean of a college to ask why her child got a bad grade. As a college counselor at an "elite" private high school I often had to deal with mommies (seems like it's more often mommies than daddies) who wanted to know how their child could get an A instead of an A- so he or she could get into Brown. Or who basically ran the college process while the children lazed about in blissful torpor. These stories tend to validate our feeling that the current generation of college-aged students has become way too pampered for its own good.
Unfortunately for us, Margaret K. Nelson has written an interesting and level-headed book on the topic called Parenting Out of Control: Anxious Parents in Uncertain Times. Rather than gleefully narrating the various misbehaviors of these over-involved parents, she approaches the topic from a sociological perspective. (Nelson is a professor of sociology at Middlebury College in Vermont.) Using class divisions and technological innovation as prisms, she looks at why parents might behave the way they do and provides some clear, if incomplete, insights about why parents these days do the things they do.
Nelson bases her conclusions on a relatively small sampling of individuals she divides into "working class," middle class," and "professional middle class" parents. As a result, her brush paints a rather broad picture of child-rearing practices in each group. She writes that WC and MC parents "are...less interested in intimacy and engagement [with their children] than they are in clear rules of authority within the family." In contrast, the PMC parents she describes have "a lengthy perspective on children's dependency without a clear launching point for a grown child," and "put child rearing front and center: even in the midst of extremely busy lives, they highlight the significance and meaning they find in this activity, and they avoid shortcuts (such as playpens) that could make the job easier."
But more interesting is how Nelson contrasts the WC/MC and PMC views of their children as individuals in a way that puts most of the helicoptering onus on the PMC parents. Less privileged parents, according to Nelson, "insist that by the end of a comparatively short educational career a child should be ready to pick a career, find a job, and begin the next stage of life as a fully formed adult." They "want to encourage their children to grow...But their role involves acceptance of the particularities of their children and does not rest on a view of unlimited potential, of children who can become 'the best.'" Especially in relation to college, WC/MC parents want their children to do something productive, not play around for four years.
In contrast, PMC parents see their children as ongoing projects with unlimited potential. As a result, there's no end to the work of seeing them develop, which is why they insist on being "present" so constantly. For them, college isn't a "vocational training ground," it is a place for personal self-development: "...in lieu of job preparation, elite parents talk about the important opportunities colleges might provide for self-discovery and for gaining self-confidence. Rather than viewing college as a launching pad to independent adulthood, parents see it as a time for their children to acquire the necessary cultural and social capital to be able to seize any opportunities for status that may arise." No wonder my students' parents wanted them to go to Brown and not Tufts!
If you perceive your children as "out the door" when they turn 18, there's no need to keep a continual eye on them. As a parent, you've done your job and what results is what you've got. PMC parents have created a never-ending process that needs continual tweaking and adjusting. They see their children as extensions of themselves and their parenting, and so must always be involved. College is a place to refine their projects in the never-ending drive toward "perfection," whatever form that may take.
Nelson makes the case that technological devices such as baby monitors, security bracelets, and cell phones have changed the ways parents connect with their children, often making them more fearful, not less, and promoting a sense of needing to be continually in touch with their offspring. She notes, however, that PMC parents are less likely to rely on technology to monitor and control their children than are MC/WC parents because of their commitment to molding their children's "potential" and being intimately involved with every detail of their lives. PMC parents make calls, write emails, and so on as a natural extension of their involvement with their children; MC/WC parents are less likely to do so because they see their children as already on their way to independence.
Parenting Out of Control does a good job of delineating some of the possible sources of helicopter parenting even while it remains frustratingly shallow. It relies too heavily on Nelson's small sample and seems to lean too much on stereotypes of privileged versus non-privileged parenting and family life without offering real three-dimensional analysis. However, using class as a way to talk about families' expectations for their children and college is a fresh way to talk about the subject, and readers attuned to the relationship of college attainment to status consciousness will find Parenting a good source for further discussion and observation.
Showing posts with label college. Show all posts
Showing posts with label college. Show all posts
July 7, 2010
January 5, 2010
Underserved Students and the Politics of the Practical
One thing that's bothered me for a while is how often low-income and first generation students are steered pretty hard toward "jobs" rather than "education" when it comes to college. I can't argue with the imperative to earn money and support yourself and your family after college, not to mention paying off student loans, but I worry that with all best intentions we may be developing a laboring class to the long-term detriment of American intellectual and national life. It may be better educated than earlier working classes, but it still smacks of a division between the privileged and non-privileged.
Jonathan Kozol wrote, "Childhood is not merely basic training for utilitarian adulthood. It should have some claims upon our mercy, not for its future value to the economic interests of competitive societies but for its present value as a perishable piece of life itself." His compassion for children is well-known, but what strikes me here is the phrase "utilitarian adulthood." Much is made of ensuring that students are able to get jobs when they graduate from college. That's well and good, but it seems to me that Latino, African American, and low-income/first-generation students are seen more in that "utilitarian" light than their more privileged white counterparts. Working to change that outlook is one reason I do what I do.
If you are a well-off white student from a good high school, it's relatively easy to consider a liberal arts education without thinking about post-college work. You may want to be a doctor or lawyer or CPA, but you are comfortable knowing that you can still major philosophy, anthropology or English, any of which ignite the old jokes like "What are you going to do, open a philosophy store?" as Mark Slouka writes in his Harper's essay, "Dehumanized: When math and science rule the school." But you still can afford to explore, take your time, or even think about going to graduate school to be an anthropologist or a historian because you're relatively sure you'll be employed at something after college. (Recent history aside.) You can major in theater because you know you'll eventually work for an investment bank anyway or if you do go into theater can rely on parents for support, at least for a little while. (I realize what a huge generalization that is, but I believe it's justified in contrast to underserved students' experiences.)
But first-generation kids get pushed toward the practical: Even if they're being encouraged to go to college, they're steered toward curricula that will end in a job right out of college. They're NOT steered toward the arts or history because the payoff isn't nearly the same. Most college advising programs I've seen advising low-income students emphasize the income-enhancing aspects of college attendance, not the intellectual stimuli or the opportunity to see well beyond one's own borders. Again, while I can't argue with more income, I can wish that we attended more to these students' minds instead of seeing them just as future laborers with BAs. Otherwise we risk their continued marginalization.
A young African American colleague recently told me about her own experience coming up through the Chicago school system. Although she is extremely good at math and was taking advanced courses at an early age, she was pushed to take a basketball scholarship at an obscure Florida college because she is also extremely tall. Even though she had demonstrated her brainpower, it was obscured by her height. Luckily she left her original college and transferred to one more appropriate to her talents, but my guess is that's more an exception than a rule. She was seen as a body, not as a mind; as a laborer, not as an intellectual.
One result of the emphasis on college as job preparation rather than life or even career development is that we continue to have a dearth of African American, Latino, and other artists and intellectuals from out of the mainstream. I've met many bright underserved students for whom the idea of "liberal arts" is a non-starter; they have to be sure they can make money right out of the gate so they can't waste time with "frills." It's hard to be comfortable studying Hispanic or Victorian literature when you feel the hot breath of necessity on your neck. But no one seems to have told them that they can live intellectual lives and have careers, and that's a shame.
Michael Roth's recent passionate defense of the liberal arts in the Huffington Post seems archaic in this context: "The cosmopolitanism of curricula at America' best liberal arts colleges is in tune with the wonderful diversity of student life. The thirst for experimentation, the ability to cross disciplinary or cultural borders, the scale of residential life -- all of these factors extend to learning outside the classroom and create vibrant communities that students remember and value throughout their lives." My guess it would leave a room full of low-income parents and students laughing bitterly--these ideas all sound like airy luxuries most people can't afford, and they'd be right. About the affordability, anyway.
But Roth (who is the president of Wesleyan University in CT) touches on some of the things that make higher education in the United States so vital and essential even without a direct link to jobs. He says "The key is that the students at these schools are developing skills, learning how to learn, in ways that will serve them for decades." They are the things that help make going to college worthwhile not just as preparation for one's working life but also for one's mindfulness of life in the world, including being a citizen in its widest sense. The differences between training for a "job" and embarking on a "career" (one implies simply laboring at a task; the other implies vocation, growth, and mobility) include developing one's ability to be imaginative, to see beyond surfaces, to make connections or see patterns among seemingly disparate things, and to be flexible. Why shouldn't underserved students be able to develop these capacities the same as their better served peers?
Of course, Americans have long been suspicious of non-practical education, going back to long before the days of Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer. Sitting around reading just doesn't look like work (sorry, Mr. Lincoln), so what good is it? But as we move more and more into being a nation of ideas and services rather than muscular production, we need to be sure that brainpower is valued wherever it shows up. Education is a down payment on the possible: we can't know what will happen from moment to moment much less in a year or a decade. (Not to mention how many jobs will evaporate or come to be in the next few years.) All our students need encouragement to be well-educated, not just trained.
I was surprised to learn years ago that the Olympics were once confined to amateurs because that kept working class competitors out. Only the leisure class had the time and money to train for the contests, while workers had to, well, work. Colleges have been doing their best to enable "working class" students to overcome a similar barrier but current economic and social conditions are making it hard to justify college attendance as a social good in and of itself. But practicality and ratiocination (my favorite word from an undergraduate course in American literature) can coexist and even support each other. It's not an either/or situation. If we are to have a strong and multi-varied American culture now and in the future we need to create scholars, artists, and thinkers from every corner of American life. Enabling everyone who wants it to be an "amateur" for a few precious years can immeasurably expand our collective ability to live useful, thoughtful, and adaptable lives.
Jonathan Kozol wrote, "Childhood is not merely basic training for utilitarian adulthood. It should have some claims upon our mercy, not for its future value to the economic interests of competitive societies but for its present value as a perishable piece of life itself." His compassion for children is well-known, but what strikes me here is the phrase "utilitarian adulthood." Much is made of ensuring that students are able to get jobs when they graduate from college. That's well and good, but it seems to me that Latino, African American, and low-income/first-generation students are seen more in that "utilitarian" light than their more privileged white counterparts. Working to change that outlook is one reason I do what I do.
If you are a well-off white student from a good high school, it's relatively easy to consider a liberal arts education without thinking about post-college work. You may want to be a doctor or lawyer or CPA, but you are comfortable knowing that you can still major philosophy, anthropology or English, any of which ignite the old jokes like "What are you going to do, open a philosophy store?" as Mark Slouka writes in his Harper's essay, "Dehumanized: When math and science rule the school." But you still can afford to explore, take your time, or even think about going to graduate school to be an anthropologist or a historian because you're relatively sure you'll be employed at something after college. (Recent history aside.) You can major in theater because you know you'll eventually work for an investment bank anyway or if you do go into theater can rely on parents for support, at least for a little while. (I realize what a huge generalization that is, but I believe it's justified in contrast to underserved students' experiences.)
But first-generation kids get pushed toward the practical: Even if they're being encouraged to go to college, they're steered toward curricula that will end in a job right out of college. They're NOT steered toward the arts or history because the payoff isn't nearly the same. Most college advising programs I've seen advising low-income students emphasize the income-enhancing aspects of college attendance, not the intellectual stimuli or the opportunity to see well beyond one's own borders. Again, while I can't argue with more income, I can wish that we attended more to these students' minds instead of seeing them just as future laborers with BAs. Otherwise we risk their continued marginalization.
A young African American colleague recently told me about her own experience coming up through the Chicago school system. Although she is extremely good at math and was taking advanced courses at an early age, she was pushed to take a basketball scholarship at an obscure Florida college because she is also extremely tall. Even though she had demonstrated her brainpower, it was obscured by her height. Luckily she left her original college and transferred to one more appropriate to her talents, but my guess is that's more an exception than a rule. She was seen as a body, not as a mind; as a laborer, not as an intellectual.
One result of the emphasis on college as job preparation rather than life or even career development is that we continue to have a dearth of African American, Latino, and other artists and intellectuals from out of the mainstream. I've met many bright underserved students for whom the idea of "liberal arts" is a non-starter; they have to be sure they can make money right out of the gate so they can't waste time with "frills." It's hard to be comfortable studying Hispanic or Victorian literature when you feel the hot breath of necessity on your neck. But no one seems to have told them that they can live intellectual lives and have careers, and that's a shame.
Michael Roth's recent passionate defense of the liberal arts in the Huffington Post seems archaic in this context: "The cosmopolitanism of curricula at America' best liberal arts colleges is in tune with the wonderful diversity of student life. The thirst for experimentation, the ability to cross disciplinary or cultural borders, the scale of residential life -- all of these factors extend to learning outside the classroom and create vibrant communities that students remember and value throughout their lives." My guess it would leave a room full of low-income parents and students laughing bitterly--these ideas all sound like airy luxuries most people can't afford, and they'd be right. About the affordability, anyway.
But Roth (who is the president of Wesleyan University in CT) touches on some of the things that make higher education in the United States so vital and essential even without a direct link to jobs. He says "The key is that the students at these schools are developing skills, learning how to learn, in ways that will serve them for decades." They are the things that help make going to college worthwhile not just as preparation for one's working life but also for one's mindfulness of life in the world, including being a citizen in its widest sense. The differences between training for a "job" and embarking on a "career" (one implies simply laboring at a task; the other implies vocation, growth, and mobility) include developing one's ability to be imaginative, to see beyond surfaces, to make connections or see patterns among seemingly disparate things, and to be flexible. Why shouldn't underserved students be able to develop these capacities the same as their better served peers?
Of course, Americans have long been suspicious of non-practical education, going back to long before the days of Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer. Sitting around reading just doesn't look like work (sorry, Mr. Lincoln), so what good is it? But as we move more and more into being a nation of ideas and services rather than muscular production, we need to be sure that brainpower is valued wherever it shows up. Education is a down payment on the possible: we can't know what will happen from moment to moment much less in a year or a decade. (Not to mention how many jobs will evaporate or come to be in the next few years.) All our students need encouragement to be well-educated, not just trained.
I was surprised to learn years ago that the Olympics were once confined to amateurs because that kept working class competitors out. Only the leisure class had the time and money to train for the contests, while workers had to, well, work. Colleges have been doing their best to enable "working class" students to overcome a similar barrier but current economic and social conditions are making it hard to justify college attendance as a social good in and of itself. But practicality and ratiocination (my favorite word from an undergraduate course in American literature) can coexist and even support each other. It's not an either/or situation. If we are to have a strong and multi-varied American culture now and in the future we need to create scholars, artists, and thinkers from every corner of American life. Enabling everyone who wants it to be an "amateur" for a few precious years can immeasurably expand our collective ability to live useful, thoughtful, and adaptable lives.
October 30, 2009
Center for Student Opportunity
I'm a big fan of the Center for Student Opportunity, a nonprofit organization with a mission to promote college access and opportunity among first-generation and historically underserved student populations. They've produced a very fine guidebook of colleges that focuses on information particularly appropriate to these students, including what support is offered, scholarships and so on. It also has essays and tips from experts in the front. I saw the first edition last year at NACAC and bought ten copies on the spot to give to the charter school counselors I've been working with over the past two years.
CSO has also created a strong website called College Center that lets students search for college access programs, ask experts questions about the college process and search for colleges offering advising, mentoring, transition programs, and so on. I expect them to continue adding to the list as they go on.
Colleges can find out how to partner with CSO to reach underserved students by clicking here. With a contribution to CSO (based on Carnegie Classification), institutions can not only reach individual students but also community organizations. Everybody wins.
CSO's most recent addition is a blog section where ten students from minority, low-income, and first-generation backgrounds are sharing their stories or high school and college. The initial entries have the energy of a new project, projecting optimism and immediacy. Although there are only a few from each student so far, I hope they continue to record their thoughts and experiences for the benefit of their peers about to go through the process themselves.
Their situations reflect the concerns that many first-generation students have, such as having to be an example for their younger siblings and communities. They are also poignant in their forthrightness--one student blogger talks about how she discovered she was pregnant while she was applying to colleges. This forthrightness can help students who think that personal circumstances make it impossible to think about continuing their educations. (They blog as part of their having become Opportunity Scholars--see below.)
If you are a counselor or community volunteer who works with first-generation, low-income, and otherwise underserved students, the Center for Student Opportunity can be a great help. Not only does the website have excellent resources, there is also a page where you can download free guides for helping high school students, parents/families, and others. Students also have the opportunity to be nominated as Opportunity Scholars; if selected, they receive college counseling support from a network of volunteer counselors as well as a chance for a $1,000.00 renewable scholarship in college.
If you are a college and want to expand your outreach to underrepresented students, be sure to look at CSO's Colleges Partnership Program.
There's plenty more to explore on the site, and I expect it just to get better and better as more and more individuals and institutions connect to it. It is a welcome and necessary resource for the students we serve.
CSO has also created a strong website called College Center that lets students search for college access programs, ask experts questions about the college process and search for colleges offering advising, mentoring, transition programs, and so on. I expect them to continue adding to the list as they go on.
Colleges can find out how to partner with CSO to reach underserved students by clicking here. With a contribution to CSO (based on Carnegie Classification), institutions can not only reach individual students but also community organizations. Everybody wins.
CSO's most recent addition is a blog section where ten students from minority, low-income, and first-generation backgrounds are sharing their stories or high school and college. The initial entries have the energy of a new project, projecting optimism and immediacy. Although there are only a few from each student so far, I hope they continue to record their thoughts and experiences for the benefit of their peers about to go through the process themselves.
Their situations reflect the concerns that many first-generation students have, such as having to be an example for their younger siblings and communities. They are also poignant in their forthrightness--one student blogger talks about how she discovered she was pregnant while she was applying to colleges. This forthrightness can help students who think that personal circumstances make it impossible to think about continuing their educations. (They blog as part of their having become Opportunity Scholars--see below.)
If you are a counselor or community volunteer who works with first-generation, low-income, and otherwise underserved students, the Center for Student Opportunity can be a great help. Not only does the website have excellent resources, there is also a page where you can download free guides for helping high school students, parents/families, and others. Students also have the opportunity to be nominated as Opportunity Scholars; if selected, they receive college counseling support from a network of volunteer counselors as well as a chance for a $1,000.00 renewable scholarship in college.
If you are a college and want to expand your outreach to underrepresented students, be sure to look at CSO's Colleges Partnership Program.
There's plenty more to explore on the site, and I expect it just to get better and better as more and more individuals and institutions connect to it. It is a welcome and necessary resource for the students we serve.
October 25, 2009
Creating a Self: The Facts of Fiction
The reasons many colleges give for requiring essays include getting to know more about the student, giving him or her a chance to explain something in the record, or providing a writing sample. Fair enough, but do they have to be “true?” More than one student has asked me, "Is it OK to write an essay that isn't factually accurate as long as it's good?" Answering questions like "What is your most significant experience?" or "What person, real or fictional, has had a major influence on your life and why?" or "Topic of your choice" tend to frazzle students attempting to impress the mysterious admission Inquisitors they imagine gathering in dank basements to determine their futures. They’re not talking about lying, exactly, but the bare-bones facts don’t quite do it, either.
As long as you aren't claiming club presidencies or social service you haven't really done, is there anything wrong with saying Thomas Jefferson is your most influential hero instead of Bono, your real hero? Is there a problem if you exaggerate an incident that "changed your life" even if it didn't so much, really, or if the situation was more mundane than you present it? I brought this topic to my NACAC colleagues recently to get their impressions and received a dozen or so responses.
Most of us, including me, opt for "honesty" and "truth," but those are slippery concepts when you're really asking someone to essentially create a character in 500 words or less. Asking a student to include subjective narratives about relatives, experiences, or outlooks in an application introduces an element that, no matter how it turns out, I'd have to call "fiction," with the “fact” being what lies beneath that essay.
Let's distinguish between "fiction" and "falsehood," and the purpose of the essay. One colleague wrote that "If the goal of an essay is for the student to provide insight about himself or herself, and if that insight is authentic, then maybe it doesn't matter if the person didn't exist or the experience never happened." We teach novels and short stories even though they aren't factually true because they reveal important "truths" about human existence. If it works for Hemingway and Oates and David Sedaris, why not for Sally or Billy in their applications? That whale wasn’t just a whale, was it?
Some said that it was important to hear the applicants' authentic "voice" and that it wouldn't come out in a "fictional" essay. But we hear and value authors' "voices" constantly in fiction. Even when they're not writing about themselves, they are by virtue of what they choose to observe and the stance they take toward it. I tell students that constantly--no matter what you choose to write about, you're writing about yourself. (Many parents do not like to hear this: At his parents' insistence one student substituted for an excellent and fascinating essay about his Jewish grandfather, who sold mattresses in Shanghai during WW II, a boring one that was all about himself.) We draw conclusions about Hemingway from his writing, why not about Billy?
Most of the colleagues I heard from said they expected students to be "truthful" and "honest" in their essays, but I think their reasons for doing so could as easily be answered by fiction if we are willing to look below the surface of the writing: "the essay helps us get to know the student better," it "reveals something about themselves that the rest of the application doesn't," it is designed to "communicate the living breathing person to assist admissions deans in putting together a diverse class with varying personalities, interests, and accomplishments...," "it reflects his genuine beliefs," it "shows the college who you are--both in the voice of your writing and in the content. Therefore it is essential that the content be true” and so on.
Don't all these responses describe the best fictions? Poe said that every short story should focus on creating one unified effect in the reader. Isn’t that what we’re asking our students to do? No one expects “The Tell-tale Heart” to be “true” but it sure is scary, because it taps into our basic fears. Shouldn't we give our young authors the same respect we give those we expect to show us truths through "lies?"
One colleague compared non-factual essay writing to phony reporting, but there's a difference--we expect reporters to give us the facts; to do otherwise gets you fired (unless you work for Fox News). Do we expect students to meet reportorial standards? I don't think so.
Conversely, we can blast the author of "A Million Little Pieces," not because he had actually written fiction, but because he lied to us about what he had done. We read memoirs differently from novels, as one colleague noted, distinguishing "between fiction and deception....If you read a 'real life account' of an adventure that was later revealed to be made up, you'd feel cheated--even if you continue to acknowledge the skill of the writer."
I think we may simultaneously place too much and too little responsibility on applicants and their essays. One colleague thought of the college essay "as less of a measure of writing talent and more of a glimpse inside the applicant's soul (his judgment, his perspective, his sensitivities, and his sensibilities." I'd still have to say that a fiction can do that maybe even better than "fact.” Expecting a look into an applicant’s “soul” may be way more than the exercise will bear. [I once read an application from a student whose essays were about his suicide attempt and his recovery. (Verified by a call to his counselor.) They were well written and the student was admissible, but his truthfulness sank him. That was a glimpse into a soul I’d rather not have had.]
If we want "just the facts" how can we rely on imaginative constructs like essays? If "it is essential that the content be true" what do we mean by "true?"
I believe that whatever a student writes about reveals something about him or herself, so the factual truth is less important than the arrangement of facts to arrive at a "truth" that points to something about the author. If a student writes a touching essay about a relative who may not exist, can't I appreciate the author's ability to express compassion and empathy? Is that any less "real" or "truthful" than if the relative were real? I know the student has the capacity to express those qualities, at least. (Yes, that person may be a cold-hearted bugger in real life, but it's not the fictionalizing that makes him so.) And will I ever know the facts in any case? Probably not.
So if students "made up their feelings and included actions/results that never happened, they are lying about themselves?" I don’t think so: they're creating a reality they know to be fictional. And maybe they have a clear understanding of what needs to be said.
Let's be honest: Every college admission essay really is a creative writing assignment. We should not expect rock-hard reportorial fact from seventeen-year olds under pressure to "reveal" themselves; it's not fair. We should broaden our sensibility to understand that what we receive is the "fact" and what we do with it is the result. If we read every essay as “literature” instead of reporting we might not only encourage better writing but also enjoy it more.
One colleague put it best: "I think if the essay is a vehicle for illustrating some important value/realization/personal motto that the kid really believes in, it's okay to stretch the truth or create a scene through which to convey the message."
If we agree that some of the greatest truths can be found in fiction, why not give college applicants the same consideration?
Thanks to everyone who responded to my question on the NACAC listserv. Here are some other comments I received:
“We tell our students quite firmly that the college application essay is not a creative writing assignment!...It needs to be seen as an opportunity for the college to get to know the student more deeply than it could from a transcript and a set of test scores. How could that possibly happen if a student were to write about ‘truthy’ rather than truthful aspects of his/her life?”
“I think truthiness is where most essays fall. Does everyone have that one moment either while hiking the Grand Canyon or fishing with their grandpa where they learn some important life lesson before their 18th birthday? My life has never worked like that!”
“I have always called those fantasy essays…I simply tell my students that at some point they must clue their reader in that this is fiction.”
“The essay should all be true and real, just like when the student signs the application indicating the work is his/her own true and original work, it should also be real—otherwise what’s to stop them from adding activities and embellishing their apps in other ways?”
“Isn’t the answer relatively simple? The student must designate a fictional essay as such…”
“It would be nice if the point of the essay were more explicitly outlined on the application. If the point is to judge writing skills and creativity, I think the sky is the limit in terms of the truthiness of it all. But if the point is to learn more about the student’s life, and to gauge his thoughtfulness or self-awareness about his experiences up to now, then the actual truth is absolutely warranted.”
“The admission committee can glean information from an honest essay, regardless of topic, to help us put a student’s academic and leadership career into context…They may not be the most entertaining essays but if an essay offers insight that helps us make an informed decision it’s far more engaging. I can read good fiction on my own time.”
October 6, 2009
Never Assume
A remarkable story appeared in the Chicago Tribune last Sunday. It's about a remarkable young man named Derrius Quarles and his determination to get somewhere and be somebody. A foster child whose father was stabbed to death when Derrius was four and whose mother struggled with drugs, he had the strength of character to overcome the vagaries of his life and end up winning scholarships to excellent colleges all over the country, including Morehouse, where he now attends.
Derrius's outlook can be summed up here: "You can't go around thinking you are inferior just because you didn't have parents," he says. "For me, it's about knowing where you are from and accepting it, but more important, knowing where you are going."
At 17, he was living on his own, keeping himself together and focusing on the future. He budgeted his money and when he did the grocery shopping he avoided junk food in favor of fruits and vegetables. He never took his eyes off his goal.
Derrius was fortunate to have someone see his potential. As often happens and as studies have shown, sometimes just one person can have an immense effect on a young person. For Derrius, that person was his summer biology teacher, Nivedita Nutakki, who told him he shouldn't waste his talent. Arriving as a freshman with a 2.5 GPA at Kenwood Academy, Derrius was taking three AP classes and earning a 3.6 by his junior year.
In the middle of this amazing story is a passage that made me angry: "Even his oversize ambition couldn't get Quarles past one roadblock. He dreamed of attending Harvard, until one college adviser told him his 28 ACT score was simply not high enough. He abandoned his plans."
Regardless of whether Harvard or Morehouse (or any other institution) would be the best for him, no college adviser should have told him not to bother applying to Harvard or anywhere else. It is not for that person to say. I always tell students that it is their right and privilege to apply wherever they want so long as they understand clearly what the odds are. In this case, it's a shame that someone assumed Derrius wouldn't get into Harvard on the basis of that score. And it's almost criminal that Derrius was convinced to abandon his plans as a result. Any college adviser who thinks he or she can or should make that determination suffers from a bad case of hubris.
The truth is, we cannot know what the future holds for our advisees. We don't know what colleges and universities will decide, even though we can come up with some pretty accurate guesses if we've had enough experience. We don't know how or when a student will suddenly "take off" and make us proud. But all you have to do is read Derrius's story to know that no matter where he went he'd make good, and that as a result the test scores say very little about him (and even so, they are miles above the average scores of someone from his background).
Again, I'm not saying Derrius should have gone to Harvard or anywhere else or that he's deprived as a result--clearly not. But no one should have told him it wasn't possible. Anything is possible, as this young man has already shown. While we may think we know a lot, the future always confounds us and we should always be humble in its presence.
Edit, Oct. 23: I was so taken with the story that I forgot I had met Derrius through Scholarship Chicago, a program that provides help and mentorship throughout the college process and in college as well as financial assistance during college. When I met him he had already received several admission offers from colleges and was racking up scholarships. I would never have guessed at the hurdles he was going through he was so poised, confident, and focused.
Derrius's outlook can be summed up here: "You can't go around thinking you are inferior just because you didn't have parents," he says. "For me, it's about knowing where you are from and accepting it, but more important, knowing where you are going."
At 17, he was living on his own, keeping himself together and focusing on the future. He budgeted his money and when he did the grocery shopping he avoided junk food in favor of fruits and vegetables. He never took his eyes off his goal.
Derrius was fortunate to have someone see his potential. As often happens and as studies have shown, sometimes just one person can have an immense effect on a young person. For Derrius, that person was his summer biology teacher, Nivedita Nutakki, who told him he shouldn't waste his talent. Arriving as a freshman with a 2.5 GPA at Kenwood Academy, Derrius was taking three AP classes and earning a 3.6 by his junior year.
In the middle of this amazing story is a passage that made me angry: "Even his oversize ambition couldn't get Quarles past one roadblock. He dreamed of attending Harvard, until one college adviser told him his 28 ACT score was simply not high enough. He abandoned his plans."
Regardless of whether Harvard or Morehouse (or any other institution) would be the best for him, no college adviser should have told him not to bother applying to Harvard or anywhere else. It is not for that person to say. I always tell students that it is their right and privilege to apply wherever they want so long as they understand clearly what the odds are. In this case, it's a shame that someone assumed Derrius wouldn't get into Harvard on the basis of that score. And it's almost criminal that Derrius was convinced to abandon his plans as a result. Any college adviser who thinks he or she can or should make that determination suffers from a bad case of hubris.
The truth is, we cannot know what the future holds for our advisees. We don't know what colleges and universities will decide, even though we can come up with some pretty accurate guesses if we've had enough experience. We don't know how or when a student will suddenly "take off" and make us proud. But all you have to do is read Derrius's story to know that no matter where he went he'd make good, and that as a result the test scores say very little about him (and even so, they are miles above the average scores of someone from his background).
Again, I'm not saying Derrius should have gone to Harvard or anywhere else or that he's deprived as a result--clearly not. But no one should have told him it wasn't possible. Anything is possible, as this young man has already shown. While we may think we know a lot, the future always confounds us and we should always be humble in its presence.
Edit, Oct. 23: I was so taken with the story that I forgot I had met Derrius through Scholarship Chicago, a program that provides help and mentorship throughout the college process and in college as well as financial assistance during college. When I met him he had already received several admission offers from colleges and was racking up scholarships. I would never have guessed at the hurdles he was going through he was so poised, confident, and focused.
September 17, 2009
Class of Luxury
Have I just become an old crab or does the thought of a college dorm (sorry, residence hall) with a "heated pool, a hot tub, a sand volleyball court and four tanning booths" make you kind of cranky? Today's Chicago Tribune reports on several luxe facilities featuring everything from walk-in closets to maid service, "communal" 47-inch flat-screen TVs to computer-linked washers and dryers. (The tanning beds, inexplicably, are at Arizona State.)
Not too many years ago I visited a college in Massachusetts that had just built a residence hall of six-person suites where each student had his own room, there were two bathrooms, and a kitchenette. Purdue's $52 million (yes you read that right) facility also comes with a meal plan. Many living facilities are built with single rooms (some even come with private bathrooms), since most kids have grown up without having to share a room or even a bathroom, and why would they want to start now? My thought on seeing that dorm was, Why would I want to make my own food in college?
Although many of these luxurious accommodations come with a hefty premium tacked on to the regular room and board charge, they are being snapped up even in this economy. Nothing, apparently, is too good for current college students. As the Trib writes, "Tom Cheesman, architect of Purdue's $52 million First Street Towers, said the residence hall is 'essentially a hotel.' He said it is especially attractive to 'helicopter parents who want to send their son or daughter to college campus but give them all the luxuries of home.'"
It's certainly a far cry from my freshman dorm at Amherst. I lived on the 4th floor (no elevator) with two roommates, neither of whom bathed much, in a room meant for one or maybe two. The fireplace and woodbox revealed the building's early 20th-century origins, but the former had been blocked up so we relied on the inadequate steam heat that barely reached us in the winter and blasted us finally when it started to get warm. In the depths of a New England January we had an eighth of an inch of ice on the inside of our bedroom window. At least we didn't have to cart our own wood for the fire.
Somehow, though, we managed to survive and do well. I had bought a new "record player" to bring (it also had an eight track player!) as well as an area rug, a desk lamp, and an electric typewriter I had gotten for graduation. A clock radio, too. Some books, and clothes, as well as some records came in a few boxes. My roommates brought even less. There were students who had a lot more than I did. One of my dorm mates had a huge stereo and a water bed; so I suppose those who had, brought. (One of the Purdue students has been "keeping 30 pairs of shoes at the ready and jamming the bookshelf with every episode of "The O.C." and "Dawson's Creek."" Really? For what?)
Although many of these luxurious accommodations come with a hefty premium tacked on to the regular room and board charge, they are being snapped up even in this economy. Nothing, apparently, is too good for current college students. As the Trib writes, "Tom Cheesman, architect of Purdue's $52 million First Street Towers, said the residence hall is 'essentially a hotel.' He said it is especially attractive to 'helicopter parents who want to send their son or daughter to college campus but give them all the luxuries of home.'"
It's certainly a far cry from my freshman dorm at Amherst. I lived on the 4th floor (no elevator) with two roommates, neither of whom bathed much, in a room meant for one or maybe two. The fireplace and woodbox revealed the building's early 20th-century origins, but the former had been blocked up so we relied on the inadequate steam heat that barely reached us in the winter and blasted us finally when it started to get warm. In the depths of a New England January we had an eighth of an inch of ice on the inside of our bedroom window. At least we didn't have to cart our own wood for the fire.
Somehow, though, we managed to survive and do well. I had bought a new "record player" to bring (it also had an eight track player!) as well as an area rug, a desk lamp, and an electric typewriter I had gotten for graduation. A clock radio, too. Some books, and clothes, as well as some records came in a few boxes. My roommates brought even less. There were students who had a lot more than I did. One of my dorm mates had a huge stereo and a water bed; so I suppose those who had, brought. (One of the Purdue students has been "keeping 30 pairs of shoes at the ready and jamming the bookshelf with every episode of "The O.C." and "Dawson's Creek."" Really? For what?)
But then I suppose we had less to bring and fewer, or at least different, expectations, about what to bring and what to expect about living in a dorm. As a kid I remember thinking that a "dorm" meant I'd be in a barracks with a lot of other people, a prospect that scared me. But I did like the idea of living with a few other guys. We didn't share a lot but we co-existed pretty well. My living situations got slightly better over the years, but I wasn't in it for the amenities, and reading the Trib article I felt glutted, overwhelmed by the presence of things in an environment where ideas and relationships should be dominant.
Colleges have been in an amenities race for some time now, building massive "fitness centers" and other facilities to attract students, and new dorms are no exception. I wonder, though, what it means to try to replicate what students have at home rather than having them experience communal or semi-communal living. Negotiating a bathroom with 30 other hallmates can be exasperating, but it can also teach patience and, well, negotiation; having to clean up after yourself (or, more likely, not) gives you a sense of who you are and a taste of living on your own. Trying as hard as you can to stay in your individual bubble seems sad to me--like going to Paris and never leaving your hotel.
Everyone romanticizes their college experiences so I won't go on, but I do wonder what might have happened if Purdue had spent $52 million dollars on their labs and on faculty. Or if ASU had bought textbooks for low-income students instead of tanning beds. This kind of reckless consumption doesn't bode well for the future.
Everyone romanticizes their college experiences so I won't go on, but I do wonder what might have happened if Purdue had spent $52 million dollars on their labs and on faculty. Or if ASU had bought textbooks for low-income students instead of tanning beds. This kind of reckless consumption doesn't bode well for the future.
September 11, 2009
Elephant in the Room
The Choice, a New York Times blog about college admission, has begun a series of answers to questions posed to Harvard’s Dean of Admission, Bill Fitzsimmons. Those of us who have worked in the field for more than a few days will probably know how to answer the questions from nearly 900 respondents. What’s remarkable is that even though there are dozens of books, articles, websites, counselors, and other methods purporting to reveal the “secrets” of college admission, the questions and assumptions are the same as they have always been.
The admission process is the elephant being discussed by the blind men: each one “knows” what he’s feeling—a tail, an ear, a leg—but no one knows the whole thing. Some insist that most spots in a Harvard class are reserved for wealthy donors or legacies; others believe that the deck is stacked against public school students (Interestingly, Fitzsimmons, himself a Harvard alum, is from a blue collar background). Another demands to know that applying for financial aid will have no impact on a student’s chances, yet another asks how Harvard’s process can “reward diversity without committing a type of reverse discrimination.” The tone of the questions ranges from Harvard-induced bliss at having been accepted to outright skepticism, with some dark rumblings from fringy types about why Harvard “gives away” so many seats to “foreign born” students.
Underneath all these comments are two questions that vary according to whether you have a child of college-going age or not: “How can my child reach the inner circles of wealth, connection and power?” and “Why can’t Harvard [or other appropriately big and powerful school] fix everything that’s wrong with our social system?” These are both unanswerable and mutually exclusive, which is what makes college admission so much fun.
Ultimately, however, the pleas to Fitzsimmons add up to what used to be addressed to philosophers: “How shall we live our lives?” Parents of second graders want to know how to plan lives that will result in Harvard attainment; a high schooler worries that if she leads an “authentic” life she may be disadvantaged by someone who has polished and “created” hers; those without Harvard genes lambaste a policy that seems automatically to reward those who have them. We want answers that will assure us that life isn’t random but has some direction and meaning. But in expecting “Harvard” to provide those answers, we avoid the more difficult task of wrestling with them ourselves, which is why philosophy is so hard.
Of course, one big mistake is to assume that only Harvard can address those questions. As college counselors and admission officers never tire of saying, the “best” college is the one that will challenge you appropriately, open your eyes to new ways of thinking, and help you develop and broaden your talents as you take your place in the world ahead. Plunging full-on into college life will be rewarding no matter where you are.
A true story: While I was in the Amherst admission office, one of our tour guides told us that her parents had pressured her mercilessly to apply to Harvard even though she wanted to attend Amherst. They had never heard of Amherst and insisted that Harvard was the place she’d go. After much haranguing, they finally prevailed upon her to visit Harvard and take the tour. At the end, a visitor asked the tour guide, “Is there anything you’d change about your Harvard experience?” The guide replied, “I would have gone to Amherst.” The rest, as they say, is history; hers, anyway.
Despite our best efforts, college admission remains an enigma wrapped in a mystery stuffed in an elephant. We just need to remember that we’re dealing with flawed human beings and human systems. But Americans expect answers, not more questions: Socrates was executed for being annoying, remember--he wouldn’t last ten minutes in an admission office. And no matter what answers Fitzsimmons gives, they won’t be the ones questioners are looking for. Even Harvard can’t supply those.
June 9, 2009
Just a few recommendations
No fire and/or brimstone about anything or anyone this time, just some credit where credit is due. (A slightly different version of this entry can also be found on NACAC's website at Admitted Blog)
Coming from the college side of college admission, I didn’t realize how much counseling was involved in college counseling until I started meeting with students and their parents, their divorced parents, and/or their divorced and remarried parents; with students who refused to meet with their parents in the room, with parents who refused to meet with each other, and with children who refused to speak in their parents’ presence. (I won’t mention the times I had to ask parents, as politely as possible, to let their children get a word in edgewise or to review their records a bit more objectively as they considered college possibilities.)
I quickly realized I had stepped into a cultural maelstrom, especially at my very highly competitive school. “College” affected everyone day to day, so knowing the mechanics of the process was only the beginning. Attending to psyches and personalities in the throes of college selection kept me plenty busy.
Now that I work with adults who counsel low-income and first-generation students, I’m in a whole different arena, but the goals are the same. As a result, I often rely on two organizations that have significantly shaped my college-counseling outlook: the National Runaway Switchboard (NRS) and the American School Counselors Association (ASCA). NRS taught me how to listen actively and enable students to express themselves; ASCA has provided an essential framework for joining counseling and college counseling.
I’ve volunteered at NRS, a teen crisis line, for over ten years. “Liners” complete an extensive training that teaches them to listen actively, help callers develop options, and, most important, put callers in the “driver’s seat” as they talk through the reasons they ran away or want to. As a result I’m committed to “guiding without steering.” (I didn’t know how much I’d incorporated this methodology until one of my students who had been through the NRS training came in and asked I thought about his college list. “Well,” I replied, “What do you think about it?” He laughed and said, “Aww, Mr. Dix, you don’t have to do that NRS stuff with me!”)
The ASCA addresses primary and secondary school counseling topics. Its “strengths-based” perspective means being alive to students’ potential and reaching out to students, especially valuable in first-generation contexts. It informs my sessions with counselors and teachers.
Two ASCA publications are important reading: ASCA School Counselor magazine and the Professional School Counseling Journal. The former is for a generalized readership; the latter is “research” oriented (not always rigorous) but full of excellent commentary from practitioners and academics. (Here is one particularly helpful article. For the full publications you need to be an ASCA member.)
The ASCA also has just published two new reports in conjunction with the National Association of Secondary School Principals (NASSP) and the College Board: "A Closer Look at the Principal-Counselor Relationship" and "Finding a Way: Practical Examples of How an Effective Principal-Counselor Relationship Can Lead to Success for All Students" that are worth taking a look at. They are publicly available for download here.
My college counseling, as well as my professional development opportunities for colleagues, has benefited immensely from these resources. I highly recommend them.
Coming from the college side of college admission, I didn’t realize how much counseling was involved in college counseling until I started meeting with students and their parents, their divorced parents, and/or their divorced and remarried parents; with students who refused to meet with their parents in the room, with parents who refused to meet with each other, and with children who refused to speak in their parents’ presence. (I won’t mention the times I had to ask parents, as politely as possible, to let their children get a word in edgewise or to review their records a bit more objectively as they considered college possibilities.)
I quickly realized I had stepped into a cultural maelstrom, especially at my very highly competitive school. “College” affected everyone day to day, so knowing the mechanics of the process was only the beginning. Attending to psyches and personalities in the throes of college selection kept me plenty busy.
Now that I work with adults who counsel low-income and first-generation students, I’m in a whole different arena, but the goals are the same. As a result, I often rely on two organizations that have significantly shaped my college-counseling outlook: the National Runaway Switchboard (NRS) and the American School Counselors Association (ASCA). NRS taught me how to listen actively and enable students to express themselves; ASCA has provided an essential framework for joining counseling and college counseling.
I’ve volunteered at NRS, a teen crisis line, for over ten years. “Liners” complete an extensive training that teaches them to listen actively, help callers develop options, and, most important, put callers in the “driver’s seat” as they talk through the reasons they ran away or want to. As a result I’m committed to “guiding without steering.” (I didn’t know how much I’d incorporated this methodology until one of my students who had been through the NRS training came in and asked I thought about his college list. “Well,” I replied, “What do you think about it?” He laughed and said, “Aww, Mr. Dix, you don’t have to do that NRS stuff with me!”)
The ASCA addresses primary and secondary school counseling topics. Its “strengths-based” perspective means being alive to students’ potential and reaching out to students, especially valuable in first-generation contexts. It informs my sessions with counselors and teachers.
Two ASCA publications are important reading: ASCA School Counselor magazine and the Professional School Counseling Journal. The former is for a generalized readership; the latter is “research” oriented (not always rigorous) but full of excellent commentary from practitioners and academics. (Here is one particularly helpful article. For the full publications you need to be an ASCA member.)
The ASCA also has just published two new reports in conjunction with the National Association of Secondary School Principals (NASSP) and the College Board: "A Closer Look at the Principal-Counselor Relationship" and "Finding a Way: Practical Examples of How an Effective Principal-Counselor Relationship Can Lead to Success for All Students" that are worth taking a look at. They are publicly available for download here.
My college counseling, as well as my professional development opportunities for colleagues, has benefited immensely from these resources. I highly recommend them.
May 15, 2009
Being Someone Else
I read "Being and Nothingness" one summer for a theater course at Northwestern (Sartre wrote "No Exit") and was fascinated with his image of a servant looking through a keyhole at some unspecified but vaguely naughty activity going on behind the door. While he's focusing on that activity, Sartre says, he's totally in a state of "being," simply "himself." Suddenly, however, he hears footsteps in the hall and becomes a self-conscious "actor," not truly himself.
We've all had the experience of being caught at something we shouldn't be doing. The more we try to behave "normally," the more we twist ourselves into behavioral knots. The same is true when we ask high school students to write their college application essays. We're asking them to "act" and not "be." More often than not, we get essays that are weird fun house mirror images of the applicant as he or she tries to be "authentic." and we complain that the essays end up being artificial.
In trying to help students, we often advise them to "relax" or "have fun" with the essays, which they hear as "I'm lulling you into a false sense of security before we reject you." So they frantically try to suss out what colleges really want, losing themselves in the process. The most often prescribed advice is "Just be yourself," which, as far as I can tell after reading thousands of them for Amherst College in the 90s, has no appreciable effect on the essays but doesn't stop us from giving it out.
We've all had the experience of being caught at something we shouldn't be doing. The more we try to behave "normally," the more we twist ourselves into behavioral knots. The same is true when we ask high school students to write their college application essays. We're asking them to "act" and not "be." More often than not, we get essays that are weird fun house mirror images of the applicant as he or she tries to be "authentic." and we complain that the essays end up being artificial.
In trying to help students, we often advise them to "relax" or "have fun" with the essays, which they hear as "I'm lulling you into a false sense of security before we reject you." So they frantically try to suss out what colleges really want, losing themselves in the process. The most often prescribed advice is "Just be yourself," which, as far as I can tell after reading thousands of them for Amherst College in the 90s, has no appreciable effect on the essays but doesn't stop us from giving it out.
Believe it or not, I don’t blame the applicants; I blame the advice. After years of prescribing "Be yourself" myself I think it’s probably the worst thing you can tell a kid under pressure to write for an unknown audience. It requires a self-understanding beyond even a 40-year olds’ and is most often interpreted as “Talk about yourself,” which, if you’ve ever been stuck in a conversation like that, quickly makes you want to gouge your eyes out with a pencil. But it also requires the writer to run smack into himself as he tears himself away from the keyhole and tries to "be himself."
I've never known what else to say but the other day I thought, well, why not have them write about what's going on beyond the keyhole instead of having them try to explain what they're doing looking through it? We should really say, “Be somebody else.” Placing the focus overtly outside themselves can free them from having to construct a "self" for us, acting instead of being. We can see how this works when we ask students to introduce each other rather than themselves; it's always easier to talk about another person than feel exposed yourself. (Of course, some can do it without problem or effort, but most can't, especially not in writing.)
The things we do tell as much about us (and may even be more revealing) than what we say we do. I might say I love the opera and Russian novels, but I may actually watch "The Real Housewives of Orange County" religiously and have a shelf full of Danielle Steele. But even if we ask an applicant to, say, write in a voice other than her own, we can learn a lot about whom she chooses and how the essay goes. Over the years I’ve advised a lot of students that their essays about other people or books or events are very good, but they’ve been brainwashed to think that unless they talk explicitly about themselves the essays won’t help them get into college or tell the admission people about themselves.
The things we do tell as much about us (and may even be more revealing) than what we say we do. I might say I love the opera and Russian novels, but I may actually watch "The Real Housewives of Orange County" religiously and have a shelf full of Danielle Steele. But even if we ask an applicant to, say, write in a voice other than her own, we can learn a lot about whom she chooses and how the essay goes. Over the years I’ve advised a lot of students that their essays about other people or books or events are very good, but they’ve been brainwashed to think that unless they talk explicitly about themselves the essays won’t help them get into college or tell the admission people about themselves.
One of my students several years ago wrote about his Jewish grandfather, who spent World War II selling mattresses in Shanghai. It was wonderful, memorable (see?), and gave me a glimpse not only into a part of history I had never heard about but also revealed how much he cared for this man, who had survived the war and made it to the United States. (Unfortunately, his parents were horrified that he wasn’t “being himself” and vetoed the good essay in favor of a tedious one.)
I’ve written elsewhere about the existential issues surrounding the college application process, including the problem of imposing an overwhelming self-consciousness on 17-year old applicants. But asking students to be or focus on someone or something else can relieve them of that burden. If application readers are careful readers they sense the writer’s personality no matter what he or she writes about. A focus on an external person, object, or concept without worrying about "being yourself" might actually accomplish the thing we want most--creation of a window into the applicant.
A shorter version of this essay (as well as other entries) originally appeared on the Admitted Blog at the NACAC website.
A shorter version of this essay (as well as other entries) originally appeared on the Admitted Blog at the NACAC website.
April 6, 2009
Metaphors 'R' Us
Whether we articulate it or not, we all organize our understanding of the world around certain concepts and ideas. Doing so enables us to get a handle, however tenuous, on our experiences and feel that life isn't totally random or meaningless. Whether you think of the universe as a clockwork or life as a treadmill or your spouse as a "ball and chain" you're indulging in metaphorical thinking that helps you deal with any of those phenomena. The metaphor you use is an organizing principle and you tend to behave accordingly.
As you can see from my examples, we use metaphor at many levels in our personal lives because they help make us comfortable. But sometimes they can prevent us from acting appropriately or even, at a higher level, prevent us from seeing what's in front of us. Metaphors can be so powerful that they cause us to reject reality--consider the pre-Copernican view of the Earth as the center of the universe, or the inability of pre-modern "doctors" to consider experimentation as a way to get to truth, relying instead on the "wisdom" of Aristotle and others who simply worked what they observed into their own world views. (Take the concept of bloodletting, related to the system of the four "humors" in the body--despite being more harmful than helpful, the concept was so powerful it took many years and many deaths before anyone thought to see if it actually worked.)
One of the most powerful recent metaphors has been of the mind as a computer. The mind has been compared to many things but the brain-computer link seems almost perfect in its conceptual mapping. Both "compute" by taking data, combining and comparing it, then coming up with new "ideas" and "concepts"; both work vary fast (although even the fastest computer can't approach the brain at its fundamental best); both are almost infinitely capacious in their potential for storing and retrieving data; and bother even are susceptible to viruses and damage that can impair their ability to "think."
As a result of our infatuation with the computer, we've actually allowed the metaphor to overtake what we know about the brain, and in doing so we have done enormous damage to education. While it makes some explanatory sense to think of the brain as a computer, it makes no real sense at all to treat children as live computers. Yet this seems to be what we've done in the last twenty or thirty years--roughly parallel to the rise of the computer itself. The language of education has changed, adopting from computers ways to think about thinking and how to teach children. We think of classroom learning as "information" and "data" to be "programmed" for students; we evaluate schools on the basis of "inputs" and "outcomes"; and we rely more and more on numbers from tests and surveys to tell us whether we're doing a good job educating our children.
But this metaphor could not be more wrong, surpassing even the idea of students as factory parts embodied in the massive old high schools built in the early twentieth century. The metaphor of student brains as computers that need to be loaded with "software" shears away all the messiness and individuality of students (ironically even as we get better and better accommodating different ways of learning), and causes us to think of them as "units" or memory boards. We believe that by drilling students for high stakes tests we can make them smarter (or really, make ourselves look smarter), yet we also notice that kids hate to come to school and are bored and restless in class. But our image of them as little laptops, overt or otherwise, gets in the way and we find it hard to change course.
This idea comes to me as college admission letters go out and students make decisions about where to attend. So often students find college either a blessed relief from the straitjacket of high school or a puzzling and unpredictable maze of expectations--isn't it time for a new way of looking at school, a new metaphor? For me, the metaphor is food.
Education has never really been a technical issue. The greatest educators, from Socrates to Dewey to everyone in between, have been passionate individuals with great swaths of messy inconsistencies in their makeups. The greatest students have been equally devoted to the life of the mind, and I don't just mean graduate students, I mean everyone who's ever rejoiced in a wonderful class or great book. We already use food metaphors for education, but they seem most often to turn up in recommendation letters: Johnny's a "voracious" reader; Jackie "devours" ideas in science. It's no accident we talk about "food for thought." But they've taken a back seat to the techno images.
It would be more fruitful (see?) if we thought of ideas, experiments, field trips, and all the other things that make up schooling as rich, high-calorie food for the brain. If we did that, we'd have to re-evaluate the place of standardized testing in school; we'd have to re-think grades, too, because they are "data points," not true evaluations of idiosyncratic individuals. I'm not suggesting we abolish these things wholesale but I am suggesting, with college preparation and eventual admission in mind, that a system that has become practically inert rediscover the pleasures that learning can provide, pleasures that are remarkably similar to what we get from a terrific meal. If the computer metaphor has resulted in the aridity of test-prep classes, couldn't a food metaphor bring us back to the luxury of reading great literature and interacting with brilliant scientists? If we insisted on providing our children healthful intellectual meals instead of empty techno calories, wouldn't we be laying a table second to none and feeding students instead of programming them?
As you can see from my examples, we use metaphor at many levels in our personal lives because they help make us comfortable. But sometimes they can prevent us from acting appropriately or even, at a higher level, prevent us from seeing what's in front of us. Metaphors can be so powerful that they cause us to reject reality--consider the pre-Copernican view of the Earth as the center of the universe, or the inability of pre-modern "doctors" to consider experimentation as a way to get to truth, relying instead on the "wisdom" of Aristotle and others who simply worked what they observed into their own world views. (Take the concept of bloodletting, related to the system of the four "humors" in the body--despite being more harmful than helpful, the concept was so powerful it took many years and many deaths before anyone thought to see if it actually worked.)
One of the most powerful recent metaphors has been of the mind as a computer. The mind has been compared to many things but the brain-computer link seems almost perfect in its conceptual mapping. Both "compute" by taking data, combining and comparing it, then coming up with new "ideas" and "concepts"; both work vary fast (although even the fastest computer can't approach the brain at its fundamental best); both are almost infinitely capacious in their potential for storing and retrieving data; and bother even are susceptible to viruses and damage that can impair their ability to "think."
As a result of our infatuation with the computer, we've actually allowed the metaphor to overtake what we know about the brain, and in doing so we have done enormous damage to education. While it makes some explanatory sense to think of the brain as a computer, it makes no real sense at all to treat children as live computers. Yet this seems to be what we've done in the last twenty or thirty years--roughly parallel to the rise of the computer itself. The language of education has changed, adopting from computers ways to think about thinking and how to teach children. We think of classroom learning as "information" and "data" to be "programmed" for students; we evaluate schools on the basis of "inputs" and "outcomes"; and we rely more and more on numbers from tests and surveys to tell us whether we're doing a good job educating our children.
But this metaphor could not be more wrong, surpassing even the idea of students as factory parts embodied in the massive old high schools built in the early twentieth century. The metaphor of student brains as computers that need to be loaded with "software" shears away all the messiness and individuality of students (ironically even as we get better and better accommodating different ways of learning), and causes us to think of them as "units" or memory boards. We believe that by drilling students for high stakes tests we can make them smarter (or really, make ourselves look smarter), yet we also notice that kids hate to come to school and are bored and restless in class. But our image of them as little laptops, overt or otherwise, gets in the way and we find it hard to change course.
This idea comes to me as college admission letters go out and students make decisions about where to attend. So often students find college either a blessed relief from the straitjacket of high school or a puzzling and unpredictable maze of expectations--isn't it time for a new way of looking at school, a new metaphor? For me, the metaphor is food.
Education has never really been a technical issue. The greatest educators, from Socrates to Dewey to everyone in between, have been passionate individuals with great swaths of messy inconsistencies in their makeups. The greatest students have been equally devoted to the life of the mind, and I don't just mean graduate students, I mean everyone who's ever rejoiced in a wonderful class or great book. We already use food metaphors for education, but they seem most often to turn up in recommendation letters: Johnny's a "voracious" reader; Jackie "devours" ideas in science. It's no accident we talk about "food for thought." But they've taken a back seat to the techno images.
It would be more fruitful (see?) if we thought of ideas, experiments, field trips, and all the other things that make up schooling as rich, high-calorie food for the brain. If we did that, we'd have to re-evaluate the place of standardized testing in school; we'd have to re-think grades, too, because they are "data points," not true evaluations of idiosyncratic individuals. I'm not suggesting we abolish these things wholesale but I am suggesting, with college preparation and eventual admission in mind, that a system that has become practically inert rediscover the pleasures that learning can provide, pleasures that are remarkably similar to what we get from a terrific meal. If the computer metaphor has resulted in the aridity of test-prep classes, couldn't a food metaphor bring us back to the luxury of reading great literature and interacting with brilliant scientists? If we insisted on providing our children healthful intellectual meals instead of empty techno calories, wouldn't we be laying a table second to none and feeding students instead of programming them?
March 1, 2009
Back to the Future
Those of us who applied to college thirty or so years ago seem mostly to have tossed out a few applications, taken the SAT or ACT once, and then gotten on with the rest of our high school lives. We waited and hoped for the best. Some of us were lucky enough to have a counselor who casually mentioned a college or two we'd never heard of and encouraged us to apply, which we did. That was certainly my experience. Mr. Boulhouwer, counselor at West Morris Regional H.S. in Chester NJ is responsible for my applying to and eventually attending Amherst College in Amherst MA. He suggested I try a "liberal arts" college. After explaining to me what that was, he tossed out Amherst and I said I'd give it a shot. The rest, as they say, is history. (To this day I'm convinced that I didn't even know Amherst was all-male until I got there; I probably would have been a Williams alum if he'd said "Williams" instead.)
I've joked with any number of adults of about my age who have similar stories about how they got to their alma maters: the chance remark, the off-hand suggestion by a math teacher, or the casual observation by a respected neighbor or relative. There was no strategizing, no long-term planning, no multiple testing, no weighing the pros and cons of every school. At some level, we knew we'd be fine anywhere we went and we trusted that the schools would make good decisions (although not necessarily the ones we wanted). Once the applications were done we went about our business. And in fact we did turn out pretty well, most of us.
Having made the transition from working with the uber-strategic to the underserved, I've discovered many similarities between the latter and my generation of college-goers. Low-income and first generation students interested in going to college tend to be hard workers fully involved in their schools and communities, out of choice and necessity. They're not strategizers, they're young people who hope their talents and experiences will be enough to get them admitted to college; that is to say, they haven't been good students and participants in order to get into college, they're going to get into college because they're good students and participants. They're not multi-testers trying to break 2200, they're test takers because they have to be, and let it go at that. Most of them can't afford, literally or figuratively, to spend hours and hours parsing essay questions; they've got real things to do.
In these ways and others, I'm finding that the low-income and first-generation students I work with are very much like we were many years ago when it comes to college admission. Without romanticizing too much, I'd say that they have an authenticity that colleges and universities say they want, an openness to and desire for new experiences that can make them exceptional students in any classroom. Yes, many of them are rough around the edges and many have gone through things we wouldn't wish on anyone, but they have a resilience and even an optimism that make them wonderful to work with. They believe that college is going to help them live better lives and learn important things; they are honored to be chosen and pleased to have the opportunities to advance; they are grateful to be able to fulfill their hopes and dreams and those of their families. They don't see college acceptance as a right or a mark of innate privilege; they see it as the result of hard work and determination. And they're willing to bring these qualities to campus.
For these students, applying to college is an adjunct to their lives, not their purpose in life, as it seems to be for so many of their overprivileged peers. And in that way, they avoid the largely self-created stress we hear way too much about. Their lives are their own and if a college accepts them, that's great; if not, they'll try again. It makes me hopeful for the future.
I've joked with any number of adults of about my age who have similar stories about how they got to their alma maters: the chance remark, the off-hand suggestion by a math teacher, or the casual observation by a respected neighbor or relative. There was no strategizing, no long-term planning, no multiple testing, no weighing the pros and cons of every school. At some level, we knew we'd be fine anywhere we went and we trusted that the schools would make good decisions (although not necessarily the ones we wanted). Once the applications were done we went about our business. And in fact we did turn out pretty well, most of us.
Having made the transition from working with the uber-strategic to the underserved, I've discovered many similarities between the latter and my generation of college-goers. Low-income and first generation students interested in going to college tend to be hard workers fully involved in their schools and communities, out of choice and necessity. They're not strategizers, they're young people who hope their talents and experiences will be enough to get them admitted to college; that is to say, they haven't been good students and participants in order to get into college, they're going to get into college because they're good students and participants. They're not multi-testers trying to break 2200, they're test takers because they have to be, and let it go at that. Most of them can't afford, literally or figuratively, to spend hours and hours parsing essay questions; they've got real things to do.
In these ways and others, I'm finding that the low-income and first-generation students I work with are very much like we were many years ago when it comes to college admission. Without romanticizing too much, I'd say that they have an authenticity that colleges and universities say they want, an openness to and desire for new experiences that can make them exceptional students in any classroom. Yes, many of them are rough around the edges and many have gone through things we wouldn't wish on anyone, but they have a resilience and even an optimism that make them wonderful to work with. They believe that college is going to help them live better lives and learn important things; they are honored to be chosen and pleased to have the opportunities to advance; they are grateful to be able to fulfill their hopes and dreams and those of their families. They don't see college acceptance as a right or a mark of innate privilege; they see it as the result of hard work and determination. And they're willing to bring these qualities to campus.
For these students, applying to college is an adjunct to their lives, not their purpose in life, as it seems to be for so many of their overprivileged peers. And in that way, they avoid the largely self-created stress we hear way too much about. Their lives are their own and if a college accepts them, that's great; if not, they'll try again. It makes me hopeful for the future.
February 17, 2009
Kick in the Pants
I've just read some responses on the NACAC listserv to a question about how to motivate unmotivated kids (mostly boys) to do well in high school so they can go to college. Many of the responses were about the economics of a college degree (over a lifetime the college grad earns a lot more), the terror of working at McDonald's, having some self-respect, and so on. People suggested that students get therapy for their sluggishness or that counselors read students the riot act, so to speak, let them know what's good for them. I found it all depressing although I can't say I haven't felt the same way in dealing with some of my own students in the past.
But here's the thing: Not a single response (of the ones given) said anything about the possibility that these unmotivated students see no meaning in their lives or in going to college, so why should they be motivated? While it's fine to focus on the pragmatics of going to college or even getting a job, most people, at some level, are also hungry for their lives to be worth something, even if they may not recognize it. Perhaps these kids have been marched through a school system that spends more time testing them and preparing to test them than in presenting them with ideas and asking them to have thoughts. Perhaps they have become numbed by shallow textbooks or uncreative lessons, or been warehoused in classes of 32 students and have figured out that the only way to survive is to hunker down and do only what's needed to get by. Yelling at them to shape up isn't going to do it.
And forget about the economic argument, at least for now. Surely even the most willfully ignorant student knows that the economy is in the tank and that college costs more than ever. At least one parent is probably out of a job or about to be---who are we kidding? Trying to get out of college with a reasonable amount of debt is a job in itself, so don't expect the idea of an eventual six-figure income somewhere, sometime in the distant future to mean much, especially to kids who are used to immediate gratification. (Not, at least this time, a criticism, just a fact.) The ant doesn't beat the grasshopper here, and why should it given the headlines and the breadlines?
Forgotten, are the more esoteric, but primary reasons for going to college. It might be nice to hear someone say that going to college exposes you to ideas and situations that can rattle your cage and make you think about and connect you to something larger than yourself, or that reading great things and talking about them with great teachers and students can set your brain abuzz with thoughts that could help you change yourself and change your neighborhood or city or who knows what. It would be inspiring to hear that going to college can inspire you, even when you think there's not much to be inspired by. That reading The Culture of Narcissism or Sister Carrie or dissecting a mouse can literally change the way you think. Really, it can and does happen.
Are we reduced to seeing college only as an economic "value added" proposition or as an alternative to something worse? Is the idea of college as a place for thought and experimentation only for those who can afford the luxury of thought untethered to the need to make a living? Surely even in the most career-oriented education there has to be a little room for some independent thinking; it's what makes having a brain worthwhile. Perhaps if we reached these unmotivated kids sooner with something that sparks their interest, we might do better by them. Studies have shown (and I've seen it in my own experience) that just a few supportive words from a genuinely interested adult can make an immense difference to a kid. Being noticed, realizing that you mean something to someone, can tip the scales toward accomplishment. Whether it's giving kids something real to think on or noticing what they already have that is worth developing, perhaps we need to motivate more by treating kids as prospective thinkers instead of prospective drones.
If our new stock in trade is mental not metal (and I don't mean just information but knowledge), then we should be trying to stir up our kids' synapses with stuff to make them think. Perhaps then they might feel motivated enough to get where they could do a lot of it.
But here's the thing: Not a single response (of the ones given) said anything about the possibility that these unmotivated students see no meaning in their lives or in going to college, so why should they be motivated? While it's fine to focus on the pragmatics of going to college or even getting a job, most people, at some level, are also hungry for their lives to be worth something, even if they may not recognize it. Perhaps these kids have been marched through a school system that spends more time testing them and preparing to test them than in presenting them with ideas and asking them to have thoughts. Perhaps they have become numbed by shallow textbooks or uncreative lessons, or been warehoused in classes of 32 students and have figured out that the only way to survive is to hunker down and do only what's needed to get by. Yelling at them to shape up isn't going to do it.
And forget about the economic argument, at least for now. Surely even the most willfully ignorant student knows that the economy is in the tank and that college costs more than ever. At least one parent is probably out of a job or about to be---who are we kidding? Trying to get out of college with a reasonable amount of debt is a job in itself, so don't expect the idea of an eventual six-figure income somewhere, sometime in the distant future to mean much, especially to kids who are used to immediate gratification. (Not, at least this time, a criticism, just a fact.) The ant doesn't beat the grasshopper here, and why should it given the headlines and the breadlines?
Forgotten, are the more esoteric, but primary reasons for going to college. It might be nice to hear someone say that going to college exposes you to ideas and situations that can rattle your cage and make you think about and connect you to something larger than yourself, or that reading great things and talking about them with great teachers and students can set your brain abuzz with thoughts that could help you change yourself and change your neighborhood or city or who knows what. It would be inspiring to hear that going to college can inspire you, even when you think there's not much to be inspired by. That reading The Culture of Narcissism or Sister Carrie or dissecting a mouse can literally change the way you think. Really, it can and does happen.
Are we reduced to seeing college only as an economic "value added" proposition or as an alternative to something worse? Is the idea of college as a place for thought and experimentation only for those who can afford the luxury of thought untethered to the need to make a living? Surely even in the most career-oriented education there has to be a little room for some independent thinking; it's what makes having a brain worthwhile. Perhaps if we reached these unmotivated kids sooner with something that sparks their interest, we might do better by them. Studies have shown (and I've seen it in my own experience) that just a few supportive words from a genuinely interested adult can make an immense difference to a kid. Being noticed, realizing that you mean something to someone, can tip the scales toward accomplishment. Whether it's giving kids something real to think on or noticing what they already have that is worth developing, perhaps we need to motivate more by treating kids as prospective thinkers instead of prospective drones.
If our new stock in trade is mental not metal (and I don't mean just information but knowledge), then we should be trying to stir up our kids' synapses with stuff to make them think. Perhaps then they might feel motivated enough to get where they could do a lot of it.
December 23, 2008
College Counselor: Servant or Teacher?
More than once when I was counseling private school students, a parent would warn me that "you'll have to chase after Johnny during the application process, keep on him" to get him through it. Well, I don't do chasing and for the most part I never did, which may be one reason I don't work with them any more. Nevertheless, it raises a question about what the college counselor's role is. After a certain point, how much is the student's responsibility, and isn't the willingness to take it on one sign that a student is ready for college? When I did reach out to recalcitrant students (usually boys, by the way), I would often say, "Look, I've already gone to college so I don't need to do any of this, but you do." Sometimes that would be enough to get them moving, and sometimes not. Although I don't remember anyone ever falling through the cracks or not getting into college because of not filing an application, it still gave me pause. Is this like pushing kids to get their homework done, or am I on the verge of ruining their lives because I won't haul them in, sit them in front of my computer and make them fill out their applications while I watch?
Personally, I think that students who don't do their research, information requests, recommendation requests, and applications (despite hours of workshops, class meetings, and individual appointments) aren't really ready to face the end of high school. They're saying that they have other priorities and are willing to let college wait until the last minute. Fine, I say. Why should I spend energy on you if you're not going to spend it on yourself? I can help any number of students who are really grappling with the process while also doing their homework and keeping up with their extracurriculars. When you're ready to fill out applications, let me know. In this respect, I believe that a college counselor is also a teacher, and one of the lessons is learning to plan ahead, make choices, and accept the consequences of those choices. In other words, to help them mature.
Now don't get me wrong--I don't wish for someone not to get into college or suffer for mistakes. I simply believe that "babysitting" is not part of the college counselor's job description, especially if all the necessary information is presented many times over the course of several years and students come from college-educated families. The "chase after my kid" request is the same as the "why didn't he get an A?" challenge to a teacher when the student has been AWOL in class--it's not my responsibility to do his work for him. Besides, isn't chasing after your kid part of the parent's job description? (Although I would argue that by the time they're high school seniors that should be only in extreme situations.)
When the current head of my former school first came on board a few years ago, we had a conversation in which he emphasized that college counseling was a "service" the school provided. While I agreed in principle with the statement, I also said, "But I am not a servant," meaning that I was not at anyone's beck and call and would not, in fact, could not, always accommodate every wish and whim of parents or students. Providing all the facts, deadlines, encouragement, and so on to those who will take advantage of them was often enjoyable and energizing. But making the rest of the horses drink was low on my priority list. As a teacher, I believed it was like doing students' homework for them, and that doesn't help them at all.
This distinction is important, I think, because while college counseling isn't rocket science, it does have a complexity that makes it at times extremely difficult. Not only are there all the mechanistic elements to worry about, we also have to deal with the emotional, intellectual, developmental, and even financial issues that surround each student. As a servant, I would be obliged simply to do what was necessary if a parent insisted that her child should apply to an Ivy League school, even if that child didn't have the record for it (or even the inclination, as happened more than once). To a certain extent, that's fine--students in this country can apply anywhere they want. However, as a responsible teacher as well as counselor, I think it my responsibility, my duty, even, to indicate what the odds are, to be realistic about the applicant's chances and suggest alternatives, and then to step back as the student carries out those resonsibilities. I was never reluctant to give a hand when I saw a student working hard to get everything done, but I was always reluctant to do things for him.
More than once, however, a parent would become enraged when I suggested that her child wasn't "Ivy League material" or wasn't getting applications done. Who was I, I suspect the reasoning went, to imply that Precious wasn't up to snuff, despite clear indications in the transcript, test scores, and lack of activities? (Never mind the "What am I paying my money to this school for?" comments...) The expectation seemed to be that I should simply file the papers and write the support letter while holding Precious's hand over the keyboard. But I would opt for educating every time, which means respecting a student enough to expect him to do his own work.
This kind of reaction reduces the college counselor to servant status (and belittles the child, incidentally) and reduces the college admission process to a sort of quid pro quo, although what the quo was I've never fully understood. I could bring up the changing face of college admission (it's startling to learn how many parents still think "merit" is the only qualification for admission and that their child clearly has it), the imponderables, the history of admission at a particular college, the student's own preparation (or lack thereof), but it didn't matter. Just do it! they implied, don't bother us with realities.
To state things positively: I believe that a college counselor is, and in fact has to be, a teacher as well as a service provider, and should be supported as such. College counseling should be recognized as a way to help develop adolescents' maturity as well as simply a means to an end. Students aren't just pegs to be fitted into the right holes, they are developing human beings on the verge of adulthood who have a wonderful opportunity to put their own ideas, hopes, and desires to the test in the college process. Done right, it can be an exciting time of reflection and self-definition; approached merely as a utilitarian process, it deprives everyone involved of their dignity.
Personally, I think that students who don't do their research, information requests, recommendation requests, and applications (despite hours of workshops, class meetings, and individual appointments) aren't really ready to face the end of high school. They're saying that they have other priorities and are willing to let college wait until the last minute. Fine, I say. Why should I spend energy on you if you're not going to spend it on yourself? I can help any number of students who are really grappling with the process while also doing their homework and keeping up with their extracurriculars. When you're ready to fill out applications, let me know. In this respect, I believe that a college counselor is also a teacher, and one of the lessons is learning to plan ahead, make choices, and accept the consequences of those choices. In other words, to help them mature.
Now don't get me wrong--I don't wish for someone not to get into college or suffer for mistakes. I simply believe that "babysitting" is not part of the college counselor's job description, especially if all the necessary information is presented many times over the course of several years and students come from college-educated families. The "chase after my kid" request is the same as the "why didn't he get an A?" challenge to a teacher when the student has been AWOL in class--it's not my responsibility to do his work for him. Besides, isn't chasing after your kid part of the parent's job description? (Although I would argue that by the time they're high school seniors that should be only in extreme situations.)
When the current head of my former school first came on board a few years ago, we had a conversation in which he emphasized that college counseling was a "service" the school provided. While I agreed in principle with the statement, I also said, "But I am not a servant," meaning that I was not at anyone's beck and call and would not, in fact, could not, always accommodate every wish and whim of parents or students. Providing all the facts, deadlines, encouragement, and so on to those who will take advantage of them was often enjoyable and energizing. But making the rest of the horses drink was low on my priority list. As a teacher, I believed it was like doing students' homework for them, and that doesn't help them at all.
This distinction is important, I think, because while college counseling isn't rocket science, it does have a complexity that makes it at times extremely difficult. Not only are there all the mechanistic elements to worry about, we also have to deal with the emotional, intellectual, developmental, and even financial issues that surround each student. As a servant, I would be obliged simply to do what was necessary if a parent insisted that her child should apply to an Ivy League school, even if that child didn't have the record for it (or even the inclination, as happened more than once). To a certain extent, that's fine--students in this country can apply anywhere they want. However, as a responsible teacher as well as counselor, I think it my responsibility, my duty, even, to indicate what the odds are, to be realistic about the applicant's chances and suggest alternatives, and then to step back as the student carries out those resonsibilities. I was never reluctant to give a hand when I saw a student working hard to get everything done, but I was always reluctant to do things for him.
More than once, however, a parent would become enraged when I suggested that her child wasn't "Ivy League material" or wasn't getting applications done. Who was I, I suspect the reasoning went, to imply that Precious wasn't up to snuff, despite clear indications in the transcript, test scores, and lack of activities? (Never mind the "What am I paying my money to this school for?" comments...) The expectation seemed to be that I should simply file the papers and write the support letter while holding Precious's hand over the keyboard. But I would opt for educating every time, which means respecting a student enough to expect him to do his own work.
This kind of reaction reduces the college counselor to servant status (and belittles the child, incidentally) and reduces the college admission process to a sort of quid pro quo, although what the quo was I've never fully understood. I could bring up the changing face of college admission (it's startling to learn how many parents still think "merit" is the only qualification for admission and that their child clearly has it), the imponderables, the history of admission at a particular college, the student's own preparation (or lack thereof), but it didn't matter. Just do it! they implied, don't bother us with realities.
To state things positively: I believe that a college counselor is, and in fact has to be, a teacher as well as a service provider, and should be supported as such. College counseling should be recognized as a way to help develop adolescents' maturity as well as simply a means to an end. Students aren't just pegs to be fitted into the right holes, they are developing human beings on the verge of adulthood who have a wonderful opportunity to put their own ideas, hopes, and desires to the test in the college process. Done right, it can be an exciting time of reflection and self-definition; approached merely as a utilitarian process, it deprives everyone involved of their dignity.
August 30, 2008
High School, College Admission, and Class
The following post is a book review I wrote for the NACAC online book review section. It was published in August, 2008.
Tearing Down the Gates: Confronting the Class Divide in American Education 
By Peter Sacks
University of California Press
$24.95, 373 pages (incl. notes and index), hardcover
Reviewed by Willard M. Dix
Executive Director, College Access Counseling
The college admission Petri dish grows many strains of the American Dream. Mixing aspiration, class-consciousness, education, social and cultural expectations, adolescent psychology, family dynamics, and financial complexity, it produces wildly varying results. Until recently, the formula seemed simple: “merit” plus financial wherewithal plus extracurricular prowess equaled entrée into the hallowed halls. But social and cultural awareness over the last 30 years has shown that formula to be more complex than once thought, and its effects more pernicious than the Dream would dictate.
In his new book, Tearing Down the Gates: Confronting the Class Divide in American Education, Peter Sacks looks at issues of class using the high school to college nexus as his laboratory. Combining solid research with portraits of young people and one educator struggling against class–bound issues, he asks us to consider that issues of class, as much as of education, have a significant impact on those striving to better their circumstances in American society.
Crashing the party
Sacks argues that “class is the grand organizing principle of American education” and as such it works against those not already in the middle- or upper-middle classes. He challenges us to rethink the simplistic assumption that education by itself is a way for non-elites to enter the middle class. Educational “standards,” for example, often cater to those already capable of meeting them, rather than encourage others’ achievement. As a reverse example, he profiles Oceanside High School’s Dayle Mazzarella, “a dangerous man,” who developed a successful program that opened advanced courses to students once considered incapable of succeeding in them. Sacks calls the San Diego teacher someone who is “crashing the exclusive party that American higher education has become” because he dares to assume that non-elites can achieve the same success of their more privileged peers if only they are challenged and supported properly.
Public and Private Commitment
Although this portrait and others in the book help bring the theme of class and education into focus, they are not as compelling as Sacks’s look at how higher education seems to be becoming more, rather than less, a bastion for elites and more adept at serving private, rather than public (read society’s) interests. He notes that “a mere three percent of the freshmen enrolled at the nation’s 146 most selective institutions came from the lowest socioeconomic quartile” in a 2004 study, while “ almost 75 percent…came from the highest…quartile.” In another, it was found that “one’s social background —particularly one’s father’s education —proved to be just as powerful as academic merit in predicting the selectivity of the college one attended,” and that, in fact, that power has doubled over the years from 1980 to 1992.
At a time when a great deal of college rhetoric focuses on serving more lower-income and first-generation students, the facts seem to indicate otherwise. Sacks quotes a recent study contrasting university endowments with the number of students receiving Pell Grants on campus: Many of those with the healthiest endowments had the fewest Pell recipients: Harvard (6.8 percent), Princeton (7.4), Washington University in St. Louis (8) and Wake Forest (7) being among them. Even more unsettling are the records of state institutions, designed specifically to provide education for the public good. He finds that the University of Michigan, for example, while increasing its overall prestige through greater selectivity and claiming to pay more attention to “socio-economic diversity” actually slashed its Pell Grant enrollment in half between 1992 and 2002. It and other similar institutions seem to be abandoning their commitment to the greater good in favor of chasing institutional prestige, a worrisome development that threatens their social role as developers of the middle class.
At the gates
Sacks believes that we should work harder to make American education the leg up to the middle class we envision it to be. He celebrates the “rabble rousers” and “gate crashers” already doing that work and in the final chapter makes a few suggestions for action that would bear much more development. Tearing Down the Gates is in fact more polite than radical, spotlighting the intersection of class, privilege, and education and prodding us to a wider consideration of how they ought to work. The battle has not yet been joined, but, as Sacks notes, “for any educational reform to really happen…America will have to confront its class problem.” By putting high school education and college admission in this context, Sacks has significantly moved that discussion forward.
March 24, 2008
What About the Counselor?
I'm thinking now about the high school college counselor, who seems to be the Invisible Person in any hand-wringing articles about the difficulties and complexities of the college admission process these days. The HSCC, especially one in a tony private or well-heeled public school, has many masters but no real security. He or she is beholden to parents, students, administrators, college admission deans, and the process itself and if you're an HSCC and you feel that something's wrong or you're asked to do something not quite right you're in a real jam. And out you go.
I recall when my former school head was new. He made a great noise about how we were a "service" and as such we needed to give the customers what they wanted. I probably sealed my own fate about then when I replied that I might provide a service but I wasn't a servant. There's a big difference, in my mind, between being a counselor or a teacher and being someone who simply carries out the orders of others. While a college counselor has to carry out certain functions and is expected, rightly, to support his students and so on, there are also things that a counselor should NOT do, including running after students to apply to college (at least after those who should know better), reminding people more than a few times what they need to do, and so on. I was told more than once that I'd have to "keep an eye on" Johnny because he was too lazy to do things himself. Well, I have to figure that if Johnny needs that kind of scrutiny he's not ready to go to college anyway. So I failed at that one.
My point is that the HSCC brings his/her knowledge, intelligence, and understanding of kids, families, and colleges to this process and should not be treated as a doorman. We have an understanding of the complexities of the process and frankly I got tired of having people continually second guess me when they knew so little about the whole picture. Yet there was no one to whom I could lean on, since my former school was dedicated strictly to getting its students into the schools they wanted to get into, no matter how mediocre they were in the big picture. So I probably gained a reputation for not being supportive enough, and not being sympathetic enough. But, hell, I just couldn't sympathize with the mother who cried in my office because her kid had to go to Tufts instead of Brown, and seemed to expect that I should pick up the phone and make some kind of fuss. Nor could I work myself up to answer the phone on a Sunday night when a tearful parent called to say the world seemed to be crashing in because her son hadn't gotten into Harvard (this after my cautions that that would probably be the case). It could wait, really.
So you're damned if you do and damned if you don't. And if you complain publicly about what you consider to be questionable practices of colleges (encouraging applications in junior year, for example), you can get hammered even if you're within your rights as a NACAC member who reads the rules and has a legitimate issue. HSCCs seem to be cowed constantly by colleges, emailing me privately when I pointed out something on the listserv, supporting my position but telling me they dare not say anything publicly. That's not right. People talk about collegiality but if one side can't really protest something the other does, then the balance of power is unbalanced. Something needs to be done about that.
HSCCs should be able to speak up about issues as well as students, and they should be able to tell pain-in-the-ass parents where to get off without having to worry about their jobs. I'm not talking about just general annoyances; I'm talking about those whose expectations are far beyond reality and who are warping their children in the process. I'm talking about the colleges that continue to sneak deadlines earlier and earlier and try to exert more and more pressure on students to apply and enroll. HSCCs should have some kind of immunity from all the swirling BS that goes on when they are doing their jobs and really trying to stand up for their students in realistic ways and for the integrity of the process. We should be able to speak plainly when we have to.
I think there should be some kind of service like Consumer Reports or some way for HSCCs to report problems or injustices in a way that enables them to speak freely and openly without fear. Schools and colleges should sign on to that. I've thought about creating something like the website Stained Apron, where waiters and waitresses gripe about customers. It's a letting-off-steam site and I'd want to try something that might get some positive results, but over the years I've heard enough that I think the position of the HSCC needs to be given a little more clout and safety. Sometimes, like teachers, we have to do things we'd rather not, like deliver bad news rather than stroking egos, and we shouldn't be punished for that.
I'm just glad to be out of the ego-stroking world and in a world that can benefit more from what I have to offer. I'm glad to be working with counselors and students who need guidance and appreciate it when they get it. I'm happy not to hear the blubbering of parents who think Tufts is so inferior to Brown it's worth blubbering over. I'm glad to be released from the straitjacketed, constipated community of self-serving egos who think they have a right to whatever they wish for. Boo hoo to you.
I recall when my former school head was new. He made a great noise about how we were a "service" and as such we needed to give the customers what they wanted. I probably sealed my own fate about then when I replied that I might provide a service but I wasn't a servant. There's a big difference, in my mind, between being a counselor or a teacher and being someone who simply carries out the orders of others. While a college counselor has to carry out certain functions and is expected, rightly, to support his students and so on, there are also things that a counselor should NOT do, including running after students to apply to college (at least after those who should know better), reminding people more than a few times what they need to do, and so on. I was told more than once that I'd have to "keep an eye on" Johnny because he was too lazy to do things himself. Well, I have to figure that if Johnny needs that kind of scrutiny he's not ready to go to college anyway. So I failed at that one.
My point is that the HSCC brings his/her knowledge, intelligence, and understanding of kids, families, and colleges to this process and should not be treated as a doorman. We have an understanding of the complexities of the process and frankly I got tired of having people continually second guess me when they knew so little about the whole picture. Yet there was no one to whom I could lean on, since my former school was dedicated strictly to getting its students into the schools they wanted to get into, no matter how mediocre they were in the big picture. So I probably gained a reputation for not being supportive enough, and not being sympathetic enough. But, hell, I just couldn't sympathize with the mother who cried in my office because her kid had to go to Tufts instead of Brown, and seemed to expect that I should pick up the phone and make some kind of fuss. Nor could I work myself up to answer the phone on a Sunday night when a tearful parent called to say the world seemed to be crashing in because her son hadn't gotten into Harvard (this after my cautions that that would probably be the case). It could wait, really.
So you're damned if you do and damned if you don't. And if you complain publicly about what you consider to be questionable practices of colleges (encouraging applications in junior year, for example), you can get hammered even if you're within your rights as a NACAC member who reads the rules and has a legitimate issue. HSCCs seem to be cowed constantly by colleges, emailing me privately when I pointed out something on the listserv, supporting my position but telling me they dare not say anything publicly. That's not right. People talk about collegiality but if one side can't really protest something the other does, then the balance of power is unbalanced. Something needs to be done about that.
HSCCs should be able to speak up about issues as well as students, and they should be able to tell pain-in-the-ass parents where to get off without having to worry about their jobs. I'm not talking about just general annoyances; I'm talking about those whose expectations are far beyond reality and who are warping their children in the process. I'm talking about the colleges that continue to sneak deadlines earlier and earlier and try to exert more and more pressure on students to apply and enroll. HSCCs should have some kind of immunity from all the swirling BS that goes on when they are doing their jobs and really trying to stand up for their students in realistic ways and for the integrity of the process. We should be able to speak plainly when we have to.
I think there should be some kind of service like Consumer Reports or some way for HSCCs to report problems or injustices in a way that enables them to speak freely and openly without fear. Schools and colleges should sign on to that. I've thought about creating something like the website Stained Apron, where waiters and waitresses gripe about customers. It's a letting-off-steam site and I'd want to try something that might get some positive results, but over the years I've heard enough that I think the position of the HSCC needs to be given a little more clout and safety. Sometimes, like teachers, we have to do things we'd rather not, like deliver bad news rather than stroking egos, and we shouldn't be punished for that.
I'm just glad to be out of the ego-stroking world and in a world that can benefit more from what I have to offer. I'm glad to be working with counselors and students who need guidance and appreciate it when they get it. I'm happy not to hear the blubbering of parents who think Tufts is so inferior to Brown it's worth blubbering over. I'm glad to be released from the straitjacketed, constipated community of self-serving egos who think they have a right to whatever they wish for. Boo hoo to you.
December 1, 2007
At the Edge of Two Worlds
After only a few minutes, the counselor could tell that Juan1 was a bright young man. He spoke clearly and confidently about politics, current events, and his interests in writing and one day holding elective office. His energy and intelligence had the counselor thinking immediately about a wide range of colleges, some far from Juan’s Hispanic Chicago neighborhood: Here was a student who would go places. But when the topic of post-high school options finally came up, Juan was puzzled. “You mean I can go to college outside Chicago?” he said. As the oldest of three children and the first in his Mexican immigrant family to consider graduating from high school, he had other things on his mind: How his family would cope without the income from his video store job; what his siblings would do without his leadership; and how his parents would manage without his help translating and guiding them through the complex world of American life.
Poised at the edge of two worlds, Juan had to weigh his own future with his family’s, a situation not uncommon for first generation students preparing for life after high school. Unlike their counterparts from college-going families, first generation students lack many of the assumptions and supports that make attending college simply a matter of applying, being accepted and enrolling. As they enter the college application process they must deal with academic, personal, and family issues that students from more privileged backgrounds seldom need to consider in the same depth. The idea of attending college may itself be difficult to comprehend. For those students, Juan’s question is more often, “You mean I can go to college?”
The statistics are daunting: African American and Hispanic students have only a 50 percent chance of finishing high school, in contrast to White and Asian students, with 75 and 77 percent completion rates. Only 20 percent and 31 percent of college-age Hispanic and African American students are enrolled in college; corresponding percentages for White and Asians are 41 and 60. And only six percent of low-income students earn a BA, while 40 percent of high-income students do so, and in less time. (These and subsequent statistics about college attendance come from the website www.firstinthefamily.org, a project of the Lumina Foundation.) Although there have been significant improvements over the last thirty years, first generation and low-income students still must deal with skeins of cultural, social, and personal issues that are often tangled by a lack of information about the college application process, a lack of understanding and support in their communities and families, and a sense of personal responsibility that hinders their willingness to pursue their goals at the expense of family or other obligations.
The term “first generation” often indicates a great deal more than just being the first in the family to go to college. It may include coming from a low-income family in a disadvantaged or even dangerous neighborhood. It can mean having limited English skills and attending crowded, poorly funded schools with few counselors and overworked teachers. Parents may have no understanding of “college,” especially if they come from abroad: The Byzantine American system of college choice has no counterpart anywhere else in the world (in some countries, “college” actually means “high school”). In many countries, there is only one “university” worth attending; nearly all the rest are seen as inferior, and where you go may depend nearly entirely on a school leaving test that can’t be retaken multiple times. The term “liberal arts college” more often than not simply doesn’t translate into anything meaningful or useful in English or otherwise.
Being first generation affects students well after they are accepted as well. Students are suddenly overwhelmed by a sea of privilege and seemingly effortless accomplishment. Classmates talk about what they’ll do Saturday night or which courses they’ll take, not whether they can afford to go out for dinner or buy all the books on the reading list. Angel Perez, now Dean of Admission at Pitzer College, knows this experience firsthand. He says he didn’t realize he was poor until he arrived on Skidmore’s leafy campus, having left his crime-ridden South Bronx neighborhood determined to make it out of the ‘hood. He also struggled with his cultural identity: “At school I wasn’t white enough, and at home, I was no longer a real Hispanic. ‘You talk funny,’ my brother and friends would say when I came home. ‘Why you trying to be white?’ kids would tease in the projects when they would see me return from school. I remember turning down a ride [home] from my college roommate because I did not want him to see where I really lived.” As Kathleen Cushman writes in her article “Facing the Culture Shock of College,” “These cultural tensions may be one reason that almost one-fourth of first-generation students who enter four year colleges in the United States do not return for a second year.” (Educational Leadership, Vol. 64, No. 7, April 2007)
For these students and their families, financial concerns are also paramount. Where college-going families cringe and accept the need to put some kind of financing together for their children, they seldom have to consider whether they will still be able to pay the rent or car insurance. Families struggling to make ends meet see the price tag of a liberal arts college and find it hard to get beyond it, even when told about “financial aid.” To add to the confusion, they can’t be sure what that expense will get them or their child, nor do they know that they can get free help navigating the process from the federal government and colleges themselves. Plenty of scams centered around finding money for college or getting athletic scholarships prey on this ignorance, increasing their wariness. The struggle to meet everyday obligations collides with thinking about their child’s long-term success; often, there’s no room for error, making the contest that much more critical.
Regardless of these issues, first generation students can be as ambitious and bright as their more college-knowledgeable peers. Despite what seem like overwhelming odds, they want to make something of their lives. That may mean returning to their communities to help those in similar situations, or going out into the wider world battling the problems that once surrounded them. Or, like anyone else, they may simply want to do better than their forbears did, making good on the promise of the American dream. While background can affect students’ approaches to their futures, it isn’t destiny. College counselors working with first generation students find that they need to be particularly attentive to personal and family issues before, during, and after the process.
Aside from not having any assumptions about college attendance, first generation students often have no models to look to for inspiration, either adults or peers. They must create their own paths to college almost from scratch and so need good guidance as they hack through the underbrush. Some aspects of the process simply need to be noted and brought to a student’s attention. Aliza Gilbert of Highland Park H.S. says many of the first generation students she works with don’t take the strategic measures their more informed peers do. She says, “Unless you have an outside person telling you, [these students] only take the ACT once.” They don’t realize that it’s possible to take the test (or the SAT, for that matter) multiple times. Seemingly small details like this can make a difference to a student with a good record but poor scores. Students unfamiliar with the process may also not realize that they can pull themselves out of tricky situations. Dee Holohan, now with the Schuler Foundation, which supports first generation students’ efforts to attend college, tells of a young man she worked with at St. Martin de Porres School in Milwaukee several years ago. Handsome and popular, he had done poorly his freshman and sophomore years and was convinced he could never get into college. Naturally, this assumption wreaked havoc on his motivation. “I told him that if he turned things around he could go to a good school. I emphasized that it was his choice and said if I could believe in him, he could believe in himself,” Dee says. Remarkably, he “did a complete 180°, going from Ds and Fs to straight As in his classes. By senior year he was very successful” and in a position to be accepted at several colleges.
Dee’s student also greatly improved his chances of completing college. According to First in the Family, over 75 percent of students who earn an A or A plus average in high school complete college, compared to 20 percent with a C average. Additionally, over 60 percent with two or more AP courses graduate from college in four years or less as opposed to only 29 percent of those who don’t, and, most dramatically, 75 percent of students who take pre-calculus in high school earn their BA degrees in contrast to the seven percent who do so with only Algebra 1. Aliza Gilbert tells a similar story of a young woman with Bs, Cs, and Ds her first two years of high school. Approached by Adelante (“move forward”), a group within the school dedicated to identifying and developing student leaders, the student began to think of herself as a leader and improved her grades because she realized that “teachers believed in her.” Last year she earned all As and Bs, receiving a scholarship to the summer College Access Program at the University of Wisconsin. She is currently in AP Psychology and well on her way. Aliza says she “gets it” now and realizes that even though it may be a struggle she can achieve.
Working with first generation students means in part putting aside all assumptions about what a student knows or doesn’t know about college or life after high school. Gilbert says, “They don’t necessarily see college as part of their life plan.” This in itself is a major hurdle that may take a long time to overcome. Working primarily with Latino students, Gilbert notes that girls tend to think about college when they’re younger but lose that image before they get to high school as they realize they are expected to marry and have a family; boys are expected to provide either for their family of origin or the one they make, or both. For other students, the struggle to get through high school may leave them exhausted and unwilling to take the next step. If the family is not supportive, this can lead to steady deterioration in performance and a lack of motivation, a vicious circle that can be hard to break. Although these conditions can be daunting, many counselors working with first generation students find it a positive challenge. The pleasure of seeing students take tremendous strides that will ultimately benefit their families as well as themselves can be immeasurable, and the motivation to go to college affects other areas of a student’s life as well. The struggles may be tough, but that only makes the results more satisfying. Gilbert remembers counseling a pregnant student that, with a baby to support, she couldn’t afford not to get the most education she could.
Of course, first generation students need all the information that other students do to prepare for the college process: the whos, whats, wheres, and whens are the same no matter what your background, but the whys need to be addressed more thoroughly for students with non-college families. Parents in particular may want to know why they should send a child far away, spend a great deal of money and sometimes lose a babysitter or second or third income producer in order to gain an uncertain benefit. The intrinsic worth of a college education is often not apparent to many parents regardless of background, but many may respond to several specific advantages of college attendance, as presented by First in the Family:
- Over a lifetime, a college graduate can earn $1 million more than a high school graduate
- On average, college graduates have lower rates of unemployment than high school graduates
- College graduates have more jobs to choose from
- Even a little over a year of college can increase lifetime earnings 15 percent
- College opens doors and introduces students to worlds and people who can make a difference to them in the long run
- Higher education helps you be a leader and make better decisions
- College graduates live longer
- Make going to college expected, not extraordinary: Schools as a whole need to establish a sense that going to college is the essential next step for their students. This expectation can be found in the courses offered, teachers’ talking about their own colleges, students being challenged and held to high performance standards, and establishing a four-year plan to support college planning. College counselors can help by being part of discussions about curriculum and being advocates for college attendance. Creating a “college going” atmosphere in the school as a whole helps and visits to local campuses let students see what they could have if they work hard.
- Make it personal: Tony Seiden, college counselor at Perspectives Charter School in Chicago, says the most important thing is “developing a partnership with both the student and parent(s) early in their high school career. Developing a high level of trust…is a key initial step in helping students succeed throughout high school.” Bringing the family in on the process acknowledges the importance of family in the decision making process, something that is often particularly important for first generation students. Aliza Gilbert says it’s easier to work with kids when they can connect the name with a face.
- Let students know they can do it: Angel Perez of Pitzer still remembers the teacher who observed him intently counseling a fellow student when he was a peer leader and saw something in him that he hadn’t seen in himself. She told him he had what it took to go to college and he finally believed her. Unfortunately, many first generation students internalize the idea that they aren’t “college material.” An honest, well-placed observation about a student’s writing, science grades, or acting skill can put that student on the path to high school and college success. This method can include suggesting summer programs on college or school campuses in the student’s field of interest or that will provide extra academic preparation for high school.
- Say it and say it again: Even students from college-going backgrounds have to be reminded about deadlines and forms; first generation students and their families need particular attention because everything is new. Counselors say it’s important to keep tabs on the kids and communicate information again and again in different ways. Mailings, emails, phone calls, and messages through teachers and other trusted people reinforce the importance of getting things done. But don’t assume that everyone has email, for example; as they say in computerland, always have built in redundancy in case the primary system fails.
- Be present for the future: Part of the counselor’s job is to encourage students to do well in their time in high school so they can have a better chance of going on to college. Students supported in and outside of class respond to positive attention and can make huge gains in a relatively short time. Actively participating in clubs and sports as well as taking on leadership roles in high school can be beneficial in the short and long term. Counselors can build a foundation for these achievements by helping students see how being involved in school, community, and even at home can have positive long-term effects.
- It takes one to know one: First generation students often do not have models they can follow as they start to gain exposure to college planning. Tony Seiden has Perspectives alumni come and talk to his students and has alums’ parents talk to current parents about what it was like to send their children off to college. He says, “Parents are good at working with each other to achieve the same goal.” At Highland Park, students identified by their teachers as potential leaders visit their middle schools to talk about what to look for and avoid as when they get to high school. Having students and parents talk to each other can build the kind of community that college-going families assume. When counselors of color visit a school and talk about their own experiences as well as their colleges, students pay attention. Seiden says, “I’ve seen students who don’t care about school, or consider college a future option, make a complete 180 after visiting with a campus rep [of color].”
- Keep at it: In many ways, students are students no matter what their backgrounds. With first generation students, however, simple persistence may be one of the most important factors influencing their eventual college attendance. Angel Perez says he came to trust his counselor because she was persistent. “She told me five times to visit Skidmore before I actually went.” By repeating the message that “I think you’d really be a good match for this school” over and over, she finally persuaded him to get on the bus, changing his life. Because many students may come from single parent households, a counselor’s continued faith and attention may be particularly significant. (At Urban Prep in Chicago, for example, 94 percent of students come from single parent, female-headed households.) Gilbert emphasizes that “these kids don’t have a parent or a hired person to manage the process for them” so the counselor is a real touchstone keeping them on target. Dee Holohan and the Schuler Foundation take a highly active role with students from the end of their freshman year, including requiring them to attend at least one summer program (paid for by the Foundation). Careful planning and detailed follow-up help ensure that students don’t slip through the cracks.
This article was recently published in the IACAC Newsletter, Nov. 2007.
1 Not his real name. “Juan” is a composite of two different charter school students counseled by the author.
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