The Neurotic Parent

The Neurotic Parent Institute has determined that students from the high school class of 2009 have not, in fact, earned the right to say they endured the most difficult year to get into college in the history of the world.  That privilege goes to the class of 2010.  It's official: dozens of CJ's highly-qualified friends, classmates, teammates and acquaintances have been deferred or denied, particularly from Penn, Brown, Northwestern and Stanford. 

Why?  A preliminary analysis reveals that 88% of kids we know applied early, but just about all applied to the SAME SEVEN SCHOOLS (the four mentioned above, plus NYU, Wesleyan and Yale).   What about Dartmouth or Vanderbilt or Bates, guys?  Or Kenyon, an amazing school, whose graduates often become television writers.   The problem, at least in this community, is that high school kids are content to do community service in huts in rural areas BEFORE they go to college, but they are just too darn sophisticated to want to spend four years on an idyllic campus with rolling hills but without access to clubs, roof gardens and crowded subways.  (Yes, I'm aware that Wes is rural, but its students head off to NY or Boston every weekend.)

So parents, it is up to you to expose your little urbanites to LL Bean, county fairs and Denny's.  And if they resist, you can tell them that if they choose to apply early to an out-of-the-way place, they just might even end up with a roommate from New York or Chicago.

1) CJ made it home without losing his passport, which he needed for ID because, as a rite of passage into the adult world, his drivers license was stolen (along with the rest of his wallet).

2) He didn't come back a new kid – he's our same old immature, slothful teenager! He wore the same clothes, watched the same sports, played the same video games with his brother, and hung out with the same friends until 3 am.  He also embraced the the same annoying habits, such as texting 24/7, even during Thanksgiving dinner.

3) He wasn't braggy or pompous about the knowledge he has acquired at college…In fact he made it a point not to recount any of the facts/great ideas he has been exposed to from his distinguished professors.  He can, however, discuss the intricacies of the fraternity rush process.

4) He didn't gain the Freshman 15 (like the girls), or lose the Freshman 7 (like the other boys).

5) He's happy.  Very happy.  He is not the subject of nasty "transfer" rumors such as:  "Spike is so-o-o unhappy with the weather in Boston.  I heard he was going to transfer to Santa Barbara."  Or: "Natasha really should have gone to a school in the city.  I heard she's trying to transfer to NYU."  

Adults discuss these potential transfers the way they would whisper about impending divorces.  This amuses me: I can't help but think back to the days when transferring was the norm, when 78% of my friends jumped around from college to college and it wasn't a such a scandalous event if you moved on after a year or two.  Of course, in those days you didn't have to write three new essays and conjure up honors, awards and quirky extracurriculars to make the move.

We have reached a new level of frustration in our ongoing mission to converse with our son.  Even Mr. Neurotic Parent, who previously advocated waiting until CJ called us, finally caved after a few weeks of very limited communication, and ordered me to contact our MIA offspring. 

Success!  Moments later, I heard his collegiate voice…along with a cacaphony of ambient background sound effects that sounded like a combination of a rock festival, a space shuttle landing, and a post-Thanksgiving sale at a New Jersey mall.  CJ seemed amenable to speak with me, but it was impossible to decipher his words.  "I can't talk now," he said, "I get terrible reception all over campus."  "Maybe you could answer my Blackberry messages once in a while," I screamed.  "The Blackberry doesn't work in, like, half of the dorms," he answered, then added, "Listen, it's my turn in a Madden tournament…Love you!" and hung up abruptly.

Our next attempt to reach CJ resulted in an even more garbled dialog.  This time it sounded as if he were at a tailgate party, although he said he was working on a project in his dorm room "with a partner."   "I CAN'T TALK NOW…LOVE YOU," he let me know sweetly but firmly. 

Disheartened, I waited until 11:01 p.m. his time on a Sunday night, the hour I had always called my parents from college, because 8:00 p.m. was when the long distance rates went down.  (Obviously there is no such thing as long distance rates any more, but I thought the Sunday evening timing could result in some nostalgic good karma…and maybe a regression to the technological conditions of the '70's, when you could actually hear people on the phone.)  Presumably CJ would be winding down from the weekend, finishing up his homework for a Monday class.  Instead there was no answer.  I tried sending a BBM, but although a "D" appeared, letting us know my message was delivered, there was no "A", indicating that it had been read. 

"Stop bothering CJ," said BH, his younger brother.  "It's Sunday night, so he's probably watching football, or he could be at a frat party or at a club…And besides, *nobody* gets service on campus." 

Nobody, that is, besides the girls, who dutifully call home three times a day with crystal clear coverage. They must all have enhanced fiber option network plans, unavailable to members of the male gender.