The Neurotic Parent

Last night was Senior Talk, an annual event at our school when seniors reflect on their high school experience and give advice to younger students and anxious parents.

(Ironically, although much of the imparted wisdom was directed at juniors, there was not one in attendance – they were all at home studying.  Brown’16 was mildly interested at first, but wanted to leave after thirty minutes because he had just come from baseball practice and was disappointed that there were no snacks.)   

The panel, eight articulate kids who have just completed the college application process, will soon be attending an impressive range of schools -Wesleyan, NYU, Tufts, Northwestern, Duke, Lewis & Clark, Stanford and Tulane.

Surprisingly, the panel’s suggestions proved to be a combination of Buddhist philosophy and advice my grandmother gave me: 

1.  Enjoy your senior year.

2.  Become friends with your teachers.

3. Take advantage of your free periods to get your homework done.

4. Take Physiology, even if you suck at science. 

5. There isn’t just one right college; you can be happy in many places.

6.  Sign up to do things that you love, rather than activities which you think you will look good on your resume.

7.  Read a lot – not Spark notes, but real books.

8.  Be a good person.

9.  Live in the moment.

10.  Get enough sleep (Honest – I actually witnessed teens earnestly advising other teens to get enough sleep.)

What made these seniors so wise and rational?  Not the presence of their college counselors – they’ve already hit them up for recommendations.  According to the Neurotic Parent Institute, this was a classic example of PATM – Post-AcceptanceTemporary Maturity, a phenomenon which occurs during the four months between the arrival of the first fat envelope and matriculation into college. This is the only period in their lives when teenagers seem sane and capable of doling out conventional wisdom.   

But mark my words – As soon as they get to college, no more PATM.  By the end of the summer, these grounded zen-like kids will be reading Spark notes, pulling all nighters and living in the future once again.

Oberlin has come up with a new marketing catch phrase.  Until recently it was “Think one person can change the world?  So do we.”  The replacement slogan is "We are Oberlin.  Fearless."

Many Oberlin students are not happy with the campaign.  They have told the administration that they do, in fact, have fears and they would rather go back to changing the world.  I would have to agree.  I have an extraordinary friend who graduated from Oberlin.  She has truly made her mark on the planet in more ways than one, but is afraid of sitting in the center seat on an airplane.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=90111749

Here is an essay, written by Hugh Gallagher, which won a Scholastic Press writing contest in 1990.  Mr. Gallagher subsequently sent the essay to NYU and was admitted.  (It is not clear if he submitted the essay as a writing sample or, according to an internet rumor, as his actual essay.)  After graduating, Gallagher released an album called "Bomb the Womb" and wrote a novel called "Teeth".

In order for the admissions staff of our college to get to know you, the applicant, better, we ask that you answer the following question: are there any significant experiences you have had, or accomplishments you have realized, that have helped to define you as a person?

Gallagher ‘s Essay:

I am a dynamic figure, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice. I have been known to remodel train stations on my lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat retention. I translate ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees, I write award-winning operas, I manage time efficiently.

Occasionally, I tread water for three days in a row.

I woo women with my sensuous and godlike trombone playing, I can pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed, and I cook Thirty-Minute Brownies in twenty minutes. I am an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Peru.

Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, I once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from a horde of ferocious army ants.

I play bluegrass cello, I was scouted by the Mets, I am the subject of numerous documentaries. When I’m bored, I build suspension bridges in my yard. I enjoy urban hang gliding. On Wednesdays, after school, I repair electrical appliances free of charge.

I am an abstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless bookie. Critics worldwide swoon over my original line of corduroy evening wear. I don’t perspire. I am a private citizen, yet I receive fan mail. I have been caller ‘number nine’ and have won the weekend passes. Last summer I toured New Jersey with a traveling centrifugal-force demonstration. I bat .400.

My deft floral arrangements have earned me fame in international botany circles. Children trust me.

I can hurl tennis rackets at small moving objects with deadly accuracy. I once read Paradise Lost, Moby Dick, and David Copperfield in one day and still had time to refurbish an entire dining room that evening. I know the exact location of every food item in the supermarket. I have performed several covert operations for the CIA. I sleep once a week; when I do sleep, I sleep in a chair. While on vacation in Canada, I successfully negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery. The laws of physics do not apply to me.

I balance, I weave, I dodge, I frolic, and my bills are all paid. On weekends, to let off steam, I participate in full-contact origami. Years ago I discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it down. I have made extraordinary four course meals using only a mouli and a toaster oven.

I breed prizewinning clams. I have won bullfights in San Juan, cliff-diving competitions in Sri Lanka, and spelling bees at the Kremlin. I have played Hamlet, I have performed open-heart surgery, and I have spoken with Elvis.

But I have not yet gone to college.