Last week we took the first step into the new school year, with–in the case of C.–an open house night at her prospective high school, followed by a daytime visit that included a tour of the new building, math assessment and registration for classes. M.’s prospective middle school also held a new parent meeting.
As we drove the half hour in the rainy darkness to what most likely will be her new school, C. was in a definite funk. “It’s too big,” she announced. I tried to be jolly and positive, which only seemed to get on her nerves more. We went into the brightly lit lobby and were confronted with a sea of parents and students, not one of whom we recognized. Tables for each subject area lined the walls and everyone was clustered around them, talking about the program. C. disappeared. Eventually I found her, sitting on the floor around a corner and behind a pillar, knitting. Surly Knitting Girl. As I was cajoling her to try to be more positive, a very sweet senior came up to us and asked if everything was all right. At that C. roused herself and became sociable, if only briefly.
In the auditorium we listened to the presentations by the principal, program coordinator, and head guidance counselor, to more muttering by C. “You mean I might have to repeat Geometry?” Back in the car, tears. And at home, tears and wailing. I mean, here she should be thrilled that she got in (multiple applicants for every slot, scores of students coming from private schools), thrilled that she has the opportunity to be part of this nationally recognized program, and she’s behaving like someone died, not even trying–at least it felt like to me–to get off on the right foot. “It’s going to be like all the other schools, ” she sobbed, the words tumbling out. “They’re not going to like me, I’m not going to fit in, there’s no one like me who reads Jane Austen, likes politics and knits. What if it’s not the right place for me?
Oy.
Of course going to high school is going to be scary. For everyone. And especially for her after all she’s been through at the hands of the school system. But still. Time to break out and re-read “The Optimistic Child.”
The next day, C. went back to the school with my husband because I had to work. I checked in by phone and she sounded more positive, especially about the art program, which she deemed “amazing.” She was still worried about the class sizes and the size of the school though and whether the kids are either all preps or geeks. She asked me if it didn’t work out, could she enroll full time at UMBC? I had to tell her there’s no Plan B because I’ll be working full-time.
The next day she started obsessing about her classes. She had listened to the counselor’s advice and signed up for the year-long Tech Ed course that is a new requirement for 2012 graduates (it’s supposed to be a gut), but then decided she desperately wanted to take the introductory photography class. Because the program is so proscribed, it means she’ll have to take the .5 credit health class during the summer some time in the future. No matter, she really wanted to do it. So we called the counselor the next morning and it was done. Still to be determined is how they’ll handle her college course. A 4 or 5 on the AP Government test taken after a year long class typically exempts one from a one semester intro government course in college. So if she’s already taken and passed the intro college course…. Well, we’ll have to let the social studies department sort it out.
An observation about the open house night: Man, some of the parents are intense! I witnessed a dad corner the IB coordinator, asking why the program didn’t share a list of where the IB students went to college after completing the program and wanting to know specifically about admittance to the Ivies. She replied that that isn’t something they focus on until junior year (good answer!). (For the record, they did share that information in a hand-out during the October Open House.)
Then another dad–who already has a 12th grader in the program, no less–pressed in. “So, you’re stonewalling me!” he accused. Very aggressive…stating that in the past the program had emphasized the amount of scholarship money awarded rather than the quality of the schools attended. She handled it well, but boy, I wouldn’t want to be in her shoes. Whatever happened to “it’s about the journey, not the destination?”
(Apologies for not blogging in “real time”…but work has been kind of intense.)
