Quinn is currently only eight and a half years old, and in the second grade, but it seems now is the time for me to start talking about college, and I have a few things to say.
There are many ways we can put people into categories. One of which is to look at people in terms of those who believe in “good schools” and those who believe in “right” schools. I will be direct here and say that I have a very hard time with people who believe that a school’s fancy reputation equals some sort of automatic transferable benefit for any student who attends. Even thinking about those people makes me feel like I’ve smelled bad cheese.
I have always believed that the quality of the education you get is most closely connected to the type of student you are. And I believe, wholeheartedly, that “the best” school for any given student is the school that feels right to that student, for dozens of different reasons.
My father went to a community college and earned a two-year Associate’s degree. My mother earned her Bachelor’s degree at a four-year state college; she was the only one in her immediate family to do so. Each of my parents was “successful.” And by successful, I mean they were employed, challenged, fulfilled and respected in their work, and they were financially stable. My sister and I grew up in nice homes, riding in new cars, wearing nice clothes. We were well cared for. We had every kind of thing we wanted. We went on family vacations. We both went to college, and graduate school after that. I look at my parents’ financial success, not to mention their marital happiness and the fun they had together, and apart, in their lives, as something enviable and aspirational. I am in awe of them still, and humbled by what they were able to accomplish and provide, given that nothing was handed to them.
Quinn’s paternal grandfather went to Yale, and then he went to Cambridge, where he met Quinn’s grandmother. Their children all went to Yale, except for Sam, who went to Brown.
In the years that Sam and I have been together, we have had occasional conversations about the privileged educational lineage he comes from, and occasionally, in those occasional conversations, there have been dilute hints of a privileged perspective—a point of view I tend to sniff out. But, only hints that have been explained away. Until last night.
Last night, in conversation at a local burger restaurant, with a co-worker and Quinn also at the table, we were discussing the fact that one of our students heard, this week, that she got into a school she really wants to go to. We were all genuinely happy for her, and all was light and celebratory until the moment when Sam said, “She’ll be much happier there than at [the other school she applied to].” The needle dragged across the record, and the music stopped. “Why?” I wondered, aloud. “Well,” he said, matter of factly, “It’s a better school.”
In the twelve or so hours since that dinner table bomb was dropped, we’ve jousted a bit on the topic of how you can accurately define “better.” Sam has pointed to the standardized test scores of the student body, and the amount of financial resources a school has. There are plenty of articles available that address those debatable indicators of a school’s quality. If reputation is everything to you, then fine, you can prance through life telling everyone the name of your school. And pat yourself on the back. Congratulations.
Can you smell that?
My view is that other people can’t define, for me, what is a better/best school for me. It strikes me this is a highly personal decision, based on the criteria of each person’s choosing. If your actual education is what matters, the personal and intellectual growth you might realize during your time at a school, then it seems there are countless factors that would inform “good” vs. “not good,” and those factors might be different for each person.
UVM was “Harvard” to me. Here’s why: When I first set foot on the campus, I felt at home. It was beautiful. The old brick buildings on University Place, with their hilltop view of the lake and mountains beyond, thrilled me. That was the beginning of a first-sight love that never waned. I loved my classes. I loved the people I met. I loved the daily view of natural beauty and easy access to it. I felt a surge of self confidence and purpose when I walked onto the varsity swim team, from the nowhere, nothing high school swim team I came from. I was one of the two worst swimmers on the team, along with one of my then, and now, best friends, but we were ON THE TEAM, an NCAA Division I team. With that team, I traveled to many other colleges and universities to compete, I traveled out of state to train, and in those travels I never saw another pool or school that I would have preferred. And when I had the crazy idea to join the crew team, and keep swimming at the same time, they let me! They let me out of the pool five minutes early so I could catch a ride to the river. At the river, I met my people, and they are still my people today. At UVM, I spent some time taking classes I thought I should take, to help me get to the places I thought I wanted to go. But in that time, I also discovered other classes, classes I loved with a passion, and my whole future took a right turn. Once I found my real path, everything about my college academic experience came even more alive. And other doors started opening. At UVM, professors took an interest in me. I was offered opportunities that have since defined my life—tutoring in the Writing Center especially—and relationships that have given my life meaning. I could write about my years there for days, but no matter what else I add to this list, the punchline is this: UVM was the best school in the country, for me.
I feel very lucky to have grown up in a home where I was taught that the opportunity to go to college is a privilege and an honor, something to be proud of, not something to be valued in proportion to its cachet. And I am also grateful that I never, not once, heard any language in my home that correlated, directly or indirectly, my value, or my potential, with the schools I did, or did not get into.
In my own work now, teaching high school students, I am interacting with students, every day, who are incapacitated by their own performance anxiety and self-doubt. Anyone who does not see that is not paying attention. And, anyone who doesn’t think those kids’ anxiety and self-doubt is connected to the messaging they have heard, either at home or in the world, is entirely disconnected from reality themselves.
Sam and I will not be able to control the messages Quinn hears from the world, but we can control the messages she hears at home. And she is already, and has been for some time, listening. “Off-hand” comments are just the kind of comments that are easy to remember—they are short, shallow, and easily stored and retrieved. Our messages have to be thoughtful and intentional, and they have to be well-informed. All I want Quinn to know about college is this: It is awesome. I will do my very best to make college financially possible for her. And I don’t give a you know what where she goes, as long as she feels at home, inspired, and empowered by the people and opportunity she meets there.
And, if she decides not to go, and is otherwise happy, healthy, and able to create a life for herself, that’s fine too. Truly. I want Quinn to define her own “best.”
