Dealing With High School Seniors

We're angsty for a reason, folks

If you’re not the parent, guardian of, or remember with stunning accuracy what it’s like to be a high school senior, then this is your guide to how to deal with one. Pay close attention and take notes, you never know when this may come in handy.

According to some study I read last year that I cannot find, nor do I care to because I can personally attest to its accuracy, your average high school student burns out somewhere around or during junior year. My own personal experiences aside, I can tell you that’s the truth based on the down-curve of optimistic or even relatively happy Facebook status updates from my classmates from August 2009 - May 2010. As far as most high school seniors are concerned, they’ve paid their dues and then some; we are ready to break out.

But, before we even get the idea of freedom near our grasp, one thing comes and smacks us in the face: the college admission process.

Now, this blog is already about going through the whole process step by step, so for now I’ll skip to the part that involves you: the non-senior having adult who may come into contact with seniors. Since our nerves are already frazzled and our minds are weighed down with decisions that have the power to drive our futures straight into the ground, we tend not to take others into consideration, which means you should when you approach one of us.

If you’re a relative of a senior, especially one that doesn’t see said senior more than once a year or so, try not to start your conversation with “Hey, Senior child I hardly ever see, since I have nothing else to talk to you about, how’s the college search going?” You will probably receive either an eye roll or a depressed sigh before the senior begins to respond as quickly as concisely and possible. Oh sure, that question seems harmless, but when you’ve heard it twenty times already from other family members who don’t know you well enough to strike up a real conversation, it’s enough to cause an otherwise sensible teenager to snap and I guarantee it won’t be pretty. Just imagine a 17 to 18 version of that Jet Blue flight attendant going off on people at your family reunion, throwing people’s dirty laundry out over the loud speaker, grabbing a hot link, and hot-wiring their grandmother’s car so they can escape the madness. 

Okay, it’s unlikely to happen, but you’d be surprised how many of us would love to. 

Please tread with caution

If you feel the need to make small talk with a senior, but have no other points of conversation to start with, you may go ahead and bring up college, but if you must I implore you to keep it brief and keep it simple. We’re being pulled in all different directions and one more hand in the game of tug-o’-war is not likely to help. If you’ve got nothing else to say, it’s alright. We honestly don’t mind.

Really, senior year is already pretty stressful without the obligatory questions from family members and family friends adding to mix. Depression and anxiety come in all forms, people, so try and give the seniors in your life a break. Ask them about something as stupid as the weather, we’ll probably laugh for moment, but it’ll more than likely be a very welcome change from the usual.

Undergrad: The Best 4 (or 5) Years of Your Life

It seems like such a cliche to say so, but I really believe that college is the best 4 to 5 years of your life. Where else can you live off of $ 20 for a month? At what other point in your life will it be acceptable to wear the same clothes days in a row? Unless you're lucky enough to land a job where your work hours are noon until 3, at no other point will have so much time to waste doing absolutely nothing while having fun doing it.

My Advice for College Students

1. Going in undecided isn't the worst thing in the world. Use the time to discover your passion.
2. If you must change your major, try not to wait until your senior year to do so.
3. The weekend starts on Thursday so try to avoid taking Friday classes if at all possible.
4. The freshmen fifteen is real. Do something about it before it becomes the senior sixty.
5. Don't leave your textbooks lying around, especially during finals. College students are too broke to worry about whether or not it's morally wrong to 'appropriate' your book, especially if it's an engineering book. They bring in big dollars at book buy back. Don't ask how I know, just trust me.
6. Get to know your professors. You'll need their recommendations for grad school.
7. Know someone in the financial aid office, the dean's office and any other office that can assist you.
8. Join student organizations that are related to your major for networking purposes. And join a few that are just for fun.
9. Call/text/e-mail your parents at least once a week. This will save you from pop-up visits when they begin to worry because they haven't heard from you.
10. Live, love and learn!

I have very fond memories of my time in college and with few exceptions, I wouldn't trade it for anything. So what about you? What life lessons learned on campus would you share with someone heading off to school?

Allow People To Be Who They Are

I had a friend in college that everyone else swore was gay.  He could have been, I don't know. He denied it, so the crew and I backed him on it.  When I say crew, we rolled about eight deep.  Seven girls and one very well dressed guy, we moved as a pack.

All of us ladies lived in one dorm and William lived in a dorm across the way. Our dorms were connected by a common area that included a dining room.  We were a lively bunch that held court for hours, especially during dinner.  Of course, we couldn't go to dinner until I had watched Jeopardy and William had done his latest dance routine in the hall, cheered on by anyone who happened to be around at the time.  Even though members of the opposite sex had to be escorted at all times, the women in our dorm were comfortable enough with William that they would often bring him up on the elevator and let him find his way to our door.

We were a happy crew, but occasionally one of us would run into some dude that said he couldn't hang with us because of "your boy."  We were young, we were innocent, we were clueless.  We embarked on a mission to drag him out of the closet.

We asked Rosie, the no nonsense straight shooter of our group, to just ask William if he was gay.  She refused.  We dropped hints while watching TV like, "It wouldn't even matter if one of our friends was gay, he would still be our friend."  All of this in hopes that William would open up and come on out of his walk in closet complete with racks of shoes.  At most he'd comment that the thought of some man touching him was just icky.

So for four years we hung tough as a crew.  We'd follow William around the mall for hours while he shopped for the right pair of socks to match a fleck of color in his tie.  Yes, while the rest of us were rocking last week's dirty sweatshirt turned inside out and a pair of sweats, William went to class in dress slacks, a long sleeved shirt and a tie every day.  He got manis and pedis on the regular while the rest of us were happy to just remember to splash a coat of polish on. 

We were no closer to an answer the day we graduated.  William was a year behind half of our crew.  The fall after I graduated I got a call from Rosie saying that William no longer hung with the rest of them.  He'd found a new crew, a crew of guys that everyone on campus thought was suspect.  Later in life a few of them came out, one got married (to a woman), and others we lost track of. 

So is William gay? Rosie runs into him occasionally and dropped by his house once.  She noticed that all of his pictures were of one man, including one on his night stand.  I've decided that it still doesn't matter.  Obviously there are some parts of his life that he's comfortable sharing with some people and other parts with other people.  He still does the percolator like no one else I've met!

Know Somebody That Knows Somebody

I was lucky enough to have a full tuition with room and board scholarship in college.  What I didn't have was additional money for books and necessities.  Those necessities being pizza, trips to the mall, etc.  Initially I was given a monthly allowance by my mother because she didn't want me to work while I was in school.  That, coupled with the fact that my student ID could be used as a credit card on campus, allowed me to buy textbooks.  Of course the bill for those charges was sent home and had to be paid before the beginning of the next semester.

Thanksgiving of my sophomore year I reminded my mother that I had a balance and that it needed to be paid before the current semester was over so that I could register for the next one.  My mother announced that she was no longer paying my bill and I'd have to figure it out.  With the knowitallness of a youngster, I figured I could just deal with it when I got back to school.

I had long heard rumors about the infamous Greta Hogan, the financial aid guru, but I'd never had cause to meet her.  I stopped into her office hoping she could point me in the direction of a loan to cover incidentals.  I waited forever only to be told by her that my mother made too much and that I didn't qualify for anything.

Shell shocked, I wandered back to my dorm where I proceeded to tell whomever would listen that I was going to have to go home because I couldn't pay my book bill.  As luck would have it, I ate most of my meals with a bunch of upperclassmen from back home.  They started grilling me with questions.

Upperclassman 1: Did you go to financial aid?
Me: Of course I did. Where else would I go?
Upperclassman 2: Did you see Greta?
Me: Of course I did.
Upperclassman 1: Did you see Dean Jefferies? What about Nate Banks?
Me: Well no.  Y'all only told me about Greta.
Upperclassman 2: You need to go see Dean Jefferies or Nate. If they can't help you, go see Bruce at the Black House. Tell them what's going on, get a sign off from them and then go back to Greta. 
Upperclassman 1: And if none of that works, start crying in front of Greta and tell her you're not leaving until she finds something.

You know what I did, right? I made the rounds, got papers signed AND cried to Greta as I camped out on the floor of her office.  She magically found a loan that covered the current book bill and any futures.  Best of all, I didn't need to submit parental income or signature for approval and it had a really low rate.

I told PoS this story because my younger sister suffered, and still suffers, from an acute case of knowitallness.  When she left home for college fifteen years after me, she didn't bother to make friends with anyone of similar background.  She was too busy chasing the glamorous life, provided by a mother that paid tuition, room and board and incidentals in full.  There was no financial aid because she never filled out the FAFSA form and my mother was unaware of it because I always handled it when I was in college.

By her junior year this chick had changed majors so many times that no one knew what she was majoring in and, thanks to privacy acts, no one had seen her grades.  My mother issued an ultimatum that unless she saw grades, she was cutting her off financially.  Ms. Knowitallness was okay with that until she realized that she had no way to pay for anything, including the dorm room where she slept at night.  She panicked and called me when she realized what her quest for independence had cost her.

Knowitall: I'm going to get kicked out of school and put out of my room. Why is your mama trippin?
Me: Um, what do you want me to do? You were as wrong as two left shoes. Just show her your grades already.
Knowitall: Why? I made them.
Me: Yes, but she pays for them.
Knowitall: Naw, I'll just figure this out myself.
Me: Okay, so what's your plan?
Knowitall:
Me: Well what do your friends say?
Knowitall: About what?
Me: About who you should talk to, like someone in financial aid or a dean.
Knowitall: My friend's parents pay for everything. No one is on financial aid.
Me: Oh, for real? Y'all have it like that?
Knowitall: Well, yeah.
Me: No, your parents have it like that. I suggest you find the financial aid office and throw yourself on the mercy of someone up in there.
Knowitall:
Me: Okay, well call me back tomorrow and let me know how it went.

I hang up with Ms. Knowitall and not five minutes passes before my brother calls.

Clueless Brother: Your sister just called me hysterical talking about she's about to get evicted. I need to give you my credit card number so you can handle this.
Me: Uh no.  Little Drama couldn't get the reaction she wanted from me so she called you. I've already told her what to do.  She's grown, remember?
Clueless Brother: Yeah, but they're going to put her out.
Me: Dude, she just got there. They're not hardly going to put her out. Put your card up and let me handle this.

Within days Ms. Knowitall had secured loans to cover her school costs in full, my mother still never saw a report card and today she is paying those loans off.  In essence, she's paying interest on money she could have paid out of pocket to begin with had Ms. Knowitall not been in such a rush to be an adult.  Both of them could have saved money upfront if they had asked someone about the FAFSA.

Friends Don't Let Friends Take Home Ugly Men

The top shelf in my dorm looked like it was sponsored by Picadilly's, the local campus liquor store.  It didn't matter that I didn't become legal until my last year on campus.  If there was liquor to be had, I had it.  I didn't drink through out the week, but come Friday night, it was a ritual for me and the crew to imbibe right before we headed out to whatever union party or frat party was the place to be that night.

Renee was the bartender on most occasions and her concoctions found me dancing on top of the speakers at the Alpha house one night.  Those same drinks had us stumbling out of there at 5:00 a.m. trying to figure out if her dorm or mine was closer.  Renee was a fighting drunk, I was a dancing drunk.  Our rule was one of us can get sloppy with it, but not both of us.  Someone had to stay sober to ensure that both of us made it home safely.  As long as she wasn't fighting, I could get my dance on.

I had an affinity for a certain frat and one year their frat house ended up down the street from my dorm.  Unlike some fraternities with stable residencies, these guys just found a house they could afford each year and it promptly became the frat house.  So here I am giddy about the fact that not only was the house in close enough walking distance that I could stumble home without difficulty, but some guys from my home town would be attending as well.

This fraternity was known for their potent drinks and it was my turn to get my drink on, so Renee stood by as I did so.  I don't remember a lot about the night except that I ended up thrown over the shoulder of a fraternity dude out to prove to me that he wasn't as mean as he looked.  I also remember meeting Big Daddy Woo Woo and promising to road trip to his school, 45 minutes away, in the near future for their big founder's party. 

Watching all of this go down was Carl, you know, the guy from my home town.  Carl had been an escort in my debutante ball in high school and his cousin was my brother's best friend.  So in my mind, he was like family.  When he asked for my number, I gave it without a thought. At some point Renee and I stumbled back down the street.  Even though her room was two doors down from mine, she noticed that my roommate was gone for the weekend and decided to stay with me just to make sure I didn't puke all over the place. (Side note: I never puke). 

The phone rang at some point during the night and I heard Renee telling Carl that no, he couldn't come over and if he was still in town later, she'd let me know that he had called.  What my drunk butt didn't know, but what Renee understood, was that Carl had watched me get toasted in hopes that he could creep on by later for a little easy action.  Yeah, Renee was trifling as all get out most of the time, but she had my back when it really counted.

Lesson learned: Friends don't let friends take home ugly men.  Being a designated driver applies in any situation where drinking is involved, even if you're walking.

Disclaimer: By no means do I condone underage drinking, but if you must drink, drink responsibly.

You Don't Have To Be Crazy To Be My Friend...but It Sure Helps!

At some point every one will have a friend that makes you question why you're friends with them.  For me it was Renee (the names have been changed to protect the innocent).  We attended a summer program together in high school, but attended different high schools so I only knew of her through the program and rumors that floated back to me.  What I had heard was that she slashed her boyfriend's tires, bust the windows out his car before Jazmine Sullivan was even thought of, and was always ready to fight.  I had never witnessed any of that first hand and it just didn't fit with the image she portrayed when I did interact with her.

I attended a college with no less than 40,000 students and that was just in undergrad.  Renee attended the same school and as a small town girl it was comforting to see a familiar face on campus.  We stayed in dorms on opposite end of the campus, but it wasn't uncommon for us to make the trek to either's dorm.  Renee was the life of the party and the men loved her, sometimes just a little too much.

The first time I got a call from her saying, "I need you to go somewhere with me right quick" I didn't think much of it.  We could have been going to the mall, out to eat, whatever.  Oh, but no.  Where we were going was to the dorm across the street from mine to confront some dude who had apparently been cheating on his girlfriend with Renee.  The girlfriend came up with some STD and dude decided to blame it on Renee.  Chaos ensued and Renee flagged her "I'm clean as the board of health" paper from the clinic in the air, which led both women to realize that there was obviously a third woman involved.  After Renee windmilled him, she happily pronounced her work done and we bounced.

To this day I don't know how Renee knew the guy and his girl were there together, though I suspect one of his instigating frat brothers called her.  So while Renee and the frat boys were well aware of the situation, I was the only clueless one in the bunch.  All I could do was stand there dazed and confused.  After that I always learned to respond to "I need you to go somewhere with me right quick" with "And where would that be?"

On another occasion I was in Renee's dorm room when her on again, off again boyfriend showed up.  They were off again and he was there to pick up 'stuff' he'd left in her room.  We all know this can be a game.  The picking up of the stuff can lead to talking, trying to ease back in, whatever.  So like a third wheel, I'm sitting at her desk while they make small talk and his chances of getting back with her are sounding good.  Out of nowhere he makes a comment about her father and the next thing I know, the room has turned into the ring at Wrestlemania.  In the midst of WWE Smackdown, she throws all of his things out of her window.  He tries to run out of the room to go get them and the fight continues down the hall.  Her perky resident advisor comes to see what the commotion is and ends up with a black eye.  When it's all said and done, Renee is written up and has to go before the residency board.

Where was I in all of this? Still sitting in the chair.  When Renee asked me afterwards why I didn't step in and help, my response was, "You were winning."  What I was really thinking was, you two fools will be right back together next week so why waste the time and energy.  Sure enough, they continued this cycle until he graduated and I stopped responding to the calls to go somewhere real quick.

Today Renee and I are more Facebook friends than anything.  I'm the godmother to her oldest daughter and she would have been godmother to PoS if she had made it to the church on time.  I forgot to mention that she's chronically late and, in fact, was two hours late to her own daughter's baptism.

What lesson was I trying to teach PoS with these stories?  Some friends are only meant to be in your life for certain periods of time.  Don't let someone else's BS get you caught up. 

 

I'm Not Mother Theresa, I'm Just Ya Mama

As a parent it seems like there's so much to teach your kids before they leave home.  Some parents do a great job, others not so much.  When I was growing up, and even now, my mother's life as a teen and young adult was somewhat of a mystery.  From what I can tell, her life started in college where she didn't live on campus, but instead lived at a home run by nuns called The Beulah Residence.  There's a protective layer around her that I've stopped trying to penetrate.  I can only imagine some of the pitfalls I could have avoided if she had been more willing to share what I call "the real side" of her.

I try to be very open with PoS.  In fact, I probably tell her more than she ever wants to know about my childhood, high school and college years.  All of this is in an effort to teach her life lessons so that she won't have to learn them the hard way like I did.  This week I'll share some of the things I've told her in a series called, I'm Not Mother Theresa, I'm Just Ya Mama.  

Drinking until my gums went numb? Yep, I did it.  Trying to figure out if my dorm or my friends was closer when we stumbled out of a party at 5:00 a.m.?  Guilty!  Throwing myself at the feet of the financial aid guru when I found myself short on money? Heck yes that was me!

In the words of Bill Cosby, stick around, you just might learn something.

Too Broke To Pay Attention

Anyone with kids knows they're not cheap.  I've joked about PoS sitting at home this summer soaking up my air and eating my food.  The truth is her being at home this summer is far cheaper than her being somewhere else.

School starts in two weeks and the reality of what this senior year means smacked me right in the face this morning.  I was lamenting my return to chauffeuring duties with the start of tennis season and then it dawned on me that this is my last year driving the kid to school daily.  At this time next year I'll be driving her to someone's campus.  I started going through my list of "lasts" and just when I was about to do my Snoopy dance I realized that it's a short list.

I thought this was my last year of buying books.  PoS attends a private school and on top of the ridiculously high tuition (though low by St. Louis standards) that I pay, we're required to purchase school books every August.  Last week's newsletter estimates that senior's books & some fees will run between $ 800 - 900.  For those prices she could be a freshman engineering student on someone's college campus!  I can't complain though, she's gotten a great education there.  I'll try to remember that when December comes and I'd rather be in Jamaica, but instead write another tuition check.

The DMV Sucks...That Is All

PoS and I took a field trip to the local Department of Motor Vehicles this past Friday. As I do when I'm bored, I live tweeted the adventure.  Scroll down to the bottom and work your way back up to see what happened when she tried to get her driver's license.

1. But it'll be a minute before I'm ready to sit in there again. The DMV sucks.about 8 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone
   
   
2. The bad news is she didn't pass the driving test. The good news is she wasn't upset about it & can take it again as soon as she's ready.about 8 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone
   
   
3. The kid is up soon. She's praying she doesn't get the guy who rarely passes people. Y'all pray for her...& me. I nvr want 2 sit here againabout 9 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone
   
   
4. Only 2 ppl ahead of the kid now. I don't want them to fail, but if they must, I hope they do it quickly. We're entering hour 3 at the DMVabout 10 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone
   
   
5. Woman just walked into the DMV looking like the bastard love child of OMG & WTF. I was too stunned to twitpic the foolishness.about 10 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone
6. In 2 hours, only 5 ppl hv taken their road test. The kid is 9th on the list. If I didn't think she'd make me look bad on FB, we wd leaveabout 10 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone
   
   
7. Fiddy leventeenth people live in St. Louis city & only 2 DMV facilities offer the road test. Just backwards as hell.about 10 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone
   
   
8. Walked to McDonalds & left the kid at the DMV. Lionel Richie's Running w/ the Night came on & I rlly want 2 reenact the video dance sequenceabout 11 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone
   
   
9. And I'm hungry, starving even! Of course the kids permit expires today so the license is a must.about 12 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone
10. Who is only open Mon - Fri & only has 2 people giving the driving test? MO DMV, that's who! Girl next to me has been here 3 hours!about 12 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone
    
    
11. Sitting in the DMV pissed. I wanted 2 B here when they opened. Teen was 2 busy socializing. Now we have a 2 hour wait at least!about 12 hours ago via Twitter for iPhone
12. Off to the DMV w/ PoS. Here's hoping there will be another licensed driver in the house when it's over & my chauffeuring duties can end.about 13 hours ago via TweetDeck

Blowin' Up My Phone

My school starts us on the college process as early as 10th grade. Now, this might not be an accurate statement, since all they really have us do is take a Pre-SAT test. It's half a day of school where we don't go classes, we shut down the English wing to take the test. However, they don't fairly warn for what this test is going to mean to you, especially if you're a genius like those of us who wrote in our email addresses in that little box at the bottom of the information sheet.

That was one fatal mistake that they should have warned us of.

Now, fast forward a few months to when I actually check the email account that I wrote down. Since I don't look at it very often, nor do I use it for anything so it's mostly devoid of spam, you can imagine my surprise to see upwards to 500 messages in my inbox. I should tell you that I have random spurts of OCD come over me, that being one of those times, I was more than anxious to get rid of those annoying emails that had taken over my previously abandoned inbox.

When we had to take the PSAT again the next year, I was smart and didn't write down my address. It didn't matter. I'm still getting emails from miscellaneous colleges offering "last chance to sign up for a visit," or reminding me that applications are up and ready to be filled out, and if I see one more from Mount Holyoke, there will be words. Granted, they'll be muttered furiously to myself and no one else will the wiser, but words nonetheless.

And to put the cherry on top, I have recently fallen into the smartphone craze, first my beloved Blackberry, and then my iPhone when said Blackberry decided it didn't want to charge anymore. Insert fatal mistake number 2: my phone vibrates and dings whenever I receive an email, which, thanks to the College Board and at least a hundred schools across the country - oh, and Barnes and Noble at about 1 a.m. every morning - is about 30 times a day.

My patience isn't wearing thin, it's already 95 lbs in a wet t-shirt and crying at the paparazzi to let it alone. I fear that only this cat knows my pain.

I'll Take Diversity for $ 300, Alex

Our family reunion was this past weekend. The Kid, also known as the Princess of Snark or POS for short, falls into her own age group. She's too old to play with "those children" and not quite old enough to hang with any cousins. The closest cousin to her in age on the high end is 22. The closest in age on the low end is 12. You can see how this presents a problem for a soon to be 17 year old.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you look at it, our family is big on discussions. Imagine my delight, and her discomfort, when we ended up at a table with two of our uncles on Saturday. Barbecue hadn't even touched her lips before Uncle Michael started in with questions about what schools she was interested in, why she chose them, etc. Uncle Junior (okay, really his name is Jesse but according to my aunt, he only deserves his real name when he's 'acting right'. Never mind that he's 60something) chimes in. POS turns to me with "save me from these people" written across her face. After cackling on the inside, I try to help out by telling them about some of the schools and when we're planning to visit.

The mention of schools in Boston sends one of my uncles into a long story about the history of racism in Boston, with the other uncle voicing his sentiments five to ten minutes later like a delayed echo. The uncle that started the diatribe loves to hear his own voice and 20 minutes later his monologue is still going, but somewhere in there the topic of schools became about him and how he decided on where to attend undergrad, med school and his residencies. POS and I exchanged looks and continued eating while he continued talking, as we nodded appropriately.

Thinking back on their warnings about Boston, I remember that St. Louis is not the most forward thinking when it comes to race either, yet she's survived. This is a city clearly divided by what side of town you live on. The media often perpetuates the divide when reporting that something happened on the north side, which has become the code phrase for 'black people were involved," whereas something on the south side tends to involve white people.

POS has gone to very diverse schools since the third grade. I've often joked that her schools look like the United Nations in that there's a little bit of everything and everyone gets along well. I don't know that I picked her schools for this reason, but it's given her exposure to people of all races, religions, sexual orientations, etc. I don't know that she'll pick a school solely based on the diversity of the school, but I have a feeling that it will play a part.