So, It Has Come to This

Theresa ‘s 11th grade transcript was admirable: Advanced Placement courses in chemistry, American History, and English each with a grade of A. Her SATs were strong, her ACTs even stronger. Although she was uncomfortable about her extra-curriculars–endless hours volunteering as a math tutor–I was able to reassure her that even were she a bouzouki player or captain of the underwater rugby team that admission to “top” schools is never a slam dunk and that her profile put her “in the pot.” That is to say, she had about an 8% chance of being admitted to schools that admit about 8% of their applicants.

Before I could even attempt to assuage her anxiety further, by explaining that “Dartmouth or Die” is a no-win way of walking through the transition process, her dad spoke up. He was concerned–“frenetic” is harder for me to spell–about his daughter’s grade point average. Theresa’s unweighted 3.7 weighed heavily on his soul. He explained how his daughter had taken two courses at North Cornstalk State, the local community college, but had received Bs in both. “Our strategy exploded horribly,” he explained.

Unable to perceive any shrapnel or shattered lives in my office, I tried to massage the conversation around to learning rather than credentialing, Silly me. I inelegantly inquired whether Theresa had enjoyed her advanced courses at the college–her Bs notwithstanding.

All three family members went nacoleptically silent. “What courses did you take?” I blundered on. “You’re an advanced math student. Having taken all the courses–BC calculus and AP statistics–that your high school has to offer, did you go on to differential equations at the college?”

After glancing at her parents, Theresa spoke up: “I took introductory Spanish and an algebra I course.”

Pushing my befuddled foot still deeper into my gaping mouth, I continued, “But you have native fluency in Spanish and you mastered the algebra I curriculum three years ago.”

Again, the family was loudly silent. Had I asked them to do the chicken dance? Did somebody die? Finally Theresa’s dad spoke up. “We had heard that admissions to top schools depends on grade point average. So we loaded up on courses where she was sure to get As.”

Like Wile E. Coyote who runs off the edge of the cliff but hasn’t yet looked down, I still wasn’t getting it. Fortunately, dad went on: “But her Spanish teacher found out that Theresa speaks Spanish, so he refused to give her more than a B. And the math teacher did not grade fairly either. Do you think that’s just? Why should she be penalized for that which she already knows?”

What isn’t fair, I thought to myself, is that this child is being treated like a product rather like an actual human teenager. What isn’t fair is that this family is trying to game the system. What isn’t fair is that this child views her entire education only as a means to an end.

Can you imagine a native speaker sitting through endless repetitions of “Ola, Paco, como esta?”

Just to pad a transcript which, from the look of it, didn’t need any padding? But if the purpose of sending this kid to the community college to sit through courses from which she could not possibly learn anything was to communicate to Theresa 1) that she wasn’t okay as she was and 2) that admissions is a game to be played not a match to be made, then perhaps she got that message loudly and clearly.

***

Look, I’m not a zealot. I don’t spend weekday mornings in the park slobbering about how a child will learn more from reading an actual book than from doing yet another vapid worksheet. I don’t drone on about how the agenda in many high schools is about power and control rather than learning that which might be intrinsically motivating, beautiful, or even–perish forbid!–useful. Although I have been known to give a student or two a book or two over the years, I am not one of those “outside agitators” referenced in “The Graduate.”

But–speaking of movies–I do remember Ben Stein’s great homage to horrific teachers everywhere in “Ferris Beuler’s Day Off” in which no one responds to his questions.

“… The great depression. (Pause.) Passed the… Anyone? (Pause.) The Holly-Smoot Tariff Act. Which raised or lowered? (Pause.) Raised tariffs in an effort to collect… (Pause.) More government revenue…”

Surely, we can do better than that.

Last point: Clearly, earning $60,000 a year is “better” in every meaningful definition of the word than earning $40,000, don’t you agree? You can buy more food with the extra twenty thousand dollars and not worry so much about finances. But is earning $60,000,000 a year so much more important than earning $40,000,000? Don’t you think you could somehow manage to stumble through with a lousy $40M? How much is enough? What is the cost of that extra money? What is the value of that extra .1 of gpa?

A 3.8 rather than a 3.7 unweighted gpa doesn’t significantly affect Theresa’s admissibility at “top” schools or harm her in any way. But viewing her education as something that is done to her over which she has no control does not do her any good. There has got to be something wrong about a bilingual kid listening endlessly to “Muy bien, et tu?”