College Guidance–from one of my kids

The college application process is widely represented to be fraught with tears, uncertainty, and mental breakdowns.  But, dear reader, if that’s how you feel, then you’re doing it wrong.  Or you didn’t have Sandra Clifton to help you out.

When writing college applications, it’s easy to fall into the pompous, I’ve-done-so-much-please-think-it’s-impressive voice.  There’s also the my-life-is-hard-can’t-you-relate voice.  Your true voice isn’t coming out.  Sandra’s there to help you with that; when she read my essays, I was ceaselessly frustrated in my attempts to sound smart or superior.  It’s not about that.  A school will accept you if you’re right.  Admissions counselors were students of that college, so they understand the kind of person who’s meant to be there.  Your essay may sound intelligent and academic and eudemonistic and all the other smart words you can think of, but that might not be you.  Write about something that makes you happy, or something that makes you sad, or something that means everything to you but no one else understands why.  Your college essay is supposed to represent where you were in life at that point.  Don’t you want to go back to read it and know?  Some girl ranting about big changes and academic devotion won’t be familiar to you.

College applications are going to stress you out.  I’m sorry, but there’s no way around it.  Sandra understands this fact, and she will always have a snack or a hug to give.  It’s difficult to sound like yourself when you’re worried, so try to relax.  I suggest doing some writing with Sandra, because you should be perfectly at ease in the Clifton Corner.

My last piece of advice is don’t lie to yourself.  I know you want to get a lot of acceptance letters to boost your ego, but don’t take on more than you can manage.  If you hate snow and the liberal arts, do you really expect to get into Macalester?  If you can’t stand small towns or writers, are you really going to go to Kenyon?  Apply to schools that mean something to you, that you could see yourself caring about after your four years are done.  It would be ridiculous not to give yourself some choice, but too much will overwhelm you when it’s time to send in your letter of intention.  This is again where Sandra can help. You can talk with her about all your schools and she’ll ask the perfect questions to help you figure out if that’s a good place to apply.

Please, please don’t freak out about college.  You will end up at the “right” school, no matter how badly you convince yourself everything will be.  Instead of freaking yourself out, try to take a breather with Sandra and realize what’s most important. You.

-Julia Rittenberg, Freshman at University of Chicago

My Almost Op-Ed

This past summer, I attended a life-changing seminar by participating in the Op-Ed Project.  I cannot recommend this workshop highly enough—the instructors, Katie Orenstein and Katherine Lanpher—are beyond professional and their curriculum of courage and conviction is absolutely inspirational.

They told us we were experts “sitting on a solution,” yet as a mere lit and poetry teacher, my forte is more about asking questions…But I did write a piece—it just didn’t hit any mainstream menus.  So I thought I’d share my perspective here, especially after reading an article in the NY Times this past weekend called “The Mechanic Muse–From Scroll to Screen,” by Lev Grossman.  It seems to me that there might be a small choir out there….So this is what I composed this past August 2011, my Almost Op-Ed.

I’ll never forget the day I lost my first friend in New York City:  the Q-train crossed the Manhattan Bridge, and I closed the book of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.  My vision clouded as I looked out at the boats on the East River and tried to hide my mascara-stained cheeks from tired commuters.  It was the summer of 2002, and I had sold my old Mazda and a little bungalow in Indianapolis to land in Flatbush…without a job, a roommate, or a clue.  As a former high school English teacher, I reached for a map—and what I picked up was Bette Smith’s tale of Francie Nolan, a girl growing up in Brooklyn.

Granted—today, many of us can easily access Smith’s book on a Kindle, or maybe the glow of a Nook could be a reassuring nightlight during those first evenings alone.  But a book is sturdy, like an anchor in this quickly-moving city.  Back then, I’d take Francie on the train and her journey would speak to me, and I wasn’t alone:  I found myself surrounded by readers at every stop.  In days gone by, we could actually observe what people on the subway were reading, much like watching the weather in society—sometimes we traded a quick eye of approval or began an exchange with the familiar refrain, “I love that book!”

Not so today.  Coming home from work on the MTA, the young woman in front of me cradles a glowing tablet of gray plastic.  She could be reading anything—and in some ways, I suppose that freedom is liberating.  (Perhaps I don’t want someone to know my secret of reading The Secret.)  But the potential connection of literary love between us is lost.  I may or may not have commented on the cover of an anniversary-edition novel or asked about the author—today that conversation will likely not unfold, as I have no idea about this woman’s fictional journey, and therefore have much less access to her real experience on the F-train this evening.  In this uncanny age of progress, I’m reminded of Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit-451, where characters recede into a magical screen of fabricated “family,” and I have to wonder—with all the advancement of technology, could there be a cost to humanity?  Certainly we are not burning books.  But as they keep disappearing from my radar, like Clarisse, I must ask, “Are we happy?”

Nine years ago, I held Francie’s hand as I schlepped through the city, looking for work, searching for community.   Eventually landing a position as a teacher in a program for gifted minority students at Prep for Prep, every two weeks I would pass out a different novel.  At first I thought my students were mocking me:  with the announcement of each new title, the room erupted with unbridled excitement.  I discovered that I’d finally found my tribe, and felt a little like St. Nick, gifting each child with a book of his or her own….to write in, to highlight, to shield from the daily insults of “nerd” or “freak.”  I had been one of those kids:  during recess I’d escape behind the comforting rows of books in the school library.  Diving into the biographies of the Wright Brothers, Marie Curie, and Jackie Robinson, I found the strength and stamina to sort through the stress of school.  I’m just not sure (even if my family could afford it—) that I would have discovered the same comfort in a Kindle.

This is the future that Bradbury predicted—one of increasing isolation and alienation, a land where books don’t exist.  While some have financial access to a well-stocked Nook, true literacy is not just about the individual journey, but engaging in shared ideas within a larger community—whether in the quiet of a book shop or the bustle of a subway.  This exchange may still happen in classrooms across the country, yet consider my experience at a laptop school in Brooklyn Heights.  The students are sensitive and exceedingly bright:  as a permanent substitute who served two paternity leaves, there is no other place where I’d rather teach.  But I feel a bit lost leading a literature discussion with a room full of faces staring intently at a green-glowing computer screen.  A single electronic tool simplifies and condenses multiple texts and notebooks, but it simultaneously dims the open forum of unsure eyes, wondering glances, and even a daydreamer’s stare—each a portal for discovery, discourse, and debate.

Undoubtedly, my Prep kids would adore owning an iPad—its lightness would save weight in their heavy backpacks and might even prevent future visits to the chiropractor.  It’s a fact that electronic tablets provide unlimited options for the intellect—but I wonder about students who don’t have access to this electronic avenue of information.  What will happen when libraries no longer offer books on loan?  It seems to me uncanny that “the good book” makes reference to The Tree of Knowledge.  Could it be that books are a sacred source, a connection to Spirit?

Francie’s ritual of reading on her fire escape midst the branches of a tree offered a vision of Brooklyn that wasn’t yet mine—but in August 2002 as I moved through the hot, crowded streets to the Newkirk subway stop, Bette Smith gave me the glimpse of a dream.  By reaching for A Tree Grows in Brooklyn as my weapon and shield, I defaulted to a strategy that had worked so long ago in my childhood.  I found the courage to explore this city with Francie—one page at a time.

Looking Ahead…

I just spent the past month teaching six students at the Corner during our first-ever Middle School Summer Enrichment program, and it was wonderful.  The mornings were academic, focusing on reading and writing, followed by fun afternoon activities around Brooklyn and in the city—the perfect balance for summer.

What was interesting, however, was that my one-on-one tutoring clients from the regular school year became students in a more traditional classroom setting, and I was able to observe their habits as learners…So it suddenly became very clear why “enrichment” was a good idea for many of these individuals—not because they weren’t intelligent or capable or even interested…but because they sometimes weren’t entirely ENGAGED.

Everyone has a subject that really drives and delights them—for my dad, it was sports.  He can recall the details and particulars from just about any St. Louis Cardinals game that was ever played on this planet.  For my mom, her scene is Scrabble—she can often be heard remarking the words, “Oooh—that word has never been played on the board before!” because in this particular arena, she definitely has a photographic memory.

But ask my dad to explain a problem in algebra or require my mom to merge into major highway traffic, and both individuals suddenly fall flat.  The results are often abysmal.  Why?  They just didn’t tune in to the nuances required to develop that specific skill— for lack of a better way to phrase it, they just “couldn’t be bothered” when they had the opportunity to clue into details for these particular lessons…

It’s okay that my dad hires an accountant and that my mom sticks to the side roads when running errands, but what if they had to ‘pass a class’ in these “subjects” now?  Both of them would have to change their approach dramatically.  And this is the heart of learning:  change.  The skills that come quickly for us are ones that are natural and easy—and because they are already fun, we get more engaged with doing them even better—again supporting the old adage that “success breeds success.”  When we don’t enjoy an activity, on the other hand, we begin to avoid and ignore important signs and signals, and herein lies the true crux of my point….

Each of my kids this summer was intelligent and gifted—but every one of them reached a moment when they just “checked out” of the learning scene, for whatever reason.  As a result, key concepts were missed, and a foundation for future learning was lost—that familiar awful spiral.  We’re all human, but the key to preventing future road blocks this fall is creating a way to literally ‘rise above the mundane’ and find a way to Get ENGAGED in order to stay in the game of learning—somehow, some way…

Looking ahead at future classes and inevitable challenges as we approach a new school year, I encourage both parents and educators to “translate” skills that already flourish into areas of weakness.  For example, if you have a kid that’s a good cook on your hands but struggling in math, learn how to “parallel” following the directions of a recipe with forming a theorem in geometry.  If, on the other hand, you have a child who is “afraid of the ball” (as I was in gym) but a talented musician, link the skills in sports to an aspect of music—like “hitting a note” or “catching a tune,” so that the sense of already established success is readily available and accessible to transfer into a foundation of confidence for the more daunting activity.

When we can train the brain to feel ENGAGED, even on the smallest scale, kids often learn, despite their original apathy, and that’s when life can become suprisingly fun.  On a positive note (and on behalf of my talented parents!) my mom now changes lanes successfully through the complicated byways of Pittsburgh in order to see her three grandchildren and coordinate transportation for their demanding after-school activites.  And my dad—well, he found a way to earn a PhD from Princeton (despite an aversion to equations) in order to become a seminary president.  Both of my parents navigated a way into what matters most to them, and your children can too.  Even if “disinterest” can sometimes feel like a dancing gremlin who often wins, there is always a point of entry into the world of discovery.  As E.M. Forster so aptly wrote, “Only connect…” and at the Clifton Corner, we’re looking forward to connecting with You this fall!