Tuesday, August 4, 2015

A flaw in parenting mentality

One of my summer school students came up to me out of nowhere and said, "My cousin got a really good score on that S test and she goes to Princeton. But my brother, he did really bad on it, and now he goes to Binghamton. My mom says he's stupid."

In this rather sad moment, we see that a child too young to remember the acronym "SAT" has already been brainwashed to equate standardized testing results with intelligence. Moreover, she has already been taught the "correct" hierarchy of American institutions of higher education. I would have found the statement audacious and uncalled for if I didn't find it so upsetting.


I know it isn't my place to comment on how this child is being raised, but I strongly believe that this sort of parenting is to blame for many of the issues facing our education system. Kids are taught to value empirical statistics - SAT scores, college rankings, etc. - over legitimate indicators of merit. Granted, it is much more efficient to rank the students of the world using various numerical criteria. This system does work, but only to an extent. As we all know, one must consider analytical skills, personal qualities, way of thinking, and many other abstract markers in order to determine how "smart" or qualified an applicant really is. Most college admissions offices already take these factors into account by requiring a personal statement or two (or six), an interview, a resume, and occasionally, a list of the applicant's favorite films, books, performances, etc. That's all good in theory, but the aforementioned criteria rarely ever weigh more than GPA, course rigor, and standardized test results in the admissions process. 

The bottom-up approach - that is, fostering a more well-rounded mindset in young kids - is the only way to reverse this trend. I happen to think that if children grow up appreciating learning for learning's sake, they will make academic and extracurricular choices that are of interest to them. Children who grow up thinking that "Ivy" and "League" are the two holiest words in the English language will confine their path to the narrow window of opportunities that "look good for college."

Don't get me wrong, it's a good thing to instill ambition in kids; without it, you can't expect them to be academically motivated. But, there's a right and a wrong kind of ambition. A child ought to strive to be able to think critically, to formulate and argue opinions, to entertain all perspectives, and to discover and digest information independently, without having it spoon-fed via worksheet. Sadly, many children in our society (i.e. affluent suburbs) strive to become the perfect college applicants - high grades and test scores, innumerable extracurriculars, and cookie-cutter essays. In the fervor to check off all preset categories, they lose sight of who they are, and of what actually interests them. 

The same issue comes into play again when seniors have to select an institution from the ones to which they were accepted: too many of them go for the better name over the better fit. If more students were to consider where they belong in terms of their attitude towards learning, their intended major/general area of study, and their personal attributes, then college campuses would be happier places. If I may speak from personal experience, I don't regret choosing the school that I did over an Ivy League one. I did a good deal of research and determined that I was a better fit for the university that I ultimately chose than the one that had the more recognizable name. If I have to deal with exchanges like this one I had with an anonymous party, then so be it. 

"So where are you headed next year?"
"The University of Chicago"
"Oh, well, that's a fine school."
"Thank you!"
"You really should transfer to a 4-year college after your first year. Nowadays it's impossible to do anything without a real degree."
"Thanks so much for the advice, I'll definitely consider it."


Friday, June 26, 2015

Some thoughts about graduating

It's 11:30 am on graduation day and I'm getting dressed. I pull out my frankly ratty and worn-out black button-down shirt. Well, it's not really black anymore; it has adopted a grayish-green hue in the 50+ times that it has been washed. As I'm fastening the buttons I realize just how often I've worn this shirt - every orchestra concert, every musical, every opera, every solo recital, every somewhat-upscale occasion. I think of how nervous I've been in that shirt waiting to perform or to meet someone important. I'm also reminded of how happy I've been in it, celebrating successful performances in good company. While it's not a trait many would envy, my sartorial predictability has provided me with a beautiful keepsake of my time in high school. I look at it and remember all the highs (and a couple lows) of the last four years.

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It's probably about 3:00 pm and I'm rushing to get my beautiful blue, synthetic gown back on after performing Tico Tico no FubĂ  — a selection as festive and energetic as it is unexpected at a graduation ceremony. In my hurry to make it to the podium in time to give a speech, I accidentally zip my shirt collar into the gown's flimsy zipper and curse under my breath. The combination of post-performance endorphins and pre-performance tension is quite intriguing but I don't have time to analyze or process it. 

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I've spoken now, and it has gone well, I think. But as I sit down I realize that that performance and that speech were the last things I'll ever really do as a high school student. As a reserved and emotionally stagnant person, I am rarely moved, but this realization both shocks and grounds me. That was the last time I'll feel my hands shake over the keys as I ghost over the opening bars of the piece in preparation. The last time I'll play an A to tune the instrumentalists and cringe until they reach a consensus regarding their intonation. The last time I'll nod at the cellist to indicate I'm ready to start. And the last time I'll bow with my friends after a good performance. I know I'll get to experience all of these moments at some point in the future, but never in this context. We live in an age in which virtually everything is possible, but dilating time to extend a moment or traveling back in time to relive one is not. 

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It's 8:00 and I'm tossing my shirt into the laundry hamper. I've had a lovely dinner with my family during which I was congratulated profusely. Why, I don't know. We're expected to graduate from high school, so doing so is no indication of superiority. For that reason among others, I find it awkward to accept such praise. I also can't accept it as a remark geared toward only me because my high school experience was made possible and made exceptional by many people. So as my relatives propose toast after toast, I mentally spread my thanks to those who have taught me, guided me, and mentored me. I hope that one day, I will be able to thank them properly.

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What I'm trying to say with this long-winded and probably unsuccessful extended metaphor about a shirt that has more than run its course, is that high school wasn't terrible. It wasn't the awkward or torturous time that the stereotype suggests it ought to be. Looking back on it all, I had a really good time. I grew, I learned, and I met wonderful people along the way.