“Sam has done a fabulous job pulling this evening together. I think it represents the high standards of execution I have set for Fairchild.” Like a slick cat Nan has slid in next to me, watching over the sea of mothers and fathers, taking in the view of soon-to-be-potential-alumni-parent donors. I can almost see dollar signs in her irises.
“I believe it was Krista who brought this event together. Sam has only been here a year, so I think he’s still learning quite a bit.” While Krista and Sam work closely together, I want credit to go where credit’s due.
“Yes, well, in his short time here, I can tell Sam has true leadership qualities. He is going to make something of that college counseling department. Excuse me, Josie, I see the Jacksons and I have my eye on them funding the completion of our glass-blowing studio.” Nan is off to hang on the arm of a father who will undoubtedly believe the compliments she showers upon him as she pickpockets his financial portfolio. Tonight, I am a parent and not an administrator, so I salute her fund-raising efforts and watch her go.
I take a big breath, refocus on the college acceptance goal at hand, and remind myself that, as the adult, I should smooth things over with Etta. I cross the room over to her gaggle of friends and tap her on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s sit down, I think the counselors are about to start,” I say softly to Etta in an attempt to repair some of the damage done tonight. I head to two chairs at the front of the gym, and as I take a seat I see Etta hang back and sit down with two of her best friends. Okay, Etta, message received loud and clear. You hate me right at this moment. But, please, have a little faith. When you have everything in life you could ever want, you will thank me. You’ll be part of a professional power girl posse. You’ll find a man who wouldn’t dream of walkin’ out on you, and one day you will have a child and you’ll realize every move I made, every thought I had, was in your best interest.
To my surprise, Nan steps out from behind the curtains onto the stage. She has managed a new coat of lipstick to soften the biannual lip filler she had done on Friday afternoon, when she had Elsamyassistant e-mail the faculty and staff to say she was “out of the office” having quality “face time” with other San Francisco school heads.
“Thank you for gathering tonight for our college cocktail hour. For years I have been begging Krista to come up with a better way to fully share with parents about the college application experience because this is where Fairchild Country Day really shines. Last year we had nineteen students go to Ivy League colleges and three to Stanford. Go Fairchild Flyers!” Nan gives an uncomfortable woo-hoo and fist pump, her team spirit falling flat in front of this anxious audience. I shrink in my seat. Witnessing Nan out of her element is painful.
When no one cheers back in response to her callout, Nan clears her throat and continues, “Lucky for this graduating class, Sam and I fell upon the fabulous idea of combining two of Fairchild’s favorite activities: counting Ivy League applications and socializing.” Nan pauses hoping this will elicit a rousing round of applause, but again she is met with lukewarm claps. “I look out at this room and see a landscape of parents who have raised the next poet laureates, neurosurgeons, and tech billionaires.” I turn in my chair and look around me. Statistically speaking, there are parents of at least three Uber drivers and one kid here tonight is headed for the clink.
“Before I bring Krista out here for the less inspirational information on the nuts and bolts of the college process, let me say that I have dedicated my life to ensuring that your children not only succeed, but achieve their greatest aspirations. I want you to know that whatever the final outcome of your child’s college acceptances, it is not for my lack of effort to provide your child with a quality education. I want you to know no one in this school cares more for your child than I do. Best of luck to you all!”
Krista walks onto the stage, a strained smile plastered across her face. Nan exits quickly without even a glance in Krista’s direction. A sense of relief overcomes me. Even though Nan has alpha dogged me publicly at least two dozen times by now, I always wind up in analysis paralysis, deconstructing each slight to figure out what I could have done differently to make her like me more, support me more, maybe even go so far as to praise my work to the Fairchild Board of Trustees. But apparently, I’m not the only woman regularly snubbed by our head of school. Krista, I feel you, sister.
As Krista adjusts the mic at the podium, the sense of being alone in this parenting game flares. I know this feeling well; it has been a constant companion for eighteen years. It’s the feeling I had the first time I rushed baby Etta to the ER with a 104 temperature in the middle of the night while working in London. The feeling I had flying with Etta over the Atlantic to start a new life for her in San Francisco and reengage in an old life for me. It’s the feeling I have time and time again walking around the city with Etta knowing I’m being judged by strangers for being yet another single black woman parenting a child I probably had no business birthing at barely twenty-two. And it’s the feeling that became my truth when Michael left us—not even for another woman, but because he chose to be alone rather than being with me. I know alone, and I’ve learned to do it well. That said, there’s definitely a difference between being alone and feeling lonely in the uncharted waters of parenting a teenager. Tonight, both plague me.
“Welcome to Fairchild Country Day School, a school that has been an intimate part of your day-to-day family life for upward of thirteen years for those who started with us in kindergarten. Together we have eighty-eight incredible human beings, have we not?” Applause erupts and woo-hoos break out. I do love Krista. She always knows how to reach right in and pull on the heartstrings. I give her a thumbs-up and she winks, which I know is for me, but I suspect the balding dad in flannel at the end of my row thinks it’s for him as he smirks and winks back. Ah, men. They can be flaccid, stanky, and wearing a spaghetti-stained T-shirt and they will still believe every woman looking their way has been touched by their testosterone magic.
“There are two rules of the college application process that I want each and every parent in this room to take to heart. Students, I want you to hear this, too. RULE NUMBER ONE: Deciding where to APPLY to college is a partnership between parents and child. This is a family conversation to happen over multiple dinners together, on college trips, during lazy Sunday afternoons, after receiving SAT and ACT scores. As a family you will talk about school size and location: east, west, south, north, urban, rural. You will discuss program specialties, housing, transportation, social environment, and, of course, cost, scholarships, and tuition assistance. THIS stage of the process is a team effort.” See, Etta, I knew I was right. So glad to know Krista is on my side and she just shared it with the world, or at least with this unique microcosm. Despite their general thinking, teenagers do not know everything,
“RULE NUMBER TWO: And, parents, you really want to listen up on this one. Deciding where to GO to college is ultimately your child’s decision, because remember, you have agreed to everywhere your child has applied if you have properly followed rule number one. At this point in the process it is NO longer a team sport, it is for the individual to decide. Your child may or may not ask for your consultation in these final moments. This fact may be painfully difficult for some of you”—Krista looks pointedly in what I hope is flannel dad’s direction—“but please wait to be asked for your consult at this final stage of the process. Additionally, after acceptances have been received and your child is leaning one way or another, you must remember this exact moment, when, a few minutes ago, we were all clapping and cheering and congratulating ourselves for raising incredible human beings. They are capable of making the important decision of where to go to college. We have been preparing them for this exact moment for years. After all, you have been to college and you have created your life path. The time has come to let your child follow their chosen path, the successes and the stumbles. Best to stomach this difficult fact now and not when the acceptances come because—trust us in the college counseling department—in that moment, your child will know exactly where he wants to go, and your job will be enthusiasm and excitement for their journey. Yes, I said THEIR journey. Not your journey, theirs.”