By Gili Kliger
December 7, 2007
I should be working on my college applications right now. I’m sitting at the kitchen table. It’s a Saturday night, mid-November.
There’s a chill in the air, cool but brisk. Or so I assume; I haven’t been out today. The kitchen table is strewn with college view books, edited essays, and - next to my laptop - a legal pad, scribbled with a check list of all the tasks I need to accomplish tonight. I’ve even drawn little boxes so that I can mark a check each time I’ve accomplished one. What a thrill. It’s a lengthy list, mostly because I’ve started listing such menial tasks as “check email,” just so I have something to check off. When I’m really desperate, I add, “update checklist.” And as you can imagine, it becomes somewhat of a vicious cycle because in adding “update checklist,” I’m updating my checklist, right? Or does that not count? What does it mean to “update checklist,” and when is said updating truly complete? This raises all sorts of existential quandaries, and while finding the meaning of life is great and all, when you get down to it, it’s not on my checklist. But there are a lot of other things on my checklist that I’ve now spent twenty minutes not doing. It’s been quite a productive night.
I’m sorry to say that writing this article is not on my list. But, after staring at a blank word document for a couple of hours hoping that a 500-word essay would miraculously appear (and let me tell you, when you stare at a blank page long enough a lot of things start to appear- a lot of things that are not 500-word essays), I found myself growing more and more troubled with the college admissions process. The creative juices began flowing, and who are you, [enter name of any fine institution of higher learning here], to stifle my creativity? The result is what you are currently reading: a manifesto of sorts that sums up a fraction of the mumble-jumble that has been circulating through my head for the last couple of months.
I won’t just rant
I’m going to try really hard to prevent this from degenerating into a five-page rant detailing the harrowing trials and tribulations of me and my fellow college applicants. I’m not going to regale you (or pester you - I’ll leave you to decide) with stories of how I, at the tender age of 17, discovered a cure for cancer, taught a blind man to read, scored the game-winning goal, and wrote and published two novels, all while pursuing life-enriching cultural activities and engaging in numerous social endeavors. I will not proceed to complain about how unfair the admissions process is, or whine about how much higher the stakes are today than they were twenty years ago, or (my favorite) entertain you with a charming anecdote that chronicles the plight of a promising college candidate who did it all, and then didn’t get in. No, no, I won’t do that, I very well could, believe me. I’m 17; the ability to complain is not lost on me. Quite frankly, however, I’ve heard it all before, as I’m sure you have too, and I’m sick of it.
The dreaded question: Where are you applying?
At this point in our slightly one-sided dialogue, you probably want to ask me where I’m applying. Come on, just admit it, you’re curious. If we were having this conversation in person, you might phrase the question in what you think is a subtle, if not conniving, way. “You’re a senior, huh?” you might say. At which point I would give a little nod. “And, well, what have you been up to lately (and there’s an implicit wink-wink, nudge-nudge kind of thing going on)?” Or, if you’re feeling bold, and you very often are, you’ll just come right out and say, “So where are you applying?” Most irritating, however, is what I call the concede and attack. That’s where you say, “I know you probably hate this question, but…” At which point, out of propriety and politeness, I have to suppress the urge to say, “Yeah, actually, I do hate that question.”
I’m sorry. Do I sound bitter? I don’t mean to sound bitter. If I were you, I’d be curious too. But, you see, all of those seemingly innocuous sideline chats and dinner party heart-to-hearts and veggie aisle tête-à-têtes just hype up an already hyped-up phenomenon that has taken up residence in our town next to obsessive soccer dads and 10-year-olds sporting $100 furry boots. I’ve been told that this is a peak year admissions-wise. I’ve heard that the demand is high but the supply hasn’t changed, which puts the customers (myself and my peers) in an unfavorable position. While this information does not exactly elicit kicks and giggles, to some extent, I hope it’s true because if it’s not then I am seriously concerned for future generations of high school seniors, including my three siblings. There are ramifications and consequences of all this admissions hype, and, I’m afraid, their scope and magnitude will only be heightened if we don’t take a step back and evaluate the situation at hand.
College frenzy affects classroom
What concerns me most is how the college frenzy manifests itself in the classroom. Don’t get me wrong, my experiences in Greeley classrooms have been spectacular. I’ve had many inspiring teachers and the students with whom I’ve had classes for the past four years have, for the most part, been incredibly smart. But, among even the smartest students, there is a lot of attention paid to earning a 4.0. While having an impeccable transcript at the end of high school is a noble goal, and of course is important if one hopes to gain admissions to the country’s most selective schools, there is a certain something that is being compromised. Granted, I am in fact one of those students who stresses out and vies for that 4.0. I am just as much a perpetuator of this cycle and an instigator of the frenzy as the next person. My point, however, is that with more and more energy focused on making the grade, we lose sight of why we’re in school in the first place. I know, I know, I shouldn’t be so idealistic, this is high school; who actually wants to be here? However, fundamentally and theoretically, we go to school to learn. And that is something that seems to be slipping away from the minds and hearts of Greeley’s brightest.
I see this in classes of students who care more about earning 4.0s in AP US History than actually understanding the politics in which we will one day play a role. I see this in classes of students who, after coming across something they may not understand, first ask, “Will this be on the test?” before deciding whether they should take the time to understand it. I see this in students who, on the first day of AP English, hear an extensive list of authors whose works will be explored throughout the year, from Faulkner to Shakespeare to Conrad, but pose questions regarding the multiple choice questions on the AP exam. Again, I am guilty of this myself, but it is a problem I see throughout our community. While this would probably be the right time to posit a solution, I’m not quite sure what this solution would be. There are a lot of things about the college admissions process that irk me, but a lot of them are out of our hands.
We will all end up somewhere
My classmates and I have been repeatedly told that we will all end up somewhere next year and will probably be happy, regardless of where we are. I’ll let you know in a year how that works out for me. If, however, that is the case then perhaps it would be wise for the parents in this community, as well as the students (myself included), to acknowledge this and act on it. Performing well on the SATs is important, but is it worth a year of tutors and countless hours of preparation? Perhaps that time would be better spent with a book in hand that hasn’t been published by Barron’s, Kaplan or the Princeton Review.
A year from now, I will (hopefully) be in college with all of this anxiety behind me, but you will probably still be here. Ezra Pound once said that “real education must be limited to men who insist on knowing – the rest is mere sheep-herding.” At the most basic level, we go to high school to learn. Let us ensure that it stays that way. With that in mind, I think I’ll chuck my checklist and find some Faulkner to read, at least for tonight.
Gili Kliger is a senior at Horace Greeley High School and a co-editor-in-chief of its student-run newspaper, The Greeley Tribune.
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