My youngest child, the only girl in a sea of older brothers,
is now in her junior year of high school.
Somebody throw cold water on my middle-aged quasi-hippie face, because I
cannot comprehend that my nest has its last little birdie making plans to fly
away. She and I both are a little
overwhelmed with the thought. But
here it comes regardless and we have begun to have some serious discussions
about what her post high school years will look like.
Ms. Schauer, our new, competent, and lovely high school
business teacher, opened the door to the Magic Tree House a couple of weeks ago
and breathlessly announced that I was wanted in the office. Uh oh. That could only mean one thing. I was in trouble… again. She must have seen these very thoughts flit across my face
for she quickly reassured me that nothing was amiss and that I was going to be
asked to help chaperone a high school college tour trip. I released a held breath. Phew… crisis averted.
I ran up steps from my dungeon and into the superintendent’s
office and happily agreed to offer my services. I had been trying to figure out dates for taking Hannah
college shopping anyhow. This
would be perfect. I could ask
questions of our tour guides and various department heads, and maybe even find
a way to embarrass my daughter a little in front of her friends. Win/win.
We loaded our junior and senior classes onto a rental bus, a
total of twelve teens (no, not 1,200… just 12), and headed for the eastern edge
of the state. The winds were
favorable and the weather perfect for our bused voyage. We visited a total of four
institutions; two four-year universities and two two-year colleges, with
enrollments anywhere from 15,000 to 500.
We peeked in endless classrooms, were greeted by an endless stream of
instructors all espousing their program as the “best in the state.” I cannot tell you how many times I
heard, “we stand out because we truly care about our students.” They said all things they should have
said. I would have expected no
less.
It was a great trip from start to finish. College is a hard sell sometimes to the
sons of farmers and ranchers. It
is usually assumed that the son will take over the farm or ranch upon
graduation from high school.
Delaying that by two or four years is often seen as unnecessary and
frivolous.
But I like to see a kid fully explore all options before
deciding any life path. I always
say with all the earnestness I can muster, “You can be ANYTHING you want to be. Do you understand what an amazing gift
that is? You are only limited by
your own choices.”
I was very, very happy today when my girl heard some very
encouraging words about the field of study she has been considering. Turns out it is a field very much in
demand in our state right now.
I could see her confidence in her choice growing by the moment. I think she is feeling a certain peace
about her future. I hope so.
I will spare you the minutia of the last two days, but I
have to describe the tiny two-year school we started with this morning. I am still grinning over it. It is too delicious to not share.
It is located in the Turtle Mountains of northern North
Dakota in a town called Bottineau.
The very friendly and likable faculty ticked off all of the usual
reasons why our students should consider attending their fine institution. I was a little amazed that they didn’t
route us back out the front door before the tour even began when one of our
chaperones innocently asked our liaison why there was a boy playing against a
girl on one of the giant posters outside the gymnasium. (Awkward pause), “…um, that IS a
girl.” Egad. We just contracted Foot in Mouth
disease. Where is the eject
button??
Anyway, the tour and talks went on as planned with friendly,
happy students answering questions and playing the role of beaming ambassadors,
and free T-shirts all around, and coaches and professors and durn near the
entire faculty joining us for more enthusiastic recruiting. And then… the most priceless gem of the
four schools was laid at our feet.
“Oh, I nearly forgot,” said our liaison. “You can bring guns to school with you.” Twelve heads swiveled in her
direction. Stunned silence. After
a short processing pause I asked, “did you just say they CAN or CAN’T bring
guns to school here?” She never
batted an eye. “You CAN bring
guns. We have a gunroom. You know… for the kids that like to
hunt.” She was just warming
up. “And the dorms, both boys and
girls, have deep freezers for the wild game they get.” I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. Are you KIDDING me?? In this day of Kindergarteners being
suspended for drawing guns on paper or pointing sticks on the playground and
here is a college that encourages firearms?? I love it. I absolutely
love it. Somebody call Garrison
Keillor. This is rich material.
My second favorite quirky fact from this school was the
presence of bicycles painted forest green and the name of the school hand
painted on the side. They were
scattered all over the grass near doorways and sidewalks. These were apparently donated for the
student body to share. So if a
student wanted to get Dairy Queen or Walmart, and didn’t have a car at their
disposal, they can simply find a bike lying around in the grass and off they
go. Images of the old movie,
Harold and Maude popped unbidden into my head. Apparently the college president had the misfortune of
riding his personal bike to campus one day and came out of his office to
discover his bike gone. It had been hijacked for a quick errand. He had to wait for its return. He should have known to buy a color other than green.
You are probably wondering why I was a poor chaperone. Cause I was perpetually the last to be anywhere
we were supposed to be, that’s why.
The last to eat breakfast, the last to board the bus, the last to exit
the convenience store. Last, last,
last. My superintendent was
waiting for me at the door of the bus this morning. “Where have you been??” he demanded. I showed him my groovy cool, sparkly
rhinestone watch. “It’s 8:27. You said be here at 8:30. I’m early.” He grunted.
“Oh, you’re one of THOSE,” he said with disdain. Then he scuttled away like I was
leper. Hey, if you wanted me here
at 8:22 you should have said 8:22.
I am very literal.
And so, I am home and tired and happy to sleep in my own
TempurPedic bed tonight. I am
happy that my daughter had some great affirmation about her future goals. I am happy that some of our students
saw a different horizon than they had dreamed possible for themselves
before. I am happy to be a teacher
in a tiny, rural school in the middle of nowhere that cares enough about its
students to take them on a first class, whirlwind tour of higher education
institutions. I am happy that
tomorrow no one will be waiting for me at the door tapping their watch and
looking annoyed.
I am happy that there are still places in this world that
care little for political correctness.
I am just plain happy. And tired. Very,
very tired.
Hello, bed.
Goodnight, world…
