GETTING INTO COLLEGE, WHATEVER IT TAKES
WHEN PARENTS, PROFESSIONAL EDITORS AND COUNSELORS LEND A HAND, HOW PERSONAL IS THE PERSONAL ESSAY?
BY MAY AKABOGU-COLLINS
My son, Rocky, is a high-school senior who is applying to colleges. I am already overwhelmed by the process. What he must do to get into a good school! Provide recommendations, fill out financial-aid forms, take the inevitable standardized tests–and in addition to all that, write a personal essay.
Soon after he took the PSAT, we were deluged with letters of solicitation from colleges all over the country. Then he took the SAT. Yet a further batch of solicitations arrived. I narrowed the choices to five. At an average rate of $60 per application, that’s plenty.
Rocky loves to draw. You could lock him in his room for hours and he’d never look at his watch. He excels in subjects that are creative. Drama (he has starred in a couple of high-school plays), writing and various art classes consistently earn him A’s. But in any subject that is based on fixed rules, like math and science, his grades are mediocre. His SAT scores are not perfect, although his GPA is above average.
Before Proposition 209 passed and California’s state schools were prohibited from giving preferential treatment to minorities, Rocky’s scores would most likely have guaranteed him admission into a reputable university. Today, my son must rise and fall on his own merit. That’s fine, but the more I learn about the application process, the more I wonder: is the playing field level for any student, even now?
I asked my friend Eva [not her real name]. Her daughter attends an Ivy League school, and her son entered one this fall. “Rocky must write the perfect essay if he is to have a prayer,” she advised, and promised to send me copies of her kids’ winning essays.
I’ve known Eva’s kids for a long time. They are well rounded and intelligent, had above-average test scores and GPAs and were active in community service and sports. Even so, there are certain nuances of thought and reasoning that come with age and experience. After reading the essays, I suspected they hadn’t been written without a lot of help. I called Eva.
“Did your kids really write these papers?” I asked, incredulous. “Well,” she chuckled, “for the most part.” A college professor of English, Eva is also a consummate writer.
It was clear that it was up to me to help Rocky craft a gripping essay. But how much help was appropriate? Once again I asked Eva.
She said she had coached her kids, given them some “motherly editing” and sent their essays to “an independent college counselor for further suggestions.” Finally, she had hired a “professional editor for stylistic improvement.”
A professional editor? When I was applying for college many moons ago, all I had to do was earn good test scores and write, all by myself, a personal statement about “What I Want to Be When I Grow Up.” The only “fatherly editing” I received was a demand that I change my intended major from journalism to economics.
I was slowly realizing that Eva knew a secret language–the language of college applications. I knew I had to learn the language, so I decided to consult an expert.
“The key is to let on that Rocky is a minority–subtly, of course,” the expert suggested. “Rich kids and athletic recruits get special consideration; why shouldn’t he? Proposition 209 notwithstanding, colleges still cherish diversity.”
My son wants to major in film and become an actor. No doubt attending a reputable film school like UCLA’s or USC’s would greatly hone his talent. But should we use any means necessary to get him in?
One college requires him to write about a person who has influenced his life. “Your mother,” I suggested. I recounted the details of my struggles and triumphs–growing up in Africa, surmounting racism in America, surviving divorce and single parenthood and, in spite of it all, earning a Ph.D. in economics. Now I felt compelled to write it down… just in case.
I handed the essay to Rocky. “Good story, Mom,” he said 10 minutes later as he handed it back with a few red marks where he’d made some corrections. “I learned a new word: clitorectomy. I’ll use that in my essay. It’s a definite attention-grabber.”
His essay? Weeks later, Rocky is still working on it and getting advice from his English teacher, who has spent a good deal of time going over the basics of the personal essay with the class. Meanwhile, I wonder how many parents cross the line I did–the one between “guiding” and actually doing their child’s work for him.
Perhaps I should have trusted that Rocky is a good writer and smart enough to ask for help if he needs it. The other night he stopped by my room on his way to bed and suggested I send my next essay to a magazine. Maybe I will.
