Thursday, March 14, 2019

Most parents aren't guilty of buying our kids' way into college. But what else are we guilty of?


My son, like the majority of college-bound students, earned his acceptance to a university the honest way. He reported his high school grades, ACT scores and extracurricular activities. He wrote essays. He asked his counselor and teachers to write letters on his behalf.
Cooper was not accepted into every college he applied to. He was disappointed but not devastated. He has chosen an excellent school that offered him a partial scholarship and that seems to be an ideal fit for his interests and talents.
This is how most students make the transition from high school to college, and this is why many of us are upset by news that the Justice Department has charged 50 people with bribery related to an outrageous college entrance scheme. Wealthy parents reportedly paid bribes to ensure that their children received acceptance letters from elite universities (and took spots that should have gone to other students).
The majority of us play by the rules and don't have the money (or the lapsed ethics) to buy favor. We've taught our children to dream big and work hard. We're outraged — or at least concerned — that rich folks are buying admission for their kids.
Yet before we middle-class, rule-abiding parents get too smug, let's consider some questionable choices that many of us make, albeit on a less visible, less obnoxious scale.
First, too many of us have bought into the false premise that elite brands are always better and that association with prestigious names guarantees success.
The categories change, depending on your stage of life, but the snobbery remains. Baby stroller, preschool, sneakers, luxury handbag, watch, SUV, college — we're willing to spend more than we can afford on the most prestigious names in an effort to impress ourselves and others.
Yet we know, deep down, that our identities aren't defined by what we wear or what we drive or even where we go to school. Who do we love? How do we spend our time? How do we help others? We often don't spend enough time helping our children — and ourselves — answer these questions.

Second, we parents have invested too much time and energy in engineering our children's lives.
It is appropriate, for example, to arrange playdates for your children when they are in preschool and unable to schedule their own get-togethers. It is inappropriate, though, to coach your daughter on who she should or should not invite to her own middle-school party.
It is appropriate to help your child gather supplies for a school project. It is inappropriate to design, cut, color, assemble, glue and glitter the project for your child.
What does it say to our children when we orchestrate their social lives and take over their schoolwork? I'm guessing it sounds something like, "I don't trust you enough to take care of this the way I would. You won't do it correctly. Step aside."
Third, we sometimes insist on gaining entry to programs that aren't necessarily designed for our children.
I have a friend who, years ago, applied to a prestigious preschool for her child. The child did not get in. The next year, on advice from families already in, the mom arranged for an expensive item to be donated to the preschool's annual silent auction. Lo and behold, that child was accepted on the second try.

In fact, the preschool wasn't a good fit. The child didn't meet expectations, and the parents and school mutually agreed to not re-enroll.
Some parents force their children to study for cognitive tests to gain entry into gifted and talented programs. The ability to memorize test answers doesn't indicate academic giftedness, though, and if a student is accepted to the program, there's no guarantee that she will perform well with a curriculum that wasn't designed for her.
When a student earns admission to college based on his own merits, he's got a greater chance of success. Those chances are even greater when he's not concerned about arbitrary labels and when he's confident in his own abilities.
Those college cheaters, when found guilty, deserve justice. Universities must investigate and regulate their policies that allowed cheating. And parents — all of us — need to consider the smaller ways that we cheat our own children of independence and confidence.
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.

Wednesday, March 06, 2019

Veganism, nuclear engineering and a mom trying to keep up with her teens' passions

From Saturday's Briefing:

Each stage of parenting creates new expertise.
Moms of infants are walking encyclopedias on car seats, diapers and sleep schedules (or lack thereof). Toddler parents know all the indoor and outdoor playgrounds within a 10-mile radius and which 30-minute television show is entertaining enough to buy you time to prepare dinner or fold laundry.
Elementary school moms and dads become go-to gurus of play dates and birthday parties, recreational sports leagues and art classes, spelling lists and multiplication tables, state capitals and summer camp options.
And then, with the advent of middle school, that smug sense of having it all under control starts to unravel. Those children we've nurtured and protected have more freedom. They've been developing their own interests, beyond what we've fed them. They choose their own clothes, their own books, their own TV shows, their own friends.
Suddenly it seems as if your child's interests are totally independent of your own — a natural evolution that nevertheless takes us expert parents by surprise.
Cooper was in middle school when he developed an interest in nuclear engineering. While I had a vague idea of the existence of nuclear engineers, I didn't know enough to even consider it as a possible career for my son.
He spent his junior year of high school researching the effects of small modular nuclear reactors in a community setting — words that I didn't know went together. This year he's devoting even more time to the field, creating original work related to nuclear engineering as part of an independent study. He's working with a mentor engineer from Comanche Peak Nuclear Power Plant, a partnership that he initiated after weeks of cold calls, emails, interviews and LinkedIn maneuvering.
Thanks to Cooper, I now know that nuclear power plants provide about 20 percent of the nation's electricity, that the production of nuclear energy is carbon-free, and that safely run plants offer nothing to fear. I am no expert in the field, but I'm happy to support my son as he tries to become one.
I offer a different kind of support for one of Katie's passions. She was in elementary school when she elected to become vegetarian. I adjusted her meals — and some of ours — accordingly. She's survived more than five years without meat. Now, in the middle of eighth grade and after extensive research, she has chosen a vegan diet.
This means she eats no animal-based products — no cheese, no eggs, no ice cream. It's not a lifestyle I would choose. I don't need steak, but I'm pretty sure I can't survive without chips and queso.
Katie isn't interested in converting me or her brother or anyone else, for that matter. She's not offended in the presence of a rack of ribs or a hunk of roast beef. But she is unwavering in her commitment to her choice, in support of her own health, the environment and the treatment of animals.
Together she and I are trying a new vegan recipe each week. Thai peanut noodles, toor dal with cumin, quinoa and black bean salad with lime dressing. I'm hovering, on the lookout for calorie count and adequate protein while teaching her to look for the same. Occasionally I remind her that she can choose to return to animal products or even meat without judgment.
I'm no expert in veganism, and I may never be, as long as I continue to embrace the inherent comfort in dairy. Yet I'll willingly root for Katie's choice and give her the freedom to become her own kind of expert.
Perhaps that's the real expertise we need to develop while parenting teens — stepping back, trusting those strong souls we've been nurturing from the very beginning and being open to what they can teach us.
Tyra Damm is a Briefing columnist. She can be reached at tyradamm@gmail.com.
Cooper's nuclear engineer mentor took us on a tour of Comanche Peak Nuclear Power Plant.