Yesterday, amidst the Christmas cards and junk mail, a couple of envelopes addressed to Thing One arrived. The sender? The University he applied to for admission last week.
The path to college for Thing One has been a convoluted and complex one. If you have followed this blog for any time at all, you will know that at one point in the past couple of years, my kid wanted to drop out of high school. Fortunately, we found a private high school that is a perfect fit for him, and, with plenty of sacrifices to make it possible, he has attended that school for the past 18 months.
Even once he was enrolled and thriving in the new high school, college was not an option in his mind. That was a tough pill for Mama to swallow because since the moment of his conception, MY path for him included college. Not going wasn’t an option.
Eventually, I came around to the idea that if he does not go to college, that is okay. It really is. Even now. College used to be the ticket to an easier life, and I’m not sure that is true anymore. However, I did a lot of my growing up when I left home. And while he could leave home without going to college, I think it is the perfect transition for him. Especially since he is now open to the idea.
So, the arrival of the letters was a momentous occasion.
He was not home when the envelopes arrived. It took all my willpower (and my recollection that opening someone else’s mail is a crime) to leave those envelopes at his place at the dinner table. When he opened the first one, he opened it “backwards” and sort of glanced at the back of the second page and tossed it on the counter. “It’s something about immunizations, Mom. I don’t know why.”
With my years of mail reading experience, something about that didn’t make much sense. So, I wisely TURNED the letter OVER.
(Aside: How on EARTH am I going to send this child away to school when he doesn’t think to turn a letter over when it doesn’t make sense? Argh!!! So much to teach, so little time!)
The first line:
Congratulations on your acceptance to the University of *******.
While I had been figuring out the oddity of getting a letter about immunizations at a University, Thing One opened the second envelope (which likely should have been opened first)….it contained one page (thank goodness) in a formal looking letter cover. No chance he would accidentally read the back of this one.
The first line:
Congratulations on being admitted to the University of ********!
To be fair, when he applied to this school, we did it as his backup to his backup. It’s close to home. It’s affordable. It’s not his first choice.
And I wasn’t worried that he would not be accepted. His ACT score was good. His GPA is decent. He’s a U.S. Citizen. He has all of his immunizations.
But when he realized what the letters meant, that’s when the magic happened.
He sat there, almost amazed, and said, “I’ve been accepted to college.”
Yes, son, you have.
“I’m a college kid.”
Yes, son, you are.
Those letters served a greater purpose than just announcing his acceptance to his 3rd choice school.
Those letters helped transform him in his own mind from a high school kid to a college-bound kid.