Why We Do What We Do

by Patrick O'Connor, Ph.D.

He walked into my office with his head down, eyes glued to the floor, and shuffling his feet like his shoes were tied together. My best “Hi, how ya doin’?” registered just the smallest of smiles on his face, as he made his way to a chair in my office. It was just early October, so I wondered what this lad would be looking like by February.

 

He got right to business once he sat down. “I applied to my first-choice college three weeks ago, and I haven’t heard anything” he said. “I was wondering if you might be able to tell me if they’ve told you anything.”

 

I explained that colleges almost always tell the student first, but since he was here, we could certainly call the admissions office together and see where things were. With that, his face brightened significantly.

 

Younger readers may want to read this next section carefully, since you can’t do any of the things today that I’m about to describe. In this order, I: 

• Picked up my office phone, and dialed it. Yes—dialed it.
• Called the office of admissions, and spoke with the real, live receptionist who answered the phone on the second ring. No pressing 1 for admissions, 2 for financial aid, and so on.
• Explained the purpose of my call to the receptionist, who then said “Oh, sure.” Not “I have to connect you with an admissions officer.” Looking up admissions statuses was right in the wheelhouse of receptionists.
• When asked by the receptionist, I supplied the student’s Social Security Number, which the student gave me when I asked them.
• Waited patiently as the receptionist confirmed the student’s name, then, en route to another computer screen, said to me “Oh my, with those grades and scores, we’d better have taken them.”
• Thanked the receptionist for confirming the student had been admitted, and she advised me to tell the student their letter would be in the mail soon.

Given what I knew about the student and their first-choice college, I could have predicted the student would be admitted. That, and my enormous counseling caseload, may explain why I rather nonchalantly said “Congratulations, you’re admitted” as I focused my attention on making a note of the decision in their file, rather than looking at the student.

 

He got my attention rather immediately, when I heard what I could have sworn was crying. “Really?” I heard him say, as I finished my note. Now that he had my attention, I took a long view of him, and realized what was going on. The first student in his family was going to college, and that news was eliciting a compelling mix of happiness, tears, wonder, and uncertainty. We just sat there for a moment, to let the moment have its proper due.

 

I never put paperwork ahead of students again. What I saw as a sure thing that was no big deal was certainly a big deal to them—which meant it should be a big deal to me. It has been ever since.

 

Time marched on, and May came around, with an invitation to a graduation party. Except it wasn’t for that student, and it wasn’t that May. It was about 28 Mays later, and it was for that student’s oldest daughter, who was now going to be the second generation in her family to go to college. I hadn’t done a thing to help them go to college. Apparently, their father felt otherwise.

 

Same student, new lesson. Lucky me.