(All based on true stories.)
We had just talked about a student who was applying to his highly competitive college, and the admissions rep said he needed to get to his next high school. Rather than take him to the closest exit to the building, we went to the next one—allowing us to walk through our art gallery, where there was a painting done by the student we had just discussed.
“Hey”, I feigned, “what do you know? Here’s the latest work by that student.”
The rep read my motives in a heartbeat. He started to say well, yes, but he was running behind, and couldn’t really spend time looking at—
And then he saw the painting, a look which was followed by a defining pause.
“Yes. Well” he said.
Two weeks later, he called my office.
“We’re admitting her early” he said. “We really see something in the artwork.”
It’s more than OK if a student is waiting for you when you open up the office first thing in the morning, since they are typically cheery, and sometimes even bring pastry. The ones to watch out for come in two minutes after you open up. They’ve been pacing in the hallway, trying to figure out just what to say, or maybe even thinking twice about coming in at all.
He was one of the latter students, and his generally cheery face was ashen and exhausted. “My dad lost his job, and we’ve just been evicted.”
As dazed as he was, he did a remarkable job of telling me what all this meant about college plans. To no one’s surprise, he needed more money.
I’d served on a professional committee with the director of admissions at his first-choice college, so she took my call right away. The director immediately went into problem-solving mode, and when we came up empty, she said, “I see an ACT of 28. Too bad. One more point, and that’s $40,000 more in scholarship.”“It is a 29” I said, “I’ve got it right here.”
“Oh, OK. Tell you what. We usually require official copies for test scores, but if you happen to fax that to me in the next five minutes, and I happen to be going past the fax machine, well, what can I do?”
The student left school that day, college plans in place.
My other student wasn’t as fortunate. His mother, one of the most engaged, supportive parents in the history of the world, passed on after a brief illness, and the student was an only child. “Dad still wants me to go away to college” he told me, “but I don’t know if I can do it.”
It was August, and he was supposed to report to orientation, five hours away, in two weeks. I called our admissions rep, and explained the situation.
There was a long pause. “Well”, he said, “we’re always saying we’re like a family. I guess it’s time to prove it.”
And they didn’t disappoint. The student came home for Thanksgiving beaming about college, and life, and what was to come. It wasn’t in his job description, but the rep had made sure that would happen.
The travel is long, the pay can be bad, GPS isn’t always right, and every high school counselor is looking for an inside track. Despite that, they are the guardians of the integrity of our profession, our students, and themselves—and at the end of the day, they acquit themselves with panache, enthusiasm, and heart.
Road warriors? More like masters of life’s roadways.
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