Two days later, I was in another meeting, sitting next to another person, writing in another notebook. She wrote in large, neat, squarish cursive that marched diagonally upward across the page, blithely disregarding the horizontal ruled lines. She drew little boxes and shapes, crisp arrows that pointed sharply from one word to another, as if to remind herself of a connection between the two words that wouldn't be apparent otherwise. I had to stop myself from staring over her shoulder to study her notes.
*****
My son had an accepted students day at a small, private, liberal arts college in Maryland. It's a beautiful place, and the swim coach is recruiting him heavily, much to our surprise. He's a good swimmer, but not college-recruit good, even in a Division III school. Division III schools, of course, do not offer athletic scholarships, and this is a very expensive school. My son was offered a partial academic scholarship, and we have some money saved for his education, but not enough to cover four years of tuition and room and board. And I keep thinking that we have time to sort it all out, but he graduates from high school in about 60 days or so, so the proverbial clock is ticking.
Accepted students' day was lovely. I am a pretty typical college-educated suburban middle-class mother but I grew up in a working-class inner-city family, and my sisters and I were the first in our family to graduate from college. When I'm at high school band concerts and swim meets and college visits, I nod along and act like I know. But I feel like an impostor, surrounded by people who were born into the educated middle class and have never questioned their right to be there, and know with utter certainty that their only path is upward. But they're all very friendly and kind, and I won't mind leaving my son among their children. I'll just need to remind him occasionally not to take anything for granted, not to assume that his presence in college is an entitlement nor that his middle class good fortune is a lifetime sinecure.
*****
Didn't I start this thing with notebooks? I think I did. I think I did. And I almost bought a new notebook today, at the bookstore of my son's possible college. It was a small leather-bound notebook, its dark-blue cover embossed with the college logo. The leather cover was stiff enough to keep the pages clean and flat, but flexible enough that it would have softened in time. The whole thing fastened neatly with an elastic band. I imagined that it would be nice to write in.
It was also $24.95, and I have three more notebooks that I haven't touched yet. We haven't decided yet where my son will go to school, but if he wants to go to the private school, then we'll have to make some lifestyle adjustments. I might have to stop buying things, just because I like them, just because I'm a bona-fide member of the middle class and I can. I might have to write in regular notebooks, like everyone else.
*****
My son had an accepted students day at a small, private, liberal arts college in Maryland. It's a beautiful place, and the swim coach is recruiting him heavily, much to our surprise. He's a good swimmer, but not college-recruit good, even in a Division III school. Division III schools, of course, do not offer athletic scholarships, and this is a very expensive school. My son was offered a partial academic scholarship, and we have some money saved for his education, but not enough to cover four years of tuition and room and board. And I keep thinking that we have time to sort it all out, but he graduates from high school in about 60 days or so, so the proverbial clock is ticking.
Accepted students' day was lovely. I am a pretty typical college-educated suburban middle-class mother but I grew up in a working-class inner-city family, and my sisters and I were the first in our family to graduate from college. When I'm at high school band concerts and swim meets and college visits, I nod along and act like I know. But I feel like an impostor, surrounded by people who were born into the educated middle class and have never questioned their right to be there, and know with utter certainty that their only path is upward. But they're all very friendly and kind, and I won't mind leaving my son among their children. I'll just need to remind him occasionally not to take anything for granted, not to assume that his presence in college is an entitlement nor that his middle class good fortune is a lifetime sinecure.
*****
Didn't I start this thing with notebooks? I think I did. I think I did. And I almost bought a new notebook today, at the bookstore of my son's possible college. It was a small leather-bound notebook, its dark-blue cover embossed with the college logo. The leather cover was stiff enough to keep the pages clean and flat, but flexible enough that it would have softened in time. The whole thing fastened neatly with an elastic band. I imagined that it would be nice to write in.
It was also $24.95, and I have three more notebooks that I haven't touched yet. We haven't decided yet where my son will go to school, but if he wants to go to the private school, then we'll have to make some lifestyle adjustments. I might have to stop buying things, just because I like them, just because I'm a bona-fide member of the middle class and I can. I might have to write in regular notebooks, like everyone else.
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