She had just visited the school where her dad, Kyle, and I met. Northwestern would be lucky to have you. Remember, it was easier for us to get in back then.
Now, even though you have better grades and scores than I ever did…" "I know, Mom. It's a crapshoot," she finished my sentence. "It's not that you can't get in.
It's just that…" "I know, Mom! With their single-digit admit rate, they can be extra choosy. If they want an urban Asian girl who wants to study cog sci, but also plays lacrosse or oboe, they won't pick me," she said in a singsong voice, mimicking me.
"You told me a bazillion times!" Even though I repeated to her the same reminders I gave my coaching clients to manage expectations, I didn't manage my own. Deep down, I never expected that her early decision application would get deferred to regular admission. I knew better yet became indignant.
Not only did Kyle and I go there, but my brother had gone through the seven-year undergraduate to medical school program. Kyle's sister got her master's in journalism there, and my father got his Ph.D. there. "Did you name her after Allison Hall?" our fellow alumni friends asked after she was born.
We named her after the dorm where Kyle and I had met. This shouldn't have surprised anyone. Kyle was an ultra-fan, even when our sports teams were terrible.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
