Once More, This Time With Feeling: The System Is A Placebo, Folks, Not A Panacea

I really don't think this is a case of "Good Old Days' Syndrome."

When I was in high school, there were a couple of days in the spring when we got out of class and filled in bubbles on a Scan-Tron sheet. We didn't take it very seriously as I recall..."it" being something from some California college (Stanford, I think) and somehow supposed to measure our achievement in academia. A few weeks later we'd get some sheet of paper back that told us what percentile we landed in regarding our achievement in academia. This sheet was supposed to go to our parents. It usually took me a few days to remember that--not because it was something I wanted to hide from Mom, necessarily--it's just that paper was relegated to a level of unimportance. If you'd asked me what percentile I was in regarding any subject, I wouldn't have had any idea.

I've said several times here in The Diner that I had no idea of my class rank until the very day we graduated at rehearsal and they told the class who would be sitting on the stage, which went to either the top 10 or those in the top 10%, I forget which. I got to sit up there because I was class president and you're darn right I stood up when they asked the top 10% to stand and be recognized. I wasn't going to be the only guy on that stage sitting down, man. I felt pretty good about it when my best friends Hal and Smitty were in the class rows standing up, too. We gave each other the chin nod and waved and got recognized, too. I know this because all our parents were sitting together and yelling at us to sit down because we shouldn't be standing.

And, I do remember the spring day when ACT scores hit the counselor's office. Over the next few days we compared numbers as you ran into various folks...not because we cared about at 26 or a 23, but rather to make sure that those friends we were going to room with had covered some base line that guaranteed you a spot in a state university. We needed to know because if they didn't get the grade up after the next time they took it, we'd have to look elsewhere to cover that extra $40 a month for their share of the apartment rent...and if they were the guy that had the couch, then we'd be needing to find a guy who could get a couch.

There were only two or three people in our class that took enough advance placement classes and did well enough in them to get their GPA up over the 4.0 mark. They were battling it out for valedictorian and salutatorian. Most of the rest of us were hovering round that 3.5 and 3.25 area, thankful that P.E. and Chemistry carried the same weight in the grade scale.

With this as my experience, I caught myself yesterday in a strange place.

See, now all the kids in our area take something called the PSAT. I'm not even fully sure what all is on this thing...but the bottom line is that when you take it your junior year in high school, if you do well enough on it, you get on a series of important lists. The biggest one being something called a National Merit Scholar. Apparently, you can score well enough on this test, obtain this distinction, and money for college appears. It's like finding a magic lamp that gives you one wish when you rub it...and all parents wish for a full scholarship, hopefully with books, fees and room and board included.

And our kids have caught that, folks. Yesterday, these results got into the kids hands. There was a flurry of activity including text messages and lunchtable discussions and phone calls. They were comparing notes and asking questions.

I had to catch myself.

I, too, wanted to know what these numbers meant NOW. The junior year, apparently, is the one that matters. My daughter isn't there yet. I wanted to know where she stood in relation to her class.

Percentiles seemed to matter.

Class rank seemed to matter. In a world where nearly 15% of a class has OVER a 4.0, and nearly 30% has an "A" average (and yet, to hear administration tell it, we don't really have grade inflation. Hmmm.), I wanted to know what happened when you combined your percentile on the test with your GPA.

I wanted to know the average number of points a person jumped between their sophomore year and the junior year when it, apparently, matters.

I wanted to hear stories of kids who weren't in a certain percentile and then their scores jumped the next year in dramatic fashion, hearing about how parents who didn't expect to have a Commended Scholar wound up with one and got a full scholarship with books and fees and room and board included because their kid made an unexpected leap into a percentile when it mattered most...and then they texted their friends.

And I had to stop and remind myself...

...what is seen is temporary.
...what is unseen is eternal.
...thinking that getting a scholarship and class rank and all that will lead to a successful life (whatever that is) needs to be put in the proper perspective. Plenty of National Merit Scholars have flunked out of universities, and plenty of "D" students have graduate degrees, man. Really.
...that my child's walk with God is of infinite more importance than percentile.
...that integrity in the little things matters.
...that sometimes pride creeps into areas when we least expect it or never even thought we cared about.
...that maybe there's too much pressure on high school kids to fit certain molds or follow certain formulas for success that really aren't all that certain.
...that I have no idea how to stop the tide of thinking that the value of education is so your kid will be a success, when it should be an end to itself.
...that sometimes I think I'm too idealistic and naive and romantic.
...that I don't think those are bad things.

So, I made a decision to let it go, man.

And, while I'll make eggs the morning of the PSAT next year and make sure a good night's sleep is in order...

...I'll spend more time trusting God and making sure I'm raising my child in the way the Creator of the Universe has for her to go. Which may or may not be involve percentiles and scholarships and resumes and class ranks.

But, I'll trust.

Or at least I'll try to.