Friday, April 23, 2010

It's the Least Wonderful Time of the Year

It's time for high school seniors to graduate and look forward to the dreaded task of being advised and then attempting to register for whatever measly schedule of courses may remain, as upper lever classmen have had weeks to ravish what once was a full and bright future littered with ideal class options. Well, if you're graduating high school, I don't encourage you to hope for much better than Ceramics I for Fall 2010, and no, it doesn't transfer to A&M. But that's the nature of the beast.

While I, the academic advisor, could easily become friend or foe to these green, and already embittered freshman, pondering such results is often not the reason for the sour churning in my stomach as I leave the warmth and safety of my office to retrieve a student and the student's data sheet. Instead, it's spotting the dreaded sticky note attached to a student data form. Why, you ask? How could an item as small, functional, and convenient as a sticky note induce such angst? Because the letters on that inconsequential piece of paper spell out P-A-R-E-N-T. AAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! This impending meeting has taken a horrible turn. A student has brought the parental unit with them. Students, if you can avoid this scenario...the one where your parent breathes down our necks and tells you which courses to circumvent a great deal of sweat, blood, and tears...for both of us.

Having said that, I understand being really concerned that you understand every little detail pertaining to the potential events for the next four or five years of your child’s life, but it is necessary to set a limit on the parental mania that is often coupled with freshman registration. Where is that limit, you may ask? Well…I think I’ve found it.(This really happened) You’ve most likely crossed the threshold once you’ve decided to hunt me (the advisor) down in the bathroom to ask more questions after I have just met with you and your child for almost an hour! Nope, she didn’t need to go. She just wanted me to answer more questions and apparently saw me go in there. I was fortunate enough to have finished my business and was exiting the stall when she pounced. I suppose it is fortunate for her as well, as she did not have to look under the stall doors to discover which one I had chosen to occupy.


Oh, and the next bratty student that comes in to merely grunt and sigh like a petulant teenager whenever I indicate a class he will eventually need to fulfill, I would like to kindly remind him that I don’t have kids yet and would like to postpone my own personal experience with teenage angst and rebellion and general distaste for manners for as long as possible!

It's now 1:57pm and my lunch break is almost over. Dear, Lord Baby Jesus, can we fast forward to 5pm? Just this once...

Bis Bald,

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