The crazy excitement of applying to college on Sunday, October 7^th gave way to our standard busy week.  While we thought of our far-fetched plan and continued to discuss it, Chorus, StuCo, school plays and performances occupied far more mindshare.  When we received back to back emails October 16^th and 17^th outlining a multitude of policies and procedures for incoming students, we were fairly certain the letter would follow.  Indeed it was right behind.

While the technology tools available to college students have become more readily accessible, college procedures  are no simpler than my own Freshman experience.  Determining what hour of what day Soleil would qualify to register in the hierarchal puzzle, what pre-requisites were required, which classes were available to non-majors, what supplies were necessary for the classes and what would remain available left me frustrated.  Despite our advances in technology, the software used is archaic.  There wasn’t a drop down menu in sight.  Regardless, we muddled through and determined several classes of interest, should they be available by the time open enrollment allowed registration.

The day of open enrollment I was nearly as tense as the day my bar results were released.  Soleil had her heart set on a couple of classes that almost fit reasonably into our family schedule and I was loathe to find them full.  When the hour was upon us, we logged in and in mere moments registered her for her most preferred class.  It was almost too easy. My eleven-year-old was an admitted and enrolled college student.

I love how nonchalant Soleil is in retrospect.

She was a little nervous. I was shaking like a leaf.

My internal prayer: Please let the professor be open-minded. Please let the students be understanding. Please let the syllabus be reasonable.  Please let the building be intuitive. Please let us have the right supplies for tonight. Please let us thaw before we meet anyone. The list was endless.

I caught the professor headed to the supply closet and explained ever so briefly that I was there with Soleil, and she was not accompanying me.  It wasn’t bring your daughter to school day and you missed a memo, Professor.  I asked if I could sit in the first two classes, and, perhaps still in shock, she acquiesced.

She introduced herself and asked the class to do the same including a brief history of experience drawing.  “My name is Mary and I’m a Junior.  I haven’t taken an art class before. “  “My name is Karen and I drew in middle school,” etc. Soleil was second to last. “Hi, my name is Soleil, and yeah, I’m eleven,” she said with heartbreaking poise and charm and a shrug.  “I uhm, drew in middle school, too, ‘cause I’m in middle school now.” If she’d thrown in a wink, I’d have been worried, but she was genuinely connecting with the other students.  “I’ve been drawing pretty seriously for three years, concentrating on Manga.”

And that was it.  Just like that, she had introduced herself to her college peers. No bumps, no bruises, and no bad vibes. She’s just another student in a challenging art course, determined to draw better. I finally remembered to breathe.

My eldest daughter starts college tomorrow.  I say this three times fast. It doesn’t settle better.

Soleil (my eldest daughter, not the Cirque show) is eleven. And while I suggested college as a joke, this is largely her idea. And I approve.

We were having a conversation about all of the things Soleil would like to do and try: art, history, law, biology, chemistry, advanced mathematics, gymnastics, kung-fu, more art, chorus, volleyball, orchestra, literature, writing…the list was endless and I completely related.  I worked full-time through high school and college and regrettably missed so many things I would have liked to “try.”  Alas, public education required hours upon hours of unchallenging and unnecessary requirements, while negating our passions for all but two elective hours a day.

We determined there weren’t enough electives in Soleil’s day, nor would there ever be.  We also determined that, given her level of sophistication and maturity, the extracurricular classes for which we could pay dearly (yes, more dearly than state college), would be full of children who lack her level of intensity and dedication, and generally frustrate her to no end, an experience she’d suffered repeatedly.

Here I suggested college classes so she could earn credit for all her exuberance, an idea to which she immediately glommed.  Her passion for the variety of study available was fantastic but foreseeable.  Our research began immediately.