Ali is a good student, but she generally frets about big tests and more than once, she's complained about the amount of pressure she feels to have a resume, grades, extra-curriculars that will get her accepted. Occasionally, l ask her what's up in that brain of hers.
"I'm a high school kid, Mom," she said. "There's just so much pressure."
Sigh. I can't relieve a lot of that. Some of it is self-imposed, but the pressures are real. They're not limited to academics, either. She handles a lot of it with grace. Other times she'll lash out with a sharp tongue. Her genetic background isn't helping her much there, and we both try to get her to be less like us in that regard.
She's a kind-hearted person, though, despite her ability to wield sarcasm like a gifted Jedi wields light.
As she left this morning, I reminded her that this is just a practice run. She'll do fine. She's ready. Regardless, she has other opportunities to take it again if she wants, so there's no need to stress.
"I know," she nodded, clearly still stressed.
Jeff delivered her to the testing site this morning after we scrambled back and forth this morning with him making sure she had an acceptable calculator, pencils were sharp and she knew the rules. I focused on the snack bag and slipped in a handful of Laffy Taffy.
He called after he dropped her off, lamenting at how he was feeling. Usually, he'll watch her go off to tackle a new milestone and crow with pride about how smart she is, how good she is, how awesome he finds her.
Today, he was more like me. Smacked hard in the face with the reality that she is so close to leaving us behind. Not that he let her see that. He was asking her if they were in the right place, at the right door. They saw a young man headed in.
"There's a tester," she said. "We're good."
"Actually, Ali," Jeff said. "That's a boy, so technically he's a teste."
"Have I told you lately that I hate you?" she responded.
Now that's good test prep.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment