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Schools

Scattergram Shock

Ugly side effects of the hyper-competitive college process.

April 1 brought a slew of college admissions decisions. For some, the news will sting. Others will celebrate. Most juniors -- in the throes of heavy academics and testing -- are just

Yet few moments produce as much anxiety as the arrival of a parent’s Naviance password. Mom or dad logs in and, invariably, falls prey to "Scattergram Shock."

What is Naviance? What is a scattergram?
For the blissfully unaware, Naviance is the online college search software to which thousands of high schools subscribe. With a keystroke, a mind-boggling amount of confidential data can be summoned.

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Log in. Scroll to one of hundreds of colleges and click. The GPAs and SATs of previous applicants from your child’s high school are instantly plotted on a color-coded diagram. A green square represents a thick envelope. A red X represents rejection.

Amid clumps of red and green, your child’s red circle is plotted at the intersection of his SAT score (X axis) and GPA (Y axis). If junior’s red circle swims in a sea of green, there’s hope. If it sinks into the clump of red, think again.

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This is the point at which parents who attended college in the 60s or 70s are shocked to learn that they probably would not be accepted at their alma mater today. As the shock wears off, they either recalibrate their expectations downward or apply increased pressure on their child. In many cases, the desire for a solution leads to hiring a private consultant.

A few years ago, Naviance informed me that my child was not a shoo-in at her dream school. Eager for reassurance, I attended panel discussions and guidance events at . Yet, even as counselors and guest speakers emphasized “finding the right fit,” the air always grew tense, with many parents viewing each other’s kids as competition for their own. Before long I noticed a pattern. The presentations were always followed by a Q&A session full of posturing. Then, after a round of gallows humor, everyone rushed home for a drink.

Hungry for information, I pursued my daughter’s overworked guidance counselor. Let’s just say she was busy helping hundreds of other students with real problems. Instead, I set out to hire a private consultant. That was my first mistake.

Private College Counselor
A friend recommended an outfit that offered a free consultation. In a basement office, we were offered seats at a conference table. College pennants adorned the otherwise grim walls. The staff member assigned to us -- I’ll call her Sarah -- had left a job at a large urban public school in Westchester to raise young children.

Sarah and her boss took notes as they grilled my daughter, who fortunately likes to talk about herself. For an hour she recited years worth of activities and interests, forked over her PSAT printout, and described her ideal small to medium-sized liberal arts college.

Sales Pressure
After the grilling came the pitch. The consultant suggested a 30-hour package for $3,000. “We just need help with a list,” I remember saying. After I balked, they proposed and I agreed to an a la carte $150/hour arrangement, but they needed my credit card “on file.” I soon figured out why.

The first strike came after I emailed Sarah a question that could have been answered yes or no. My credit card was billed $75. Explanation: it took Sarah a half hour to research the answer and type up the email.

Second strike was when Sarah arrived a half-hour late for our long-scheduled initial $150/hour session in which she promised to deliver the list.

It seemed Sarah had gone to the identical street address in Old Greenwich, while we live in Greenwich. “Oh, I tossed your directions,” she said dismissively. “I have a GPS! Did you know there’s another street with the same address in town?”

We invited Sarah to join us at the dining room table and said we were eager to see the list. “Patience,” she insisted. For the next hour she reviewed the 12 pages of essays we had submitted online to help her “get to know us.” An hour expired with no sign of the list, so we agreed to continue ‘on the clock.’

Finally, Sarah drew the list from the bottom of a stack of papers. I saw my daughter’s face fall as Sarah read aloud a list of mostly of big state universities, plus the original dream school.

If I knew then what I know now
Four years have passed and my child is a sophomore in college. While there are some terrific private counselors out there, I suggest any parent consider their motivation first. Hoping to find the secret sauce? Someone with contacts? Someone who has “pull” with admissions deans? Be honest. If you’d like someone to arbitrate your bickering with your child, manage deadlines and edit essays, then go for it.

The right person can help your child explore their true self and articulate their passions in time for the personal statement and interviews. But think twice if you’re looking to buy an edge.

After paying Sarah $75 for the email and $225 for the useless list, I read every college advice book available. All these guides are available to borrow from the library. There’s some advice, and it’s free.

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