When Montgomery County schools sent out the acceptance letters for high school magnet programs last month, our family joined hundreds of others waiting for what we’d hoped would be good news.
But when our eighth-grader received acceptance into the highly regarded International Baccalaureate Program at Richard Montgomery High School in Rockville, my husband and I were troubled. We were proud of our daughter for being selected, but concerned about the intensity and rigor of the program.
I’d seen Race to Nowhere, the documentary that says kids are being pushed too hard in school—often because of parental desires—and are making themselves sick trying to keep up. I’d heard about high-achieving MCPS students feeling pressured to cheat just to get top grades. We’re not those pushy parents, I thought. There’s no way we’ll send our daughter to Richard Montgomery if she gets in. Who needs such pressure in high school?
Then the acceptance letter came and we attended the IB program’s open house. My daughter and I visited classes with two personable seniors. We listened as students debated moral issues in a philosophy class. It was so interesting that I had to bite my lip to keep from participating.
Throughout the morning, we saw bright students enthusiastically engaged in learning in ways that I didn’t remember from my high school years.
I was so smitten that I wanted to enroll myself. My daughter—not so much.
Turns out that she had only wanted to apply to see if she could make the cut. Although she liked the program, she really hadn’t wanted to go there.
She wanted to attend the Communications Arts magnet program to which she’d been accepted at nearby Montgomery Blair High School in Silver Spring. Most of her friends were going. Richard Montgomery was too far from home and the workload was intimidating, she said. She didn’t want to spend high school stressed out.
At first I couldn’t accept this. My 47-year-old self could easily imagine how she would blossom through the rigorous academic challenge of the IB program. Sure, she might have a difficult year or two, but I knew she’d make friends, she’d adjust.
But her 13-year-old self worried about not making the grade “with all those geniuses.”
She rejected Richard Montgomery.
The next morning, I told my running partner that I would be using the run to transition through the five stages of grief over her decision. As the miles passed, though, I came to understand that my daughter’s choice was the right one because it was her choice.
After all, as much as I was impressed by the IB program, I wouldn’t be the one up until midnight struggling to finish piles of homework. Enrolling in that program would have required a commitment of heart and soul. Her heart and soul, not mine.
And I also knew that she would thrive in the magnet she had chosen, especially because she had chosen it.
Still, I didn’t mail that rejection letter until the Feb. 23 deadline—just in case she changed her mind.
