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- Feb 10, 2012
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*some details in the following post may have been adjusted to maintain anonymity*
There was a girl I was tutoring in Ochem. She was smart and nice, but also one of the most frightening cases of helicopter parenting and casual over-achievement I have ever seen.
She was the kind of person who had never played a video game...never enjoyed a TV show...never read a book outside of class...never even had a hobby.
Getting into medical school was more than her hobby. It was her entire life.
Beginning in high school, she spent one summer working at a camp for deaf children. She spent the next at a camp for dyslexic children where they worked through Harry Potter. She spent some summers doing mission trips abroad. She worked in one local hospital in the OR (I'm still not sure what exactly she did...). She spent weekends at the local children's hospital. She was a contributing author on at least 2 research papers (I don't know where she found the time). At some point, she did water polo.
All of these are things her father scheduled for her or paid for or pushed her to do.
Her father was a plastic surgeon with connections. Determined to see his daughter not merely get into med school, but get a full ride into harvard. And somehow, even that would be a disappointment to him.
I was in their dining room discussing EWGs and EDGs and their effects on the reactivity of benzene when he stormed into the room. "What is this?" He yelled, holding up a calculus exam with the grade "B+"
"It was a tough test," she said.
"How can you fail so miserably when you have TWO calculus tutors?" He raged.
"It would be different if you allowed me to take an easy class or two--like Spanish."
"NO DAUGHTER OF MINE IS GOING TO VALIDATE THE MEXICAN INVASION BY LEARNING THEIR LANGUAGE!!" He tossed the calculus test on the table before us. "Your shift at xyz charitable services starts in an hour."
"I thought that was on saturday?" She said.
"The university premed society switched its meeting to saturdays. I had to switch around your other obligations."
That was the moment I realized: I was not competing with this girl for a spot in medical school. I was competing with her father.
Her millionaire, OCD, surgeon of a father.
She had a 3.95 GPA and a 96th %ile MCAT.
She shadowed 12 different physicians in 10 different specialties. (I saw the spreadsheet.)
She was the perfect premed. She checked every box and exceeded every expectation.
The only thing she didn't have was a desire to be a doctor.
There was a girl I was tutoring in Ochem. She was smart and nice, but also one of the most frightening cases of helicopter parenting and casual over-achievement I have ever seen.
She was the kind of person who had never played a video game...never enjoyed a TV show...never read a book outside of class...never even had a hobby.
Getting into medical school was more than her hobby. It was her entire life.
Beginning in high school, she spent one summer working at a camp for deaf children. She spent the next at a camp for dyslexic children where they worked through Harry Potter. She spent some summers doing mission trips abroad. She worked in one local hospital in the OR (I'm still not sure what exactly she did...). She spent weekends at the local children's hospital. She was a contributing author on at least 2 research papers (I don't know where she found the time). At some point, she did water polo.
All of these are things her father scheduled for her or paid for or pushed her to do.
Her father was a plastic surgeon with connections. Determined to see his daughter not merely get into med school, but get a full ride into harvard. And somehow, even that would be a disappointment to him.
I was in their dining room discussing EWGs and EDGs and their effects on the reactivity of benzene when he stormed into the room. "What is this?" He yelled, holding up a calculus exam with the grade "B+"
"It was a tough test," she said.
"How can you fail so miserably when you have TWO calculus tutors?" He raged.
"It would be different if you allowed me to take an easy class or two--like Spanish."
"NO DAUGHTER OF MINE IS GOING TO VALIDATE THE MEXICAN INVASION BY LEARNING THEIR LANGUAGE!!" He tossed the calculus test on the table before us. "Your shift at xyz charitable services starts in an hour."
"I thought that was on saturday?" She said.
"The university premed society switched its meeting to saturdays. I had to switch around your other obligations."
That was the moment I realized: I was not competing with this girl for a spot in medical school. I was competing with her father.
Her millionaire, OCD, surgeon of a father.
She had a 3.95 GPA and a 96th %ile MCAT.
She shadowed 12 different physicians in 10 different specialties. (I saw the spreadsheet.)
She was the perfect premed. She checked every box and exceeded every expectation.
The only thing she didn't have was a desire to be a doctor.
