167. That’s how many different schools I toured during my years working as a college counselor. From large urban research universities like Georgia Tech to small rural liberal arts colleges like Ripon College, I witnessed every type of student give every type of tour. Given the number I have visited, one could reasonably assume that I exhibited an above-average voice of reason when visiting schools with my own children. This was certainly the level of parenting professionalism that my trusting husband relied upon when I took our youngest daughter on a particular college visit. His faith was sadly misplaced.

Youngest Daughter was experienced at school tours by the time it was her turn, having been dragged on her first with my eldest thanks to the short-lived concept of the Thompson family road trip “vacation,” AKA weeklong college tour. When the guide at Monday’s first stop asked during a silent march between buildings if anyone had questions, Youngest piped up, “What’s your favorite book in the library?” (Cue older sister eye roll.) This line of questioning continued during her official visit to Loomis in eighth grade, when she asked the young man unfortunate enough to tour a college counselor’s child what percentage of books in the school library were fiction versus non-fiction. (Sorry, Liam. You never had a chance.) Youngest fully embraced the first rule of any school research: know thyself.

It’s no surprise, then, that she now attends a college well known for its writing program. What was less predictable about her choice was that it is a 14-hour drive from our house. Every time we reach the last hour of the seemingly endless drive to Famous Writer College (FWC), my husband notes only half in jest as we bump along the dirt road through the cornfields (thank you, Waze) that he should have taken her on her college visits. Genuine admission: I realize now that the idea of Youngest attending FWC wasn’t exactly fully fleshed out in my mind back in the summer of 2021. Youngest and I hit the road that July excited for a trip to a part of America we had not seen, a fact highlighted when we passed the Amish oxen pulling a plow. In hindsight, perhaps we should have thought a bit more about the miles of farmland surrounding us, rather than marveling at the quaintness of the animals. We had a wonderful time in a different part of the country. Not incidentally, we also both loved the college, and returned to Connecticut eager to share our excitement about the visit.  

Had my husband been with us, he probably would have loved it too — or at least loved the look of excitement on my daughter’s face after the tour over lunch at the village pub (similar to the Amish oxen, the fact that we were in a village should probably have registered with us more at the time). But he also would have said a few things to her such as, “Now, you know there are no direct flights from Hartford here, right? And even if you fly, you have to take a bus for another hour to get here. So you won’t be able to come home easily. Something to think about a bit.” And perhaps “There’s nothing within walking distance other than a deli, supermarket, and post office, and you won’t have a car, so you’ll have to find things to do on campus. Are you okay with that?” And maybe even “You’ve never really liked languages and there’s an intensive first-year language requirement, so just something to be aware of!” And a few other reasonable, objective observations that any responsible parent should have been sharing for their child to consider. Especially the parent who did this for a living.

But he wasn’t on that trip, and he didn’t see my daughter’s face, and I was not that parent on that day. I was so caught up in how perfect the visit was — how much I could see her there, how quaint the setting was, and how happy I was that she felt the same way — that I didn’t share any of those observations with her. In the words of Youngest, this was an epic fail on my part. Well-intentioned, but failure nonetheless. I advised parents on how to do college visits with their children for over a decade, for heaven’s sake! This was not my first rodeo! But when it came to my own child on that particular visit, the experienced voice of reason was nowhere to be found.

And because he is a smart, caring, and wise parent, every one of those issues my husband gently raised upon our return were indeed ones that ended up challenging Youngest in some form or fashion when she enrolled at FWC. Does it mean that it was not the right school for her? Not by a long shot. But there’s no question that her mother failed on that day to prepare her for both the opportunities and the challenges attending FWC would present. (At the very least, a tutorial on how to find a cell phone signal might have been helpful.)

So, is this a “do as I say, not as I did” cautionary tale? Was this a successful visit, given how caught up in the experience Youngest and I were at the time? In some ways, yes; in other ways, no.

First, a successful school visit allows the student to think about who they are and how they might see themselves at the school. Not just “who am I and how will I fit in?” but “who might I become if I go here?” Both questions and their respective answers were significant factors in my daughter’s choice. In that aspect, it was a successful visit. She did her job, and she did it well.

A successful visit also enables parents to see and share with our children the opportunities and challenges the school presents based on both our experience with them and our experience at that life stage — whether we’ve attended a similar school or not. We’ve lived that phase of life, and we can help our kids see a future they might not imagine yet. For example, we may envision how the institution might help them grow based on the mission and how that mission is implemented. We can observe the types of people in the community that our children might interact with and how they might inspire them to become their best selves. We can point out the overlooked yet important, helping our children to see beyond the immediate (the sunny day, the waffles in the dining hall, the percentage of fiction in the library) to the “bones” of the school. What does it stand for? How will it both support and challenge? Does it have offerings that allow for both already-established passions and exploration of new ones? Do its values match those we believe are important? And, perhaps most importantly, adults can identify areas of “imperfection” in a school that the student could encounter long before they get there.

Because even when all questions are answered on the most successful visit, and students know themselves and what they are looking for as clearly as a teenager can, we adults know that there is no perfect school because there is no perfect anything. A veteran college counselor at my former school used to have her students chant “there is no perfect college,” emphasizing that it’s not the school that defines their experience, but the student who defines their experience. This is a key point when discussing the idea of “fit” with our kids. And while there is no perfect school, I do think there can be a perfect experience of a school, one defined by loving the place enough to work through its imperfections, and ultimately bettering oneself (and perhaps even the institution) by doing so. Education doesn’t just happen in the classroom. It happens when difficulties are successfully navigated, and when one is comfortable enough to take advantage of opportunities that have been presented. My daughter may still be passionate about becoming a writer, but she has found new interests (archery! Japanese! Even the gym!) because she had to find her way in a very campus-centered community. In doing so, she has discovered new things that she enjoys. That in and of itself is worth the 14-hour drive. At least that’s what I tell my husband every time we hit the dirt road.

So, it seems that all’s well that ends well despite my ineffectual parenting on my daughter’s school visit. The fact that she did her part better than I did mine with the big questions she needed to answer for herself is perhaps the best advice I can give to both students and parents visiting schools. Encouraging our kids to listen to their hearts and how they feel on the visit is probably the best piece of parenting advice I can give. If they like a school, they’ll figure the rest out — hopefully with some foresight provided by the adults who know and love them — and ultimately grow in the process. And that’s what the visit is all about in the first place.