I spent the pandemic years as an Admissions Director at a large, urban community college. For nearly two years, we were fully remote and by most measures, we handled it well.
We were nimble. We pivoted quickly to virtual classes, online advising, and endless Zoom meetings. When we finally looked back on that chapter, we felt a quiet sense of pride. We had guided thousands of students through one of the greatest crisis of modern times. We had survived.
What we did not see coming was what followed.
Everything changed during the pandemic
High school had changed. Students had changed. Their expectations, their confidence, their energy and attitude for school all felt different. Everything we thought we knew about grit and resilience no longer applied. After the pandemic college was not a return to normal. It was something entirely new.
During those years I was also the mom of a first-year college student. And while my professional transition to remote work felt manageable, my personal one did not. Classes were now held in his attic bedroom, and the group synergy and camaraderie of classmates had vanished. Isolation, fear of a global pandemic, and the uncertainty of what the future held were all very real detractors.
My son checked out and failed every class
Eventually, he checked out. He failed every class that spring.
We tried again that summer. A tutor. A fresh start. Just one class. He failed that one too. And when fall registration rolled around, he sat me down and said what I had been quietly dreading. He needed some time off. He wanted to work for a while and see how it went.
As an Admissions professional for 30 years and a college writing instructor for a decade, I knew this story. I knew that young people learn differently, mature at different rates, and develop an appreciation for learning at their own pace.
It’s all so different when it’s your own kid
But, this was my kid.
I played it cool, but I was devastated. I knew that pressuring him or letting him know how upset I was was not the best move. I showed little emotion and encouraged his exploration, hoping one day soon he would experience a change of heart.
It took three years, three jobs, conversations about learning a trade, two layoffs, and a stint with DoorDash before he came around. By then, he was out of the house, living with his slightly older, college-educated, high-achieving partner. For the first time, he was feeling the weight of not measuring up and the pressure of shouldering his share of the household finances. It was a simple, humble request, “So, Mom, if I were to go back to college, would you still help me pay for it?”
When my son decided to return to college, I could not say no to helping him
How could I say no?
His partner was fully supportive and willing to carry the household finances while my son finally got serious about his education. This was a dream come true for any parent, but for me it was especially meaningful. I had spent my entire career in higher education, and my son had grown up on college campuses.
He had been the adorable, well-behaved child mascot of the Admissions Office, present and very much involved in holiday parties, open houses, and homecomings. He had also spent more late afternoons in my office than I care to count. College was never some distant or unfamiliar concept in our house. It had always been part of his world. So when he said he was ready to go back, it felt like his story was finally looping back to where it all started.
I offered my son an incentive to work hard in school
My greatest worry was not academic. It was that past failures had not only soured his educational experience, but had served a significant blow to his confidence and self-esteem. I worried that college no longer felt like a place where he belonged, and that the letters and numbers on his transcript had now redefined his self-worth. I believed in him and knew there was a smart, capable college student behind that abysmal 1.8 GPA. So, I took a chance and made a bold offer. “If you take a full-time course load and get all A’s, I’ll give you $1,000.”
As parents, we are almost never sure we are doing the right thing, using the right tools, or instituting the right reward or punishment system. Nevertheless, I took a shot and told myself that in the worst-case scenario, I would discover my son is not easily persuaded by money (not really a bad trait, to be honest).
At the end of that first semester back, he made me pay up with five A’s. He followed that with two summer classes, both A’s, and a final, full semester to earn his A.S. degree. Sixteen credits. All A’s. He graduated with a 3.6 GPA and earned a full-tuition scholarship to my alma mater, my former workplace, and the very same college where he had spent so much of his childhood.
My son succeeded in college
One year later, he texted me, “I just did the math. If I get all A’s this semester and next, I’ll graduate summa cum laude.” I read the text out loud to my husband and asked, only half joking, “Who is this person?”
I never had to offer him another dollar after that first deal, and I do not regret it for a second. It was never really about the grades. The money gave him a goal he would not have set for himself, because, at the time, he did not believe it was possible.
Once he reached it, something shifted. He started to believe. He began to believe in himself, in his abilities, and in his intellect. He began to see himself as a college student. Someone who belonged. Someone who deserved to be there.
And, sometimes, that’s all any of us ever really need.
The author wishes to remain anonymous.
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