Uni Flashback

MY DS is halfway through his sixth form experience (AS results next week!) and so like thousands of other parents we are currently going through the nightmare of supporting him as he wades through brochures and websites looking at universities.

It's hard to prevent my natural helicopter parenting tendencies from taking over and snatching the application forms away from him.
Tiger in Berlin Tierpark
Tiger in Berlin Tierpark (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I am torn between letting him make all his own choices and hoping it all works out and wanting to protect my young. (Hmm maybe less helicopter mummy and more tiger mummy?)

We have spoken to friends who employ graduates in the field is is hoping to work in - they have offered advice and it's frustrating when he seems to disregard it.

But then I remember being exactly the same. Apart from taking advice on which actual course to do I ignored all the official advice about choosing three universities, going through UCAS, having a back up plan.

I put all my eggs in one basket and hoped for the best. Luckily my gamble paid off and I was one of the lucky few to be selected after a gruelling multi-stage entry process to join the National Council for the Training of Journalists (NCTJ) course where I studied law, public administration, journalism, typing and shorthand before being released on indentures (paid training) for two years before taking my finals.
I enjoyed years working in print journalism before life, 7 children and a laptop led me to blogging and you dear reader.

So I shouldn't worry when he says a shared room will be fine ( I'm thinking he'll be disturbed by his flatmate's noisy music, noisy "romances" mad axe-murdering habits......)

Image of All the UK
 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
And I shouldn't worry that he hasn't got D of E Gold award or a year of volunteer work hand-feeding blind kittens or a North Pole expedition to find the Holy Grail to put on his personal statement.

And I shouldn't get too frustrated when he totally disregards how far away the uni of choice might be. I'm thinking train fares, petrol to get his stuff there and back every year, parental visits when he develops appendicitis in the night.
He's thinking: "Great! 800 miles between me and my barmy overbearing tiger mother."

I just have to do what my mother did all those years ago and sit tight, smile and hope that for him, like me, it'll all turn out just fine.

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