The Dropoff
Private high school admissions season with autism
Last Friday morning, I delivered my 14-year-old daughter, Stella, to a private high school on the Bay Area’s peninsula for a ‘student experience day’. Stella was slated to experience three classes, school lunch, and a campus tour with student leaders. Stella was exploring the school. Our family was exploring whether a private, elite academic environment offers inclusivity for Stella.
The inclusivity transformation arrived right on time for Stella, and is well-developed in the public schools she has attended for grades K through 8. All the same, the rhythm of classroom management and core curriculum galls Stella, and a private school for bright kids may offer more of the intellectual stimulation she seeks. So here we are, applying to elite private high schools in the Bay Area.
Less than an hour after drop-off I got a call from the Head of School. She told me that my daughter spent the first 40 minutes of her visit in the Head’s office, distressed and agitated because she didn’t get her top pick of classroom visits – math. Stella was itching to talk to students, teachers, or other applicants about math while visiting this school. But she was going to English, history, and art only?
They had talked at length and now Stella was attending art class. Still, though - the Head of School had reached out mid-day by phone, which is never a courtesy call. Per my MO I tried to be tactful while distinguishing these options: (i) my daughter has asked to leave for the day, (ii) we (the school, my daughter, and me) are considering the option of ending her day early, or (iii) I am being asked to collect my daughter and head home.
We started with: “I don’t know if Stella wants to stay here for the rest of the experience day.” Midway I heard: “I did ask Stella if she wanted to stay, and she said yes. But we have a very loud assembly coming up and I don’t know if she’ll be comfortable.” But then later: “I’m not sure if she will be able to meet expectations for the assembly.”
I arrived at the Head of School’s office 40 minutes later expecting further tense conversation. Instead, I heard Stella herself inside, talking in one of her happy voices. I tapped the door and nudged it open. My daughter was sharing a vivid narrative of events leading up to the famous 1914 assassination of the Archduke of Austria-Hungary and his wife, the Duchess of Hohenberg. To Stella, it’s a comedy of errors: How exactly is this grand unification going to work? First of all, your new country, ‘Austria-Hungary,’ has two names! Stella was in her oratorical stance – bent forward at the waist as if ready to scoot backwards from her own unruly words, extending her right arm repeatedly - palm inward, fingers splayed - for emphasis. When she tells a story she is charismatic and clearly autistic.
The Head of School seemed to have set aside any concerns about the day. “She is fascinating,” she told me as I walked in. Surely she had imminent duties and a tight schedule, but none of it showed. This happens with educators: once they adapt to Stella’s speaking style they find her enthusiasm and depth of insight transporting. The Head might have been visualizing that June day in Sarajevo through Stella’s comedic lens. “Darling, shall we motorcade through our hostile, annexed province with the automobile top down?”
Then Stella and I had a personal campus tour from the Head of School. Stella was herself – self-deprecating, not very responsive to direct questions, reactive (with swearing) to new fun facts. Stella’s perspicacity and big test scores notwithstanding, this application process may face a foregone conclusion - she is too evidentially neurodivergent for the elite private schools that seek her intellectual drive and provide personalized, advanced instruction. Was this effort even worthwhile? The school seemed fantastic, by the way – if I were including the name I would highly recommend it.
On Monday I received this email from the admissions director: “I wanted to circle back with you and let you know that we did go ahead and interview Stella last Friday during the English class that she didn't attend. We thought it would be easier with her already being on campus. I have gone ahead and updated her portal and removed the additional interview appointment you scheduled on 1/29.”
You kind soul. If you had interviewed Stella, you would have told me on Friday when I checked in on plans. But I get it, and I’m grateful. I had mentioned to the Head of School that we drove there from another city. Since the interview is also conducted in person, I assume they don’t want us to make another two-hour round trip when it’s clear they can’t accept Stella.
I understand what they’re up against when it comes to neurodiversity. They have to balance individual needs with group dynamics. Families invest $55K/year and expect a controlled learning environment. A classmate blurting out ‘fuck!’ during discussion of World War 1 likely isn’t what these families envision – though that classmate may then articulate that she’s opining on the absurdly consequential events that shape history. Autism is absurdly consequential.