I grew up on the East Coast playing played water polo with men and boys on a club team in a mid-Atlantic state. In my mid-teens, my parents flew me up the Eastern seaboard to get experience playing with women on a New York college club team. We played in tournaments against Princeton, Harvard, Brown and a few other schools. Along the way my athletic ability brought me to the attention of the Harvard water polo coach. He wanted me to play for his team.
The high school I attended was ranked one of the best public schools in the nation. I was honors this and that and took a few AP classes. My grades were decent; my SAT’s good, not great.
Back in the day, the interview with alumnae was a heavily weighted part of the application process. Harvard set me up with an alumnae married couple, both attorneys, in my town.
Despite my naturally friendly and outgoing personality, this husband and wife were not impressed with my accomplishments or me. They barely made eye contact as they poured over my transcripts, their expressions mirror images of disbelief and disdain.
“How did you even get an interview with us?” the wife asked.
“You’re not Harvard material,” the husband said.
I was unfazed. I’d met these two before. The suburbs of Washington D.C. were full of ultra-competitive, workaholic, eggheads. I’d babysat for their kids. I’d met their incarnations in my friend’s parents.
“Water polo coach wants me,” I explained. “They’re building their team.”
I had no doubt they would try to sabotage my chances in their evaluation.
I also knew it made no difference. The coach could easily pull me in. I’d be an asset on his fledgling team whereas I’d barely start at one of the powerhouse women’s water polo teams in California.
As I left their McMansion and got into my parents’ old station wagon I wasn’t worried about not fitting in at an Ivy League school. I wasn’t concerned about the academic rigors. I certainly didn’t share any of their concerns about my ability to ‘hack it’ at the number one college in the country nor did I give much thought to the loans I’d be taking on.
What gave me pause was their lack of empathy. Did an ultra-competitive environment create that kind of person? If so, I was in trouble. I wasn’t competitive with my peers academically, but I was insanely competitive in the pool. Were they representative of what the combination of success, supposed intellectual superiority and privilege did to people? Would my own ego inflate to outsized proportions dragging the “My-name-is-Kate-and-I-went-to- Harvard” moniker behind me the rest of my life?
I wrote a letter withdrawing my application from Harvard University the next day and hoped I’d be accepted into one of the University of California schools I’d applied to.
In the three decades since I graduated from the University of California I’ve been able to take risks without the burden of astronomical school loans (Harvard didn’t give athletic scholarships). I’ve worked as a firefighter/paramedic, started a successful small business, had a few novels published and raised a family. I’ve maintained my optimism and empathy and have no regrets.
Kate
UC
