24 hours to decide

The Mission: This family visited three colleges in three days to decide whether each school would make the cut. This was the most expensive window-shopping experience the family had ever undertaken.

The Student: Christopher Sebilia Profession: student, possibly a future engineer or architect Approach to college search: Easy going. It would be nice to go to a place where there are cool things to do on weekends.

The Mom: Carol Sebilia Profession: Professor of sociology Approach to college search: Methodical. Mom feels unprepared unless she has read every college advice book and scoured every college Web site in advance of the trip. Her quest is for a quality educational experience. Her anxiety is driving the rest of the family nuts.

Is it possible to make good decisions about the next four to five years of your son’s life in 24 hours? In that amount of time, my family flew to Oregon, sized up the area, evaluated a college and decided if it merited placement on my son’s short list. This is an account of my family’s 24-hour college tour.

Thursday, 4 p.m. to 6 p.m. I feel that I have forgotten something, but what? Never mind…The stop for gas and the heavy traffic has already put me behind schedule. Thankfully, my son was packed and ready. We dash off to the hospital to pick up my husband from work and full-throttle to the airport. I’m sure we’ll make the plane until I heard the gate attendant’s words: “These tickets are for tomorrow’s flight.” My jaw falls open as I gasp. Beside me, I hear my husband clear his throat and sense from the foot-to-foot weight shift that his eyes are bulging in pre-explosive mode. I had made the reservations and was responsible for this catastrophe. The combination of a credit card, a remarkably competent airline employee and the booked passengers who had the decency not to show up avert disaster. With the purchase of three standby seats, our 30-year marriage remains intact. This is a rocky start.

6 p.m. to 9 p.m. The packed flight forces us to be seated apart from each other. This proves fortuitous, as Chris is seated next to an off-duty pilot who had apparently majored in conversation. By the end of the flight, Chris has been peppered with questions about the value of a liberal-arts education and the meaning of life. I consider this serendipitous practice for his interviews tomorrow. It will save me drill time. Upon landing, I am relieved to find that I have rented the car for the correct date. We head south on the interstate through heavy mist, known locally as Oregon sunshine, and arrive in our hotel room in time to see who was voted off “Survivor.”

Friday, 7 a.m. to 9 a.m. I pack my approximately eight pounds of college books and papers essential to the college-search process and conduct a cram session for whomever will listen. I highlight interesting statistics, reminded us of questions to ask, and just as in class lectures, I don’t stop until their eyes glaze over. We arrive at the University of Oregon campus and find the admissions building located near a dorm whose residents have posted signs reading: “Free the trees; legalize hemp.” I find myself chuckling, impressed with the correct use of the protesters’ semicolon.

10 a.m. to noon Sara, a cheery Oregonian, leads us on a 90-minute campus tour beginning near the volcanology building. Oregon requires that 1 percent of new public construction costs be devoted to art, and it shows. Huge cedar and oak trees canopy walkways leading to cascading fountains. Sculptures form centerpieces on bright green lawns. Rhododendrons blossom pompously in hot pink colors near a pioneer statue, where Sara pauses to tell us the history of the campus. I prepare to be enlightened. “We believe this statue is the model for the one in Homer Simpson’s town of Springfield,” she says. “The dining room behind you is the one made famous for the food fight in ‘Animal House.’ And the art in our science building represents…some nuclear fusion thing. I am not a science major.” So much for historical enlightenment.

Noon to 2 p.m. Our admissions presentation was scheduled for 1 p.m. A smiling admissions officer ushers us into a small office where we and one blonde-haired Rastafarian-wannabe were the only audience. I catch a look from my son meant only for me; I had suggested he wear a shirt with a collar and dress pants in order to make a good impression. The young free spirit is wearing flip-flops and a ripped ensemble that would have been rejected by Goodwill.

2 p.m. to 4 p.m. Chris has an interview with an architecture-department rep at 2 p.m. With my husband and Chris navigating the campus map, we find the correct building. Chris is on his own from here. As I watch him enter the building, I know he will start with a firm handshake, use good eye contact and ask appropriate questions. I see his potential. And I knew the interviewer would, too. Within the hour, Chris meets us and reports that the interview had gone well. We wander through campus and revisit the outdoor adventure office and the student union.
Though it felt longer, it has been fewer than 24 hours since we left home. Chris has reached a decision that he had not found in the college directories. It has been a very long day.

By day, Carol Sebilia teaches sociology at Diablo Valley College in Pleasant Hill, Calif. Each evening, she agonizes about college admission for her son, Chris.

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