Advisee Reports

It's time for my advisee reports again. And because five new Norwegian girls arrived, my advisee list is up to ten. They have their homeroom advisors and their international student advisor and their academic advisor and me, their residential advisor. That's a lot of advising. I tell the girls that we are just hoping they like one of us enough to ask questions when they come up.

Every six weeks or so, we send reports home to their parents. We include academic, citizenship and extra-curricular comments. Some of them flow easily, the Brazilian girl who stops by the desk when she comes in from school every day. The prefect who I work with on duty and everyone knows. And sitting behind the duty desk as the girls come home from school tells me a lot. I see who is friends with who. And who immediately signs out to go meet up with her boyfriend, the kid with glasses waiting outside behind a tree until he hears the slam of our front door. I see who had a rotten day of classes by how quickly they ask for the kitchen key and how many bags of microwave popcorn they bring. I see who is in sports, their marroon and white uniforms with the outline of a husky head. I see who is excited by what activities, grabbing nearby dry erase markers to make sure their name is at the top of the list for a Portland Mall trip. I see who must hate the cafeteria food because they'd rather walk every day (sometimes in 30degree weather) to go to the Chinese food restaurant four blocks away.

But even then, there are the ones who slip by. The quiet, hidden girls who whisper past my door on the way to morning meeting and are a blur sneaking home from school. They disappear in classes and blend in the cafeteria. They have friends, giggle with their roommates at night, and sign up for dinner and a movie trips. But they don't seek out adults. At least not me. And when I knock on their doors to chat, their eyes take up half their face like cartoon animals facing a demon.

It is sometimes their personalities that are shy and sometimes their limited English keeps them shadowy. But either way, I have to find something to tell their parents that proves I pay attention to them. One of the other supervisors was writing a report about one of the new girls, and asked me, "Don't you think parents get tired of hearing, 'Your daughter is awesome.'?" I immediately answered no. Any healthy parent relishes hearing how much the world appreciates their child as much as they do. And other parents could take it as compliment meant solely for them and how their child must have gotten all their glowing qualities from their parents.

I email their teachers. I corner them after school. In my head, I include things their parents wouldn't want to know.
"Kitty is a very bright girl. Her teachers are impressed with her college-level writing. I'm so sorry I made her puke in my car that one time."
"Paula's English is impressive, especially for only having study it for the past year. I hope she hasn't learned the word for moth to tell you about that weird infestation of them in her bathroom. It's all cleared up now."
"Louise has an infectious laugh and you made the right decision not letting her spend the weekend in Boston with her older, married, online boyfriend in early September."
"Mary struggles with her English, but with more practice, I know she will improve. That is, if the ghost in her room doesn't suck out her soul."

They may not want to hear those things, but it would sure make it easier on me to include the good stuff.