We stumbled upon a great blog post yesterday on PopSugar—Everything You Need to Know About Sending Your Child to Boarding School. Author Eleanor Sheehan is a boarding school graduate and provides 8 reasons why boarding school was a “positive choice” for her. In her words:

1. There are a lot of rules
2. Academics are rigorous
3. Discussions in class are encouraged
4. Team sports are high valued
5. Relationships are more intense
6. Expulsions are common
7. It’s rich in tradition
8. The food is good

As a boarding school graduate, a mom, and someone who works in the industry, I read her piece nodding my head in agreement to most of her thoughts. She touches on some big selling points of the boarding school option including structure, top-rate academics, the forging of lifelong friendships and mentors, and learning to thrive and survive in order to prepare for the world outside of the boarding school bubble (namely…college and life).

But she also makes two excellent points in her introductory paragraphs that I wish more folks knew.

1. We often hear the word “sent” — such as “I was sent to boarding school.” As if it’s a punishment or a sentence. Really, we need to coin a different term. These days we often find that kids are the instigators of this decision. They are opting in, asking for an incredible opportunity called boarding school.
2. “…parents can still parent without being present…” — this is huge! While I’ve never parented a boarding school child (I’m still parenting toddlers), I can say as an alum that I saw my parents all the time. And, my friends whose parents lived further away—they even saw their parents and spoke with them frequently.

What was your experience?

I started Boarding School at age 13. My Mother was in finance and her big company had a toll free 800 number which allowed me to call from anywhere at no charge on my end. As long as I didn’t have class and she didn’t have a client in front of her, we could talk forever.

There was also this thing called a pay phone – it wasn’t a pre-paid mobile device. It was a large rectangular box with a handset, shaped sort of like a banana with a round part to talk through on one end and another round part to listen through on the other. Roughly twice the size of the iPhone 6. You held it in the middle. The handset was connected by a thick armored cord to the rectangular box that had a raised key pad and a slot into which you put dimes – a small round metal currency – later quarters. The contraption was usually mounted to a wall and sometimes in a small closet for privacy. (Long ago, there were things called phone booths which were free-standing vertical closets with windows and a pay phone inside. These were an excellent place – if you happened to be from outer space and your average skill set turned out to be supernatural on this planet – to rip open your button down oxford, shake off your glasses and emerge faster than a speeding bullet into the sky with your cape billowing behind you.)

For me, I simply used the pay phone. With the 800 number, no coinage needed. That thick armored cord was my umbilical cord.

I didn’t really miss home. I was up for the adventure. But so many things happened every day at boarding school that I felt my mother needed to know about all of them. There were a million things to say. Things she didn’t even understand like why we had to play The Ramones before going to the Saturday night dance instead of The Rolling Stones because we were all wearing striped socks like in Rock n Roll High School or that the variable that isn’t squared will determine which direction a parabola will open up on the xyz axis. But she knew about a lot of stuff – obviously – and she listened.

I got in trouble my first month at school for talking too loudly – and after hours – on the basement pay phone to my Mom. To my Mom!! How can you get in trouble for talking to your Mom!?

The phone was right under the dorm mother’s apartment. Check. But which Mom was in charge here? Read more ›