I’m holding a perfect package — a college acceptance folder that will be sent to a future student. It’s a perfect grouping of papers saying, “You did it!”
Today, I was assembling 31 such folders to send to overachieving 20-year-olds, who will be receiving this bit of perfection in five to 10 business days. They have all been accepted to the summer program of their dreams and are highly — in fact, frighteningly — anticipating the acceptance folders I’m putting together.
They’ve already gotten e-mail notifications, but the folder is better. The folder can be touched; the folder can be hugged; the folder can be thrown in the air and the folder can be held for hours as the realization of one’s accomplishment sets in.
I, too, once waited by the mailbox every day, memorizing the mailman’s route down my block. I truly believed that he knew how special his cargo was the day I received my perfect folder, and all day he walked around cheery and whistling.
I, too, know the joy of having my perfect package. Because I know what is going to be happening in Stanford, New Orleans, Nashville, Albany and all over the country, it has taken me almost an hour to assemble these folders. These folders with their congratulatory letters, profiles of past attendees, and the most beautiful “Frequently Asked Questions” page ever to be printed will go through their annual process.
I have memorized the contents of the folder, too. It is so special. I run my fingers over each individual page and try as hard as I can to perfectly place one behind the other. It’s nice to share in the joy of people you have never met.
Once the perfect folder has been perfectly memorized and the perfect recipient has left for his perfect summer program, the once beloved folder will be stored away.
The way I slowly, softly placed the Graduate Admissions Office business card in between the four fine slots cut inside the cloud white folder doesn’t matter to anyone except for me. I ripped the inside of one folder and that one was immediately tossed out. I couldn’t let this imperfection be passed all around Charlotte, N.C. — the student who’ll receive it doesn’t know the kind of humiliation I nearly caused — yet saved her — from.
Handmade items are always looked at as being special. Jewelry, furniture and all kinds of crafts cost more when they are handmade. The time that has gone into my handmade folders however, does not matter. What will always matter is the first word on that front page letter: “Congratulations!”
When the perfect student’s grandchildren ask him about his college accomplishments, “Congratulations” will always be there as something so special, and no one will care who in a sense made it all possible. Maybe I should save copies of these letters to show my own grandchildren, but that would just be selfish and a little pathetic.
After all, why envy someone else’s perfection when I can go and make my own?
Rachel Goldfarb, of Flemming Drive
