As we signaled to turn right into the high school parking lot, a man frantically waved his hands in the air alerting us that the lot was full. At 3:30 on a Sunday afternoon, I never expected there’d be several hundred eager parents — and students — streaming into a high school gym for a glimpse of, and perhaps a quick chat with, admissions representatives and alumni from 70 colleges and universities. But there we were, searching for a parking spot so we, too, could join the throngs of college seekers on a crisp fall day.

Intimidated by the mayhem, and somewhat overwhelmed by the task before us as we entered the loud, crowded gymnasium, I whispered into Nicole’s ear, “We’ve got to move through this as quickly as possible.”

“Yep,” she agreed, nodding her head and surveying the scene. “Let’s do that row first, then wind around to that one, and continue down the line until we’re done.”

Our plan was in motion.

As we approached the first table — I believe it was the University of Vermont — we picked up a brochure amidst a variety of stacks to pull from, looking for the one containing the facts we both considered most important: fields of study (Nicole is thinking maybe psychology or English at this point), student body size (she prefers small to mid), location (“not rural” is all she’s determined thus far), and range of admitted students’ test scores (still an unknown for her, but good to know what the expectations are). We then shoved the colorful brochure and its lush Vermont landscape photo into our eco-friendly, reusable bag and continued onward.

Representatives at every table we passed, from Trinity College and SUNY New Paltz to the University of Maryland and Northwestern, all wanted us to fill out a card with Nicole’s name, address, e-mail address, etc. But did we want more potentially wasteful snail mail coming through our mail slot? Not a chance. So, after obtaining the minimum amount of paper that held the information we’d been seeking, we politely backed away, vowing to get in touch via e-mail if we needed to know more. In this type of environment, there was always a parent or kid hovering and ready to take our front-of-the-table position, allowing us to gently slither away.

Each admissions representative or alumnus who worked his college table and its collection of papers, pens, and the occasional highlighter giveaway, was very welcoming, ready to engage and happy to answer questions. The challenge for Nicole was discerning which schools she wanted to wait in line to approach, and which to skip over. If we’d stopped to talk to a rep from every school, we’d have been there for hours, and neither of us wanted to linger. We knew this wouldn’t be our only opportunity to ask questions and acquire more glossy paper, so we figured we’d hit what we thought were schools that showed any possibility. The truth is — it turned out to be most. We were at the fair for a long time.

Later, just as I was settling in to finally relax and read the Sunday paper at about 11 p.m., Nicole came barreling into my bedroom with her bag of brochures.

“Please, please, can we go through a few and take notes on them?” she begged.

I was exhausted, but I hadn’t seen her this excited about organizing something since she’d sorted her Polly Pocket dolls and their tiny, rubber clothing into boxes when she was 7 years old. So, we rifled through a bunch of the brochures, searching for the relevant facts, which she then noted on her laptop.

It’s fun to see her so enthused and excited, but it’s still early in the process and the novelty will probably wear off sooner versus later. But no matter how motivated she is, the next time we get a flier about a local college fair, I’ll suggest that she either go with her father or we opt instead to “go to” the virtual fair offered by CollegeWeekLive.com. Then I won’t even have to take my car out of the garage.

Spending aid money on a car and working too many hours can jeopardize academic success

Posted July 29, 2008

One woman used her student loan to make a down payment on a car. Another student charged her entire family's new cellphones to her new credit card, at the request of her father. Other students overspent their aid at the beginning of the semester and had to get meals from the local food pantry charity when their college aid dried up by semester's end.

A new study detailing students' financial blunders raises concerns that many undergraduates are jeopardizing their academic success because they haven't first learned how to manage money. The study suggests that for these students to navigate the befuddling financial aid process successfully, they might need to begin with learning financial basics like the difference between needs and wants, the benefits of saving, and the effects of compounding interest.

Susan Eitel, a lecturer in family sciences at Texas Woman's University, says most of the 39 students interviewed at an unnamed public university for her 2007 doctoral dissertation knew they were making unwise and wasteful financial decisions that were harming their educations, but they still did not want to bother learning about finances. Nor were they interested in making short-term sacrifices (such as selling a car or canceling a cellphone) that would raise cash for tuition and give them more free time to study and possibly raise their long-term prospects.

The students, all of whom were dependent on financial aid and were the first in their families to attend college, often focused on their immediate needs and desires, possibly in part because their parents never showed them how to work toward a long-term goal, said Eitel. "They haven't had sound financial behaviors modeled. What they learned were the wrong things," she said.

Eitel found that precious financial aid and paycheck dollars were sometimes diverted from the students' educational needs. One student, for example, spent part of her financial aid on shoes for a sibling. Others worked extra jobs to treat themselves to expensive purses, fancy hairdos, and clubbing sprees.

About half of the students lived on campus and thus could have saved several hundred dollars a month by going without a car. And many spent more than $100 a month on their cellphones. But those expenditures were deemed necessary, Eitel said. Instead, Eitel found the students typically responded to financial stresses by changing other things they felt they could control:

• Working more hours (often cutting into study time)

• Changing majors to something less costly and ambitious. (One student switched from premed to a nursing program because she feared she wouldn't be able to raise enough money to cover medical school.)

• Borrowing more. (They generally took the maximum student loan possible and didn't understand how the bills would hound them after they left school, Eitel said: "The school says, 'I'm going to lend you $5,500,' and they go 'Woo-hoo!' ")

• Scrimping on food.

• Forgoing school supplies such as textbooks.

• Dropping out.

Dropping out, unfortunately, is far too common for low-income students. Research shows fewer than 30 percent of college students from families with incomes below the national median manage to graduate before they are 24 years old. But more than 90 percent of students from families in the top-earning quarter graduate by then and have become qualified for better, higher-paying jobs. The single biggest reason all students give for dropping out: money.

Eitel said helping low-income and financially unsophisticated students won't be easy because of the students' mix of rational and irrational behaviors. How, for example, could advisers persuade students not to spend aid money to help their poverty-stricken families? In addition, Eitel said the students felt justifiably frustrated and helpless when dealing with the mysterious and unrealistic financial aid rules. Some students' parents refused to reveal their earnings and tax information, for example, which makes it nearly impossible to fill out the Free Application for Federal Student Aid and get scholarships or loans. Others called the amount the federal government expected their families to pay for college "crazy" and said they had to take jobs to raise their parents' share.

What's more, because they felt so busy balancing work, family, and school, most students felt they had no time to understand, let alone challenge, aid awards. "You are busy trying to survive. You have no time to get information," one student explained.

Still, some of the financial mistakes the students made were so blatant and potentially career-ending that Eitel was surprised at how stubbornly the students seemed to prefer expensive ignorance. When asked if they would attend a seminar that would teach them how to distinguish between "wants" and "needs" and manage their money better, the students shook their heads. "It's not something I'm interested in. It is not relevant. I can take care of it later," one said. Another explained: "If you learn from mistakes, that is the hard way. Struggles can be good because it keeps you motivated," adding, however, that "it also can defeat you."

Eitel says she wonders if "scaring them" about the fact that loans could dog them for the rest of their lives would motivate the students to wise up. And she believes colleges must realize that most students won't volunteer to learn good financial habits, so such training should be included in required coursework.

Despite all their (sometimes self-inflicted) difficulties, Eitel says she was nevertheless impressed by many of the students. True, the combination of tight money and ignorance forced some (such as the woman who bought cellphones for her family) to drop out, putting at risk their formal education and its career benefits. But, Eitel added, "for all their faults, many do persevere."