What no one tells future grade 12s: A high school teacher stops gatekeeping senior year
The bell had just rung for after-school dismissal last week, and I was shoving a stack of graded essays into my canvas bag when Mia, a grade 11 student who’d hung around after my lecture, leaned against my desk doorway twisting her Potter-themed lanyard. She asked the question I get every spring from rising seniors: Is it true you only let students who already took an AP with you into your senior year AP Lit class?
My chipped ceramic coffee mug (a graduation gift from 2019) was sweating on the desk next to me, and the janitor was mopping the hall outside, the lemon scent of his cleaner drifting in. I almost gave her the answer I’ve given for 11 years: Prerequisites keep the class moving at a pace everyone can handle, you’d be better off waiting. But then I thought of Javi, last year’s senior, first-gen, worked 25 hours a week at his dad’s taco truck, never had the space to take an AP before. He’d begged me for a spot, I almost said no, I caved at the last minute, and he turned in a final essay about growing up working that taco truck that’s still in my folder of student work to share with new classes. He got a 3 on the AP exam (not the 5 everyone chases) and got into the state university’s elementary education program, which was his dream. He texted me last month saying his first college writing professor asked him to share his paper in class. In that moment, I decided I’m done gatekeeping for future grade 12s.
I pulled up a chair for Mia and told her straight: The prerequisite isn’t actually about what you can do. It’s just a rule we made up to cut down on overenrollment. If you’re willing to do the 50 pages of reading a night, you belong. I added her to the roster right there.
For decades, we’ve all gone along with this quiet gatekeeping of senior year. We let rising seniors buy into a set of unwritten rules that don’t actually serve them, because we bought into them when we were their age. We gatekeep the truth that stacking 7 APs doesn’t automatically get you into a better college than taking 4 solid classes and keeping your grades up. We gatekeep that half the kids who earn 5s on APs never even use the credit when they get to college, because their program requires they take introductory classes anyway. We gatekeep that it’s okay to not have your entire life figured out by the time you hit the “submit” button on your college apps.
The good news is, stopping the gatekeeping doesn’t require big overhauls or fancy programs. It just requires saying the quiet part out loud, and giving parents and kids concrete tools to push back on the unnecessary pressure.
For example, when rising seniors are picking courses, counselors and teachers often push extra AP or honors classes to “beef up” transcripts. If your kid is already stretched thin with work, family responsibilities, or just needs more sleep, you don’t have to go along with it. I tell parents to have their kid send this exact line to their counselor: “I’d like to adjust my course load to keep my grades and energy consistent, can we meet next week to go over my options?” It’s polite, clear, and 9 times out of 10, counselors will work with you. Most don’t love the pressure to stack credits any more than kids do.
When kids get stuck on college application essays, parents usually push them to write about big, dramatic moments: a sport injury, a mission trip, a family loss. But the best essays I’ve read over the years were about learning to change the oil in a 1998 Civic, about bussing tables at the local diner, about arguing with a grandma over how to make tamales. Instead of pushing your kid to come up with a “impressive” story, ask this one concrete question: “What’s something you did in the last month that made you lose track of time?” That question almost always pulls out a story that feels real, which is exactly what admissions officers want to read.
Another gatekept truth: Senior year doesn’t have to be a perfect, magical last hurrah. We let kids think they’ll regret it forever if they skip prom, or don’t go on the senior trip, or don’t run for student government. I was a senior once, I skipped my senior trip to stay home and watch my little sister while my mom worked double shifts at the hospital. For 20 years, I felt like I missed out on something important, because that’s what everyone told me. The truth is, I don’t remember a single thing that happened on that trip. I remember making mac and cheese with my sister and watching bad Disney movies that weekend. That’s what sticks. If your kid says they don’t want to go to that big, expensive senior event, don’t pressure them. Just ask them what they’d rather do instead, and let them do it. No guilt trip needed.
I get pushback from some colleagues, who say I’m lowering standards, that kids need to jump through the hoops like we did. But the hoops are made of cardboard most of the time. We’re just so used to jumping through them we don’t stop to check. Last year, I started reserving three spots in my AP class every year for rising seniors who don’t meet the “prerequisite” but can tell me why they want to be there. It hasn’t lowered the quality of the class at all. If anything, it’s made discussions better, because those kids have more real-life experience to bring to the books we read.
I still catch myself defaulting to the old gatekeeping sometimes, when a parent asks if their kid should add another class, when a kid asks if their essay is “good enough.” It’s hard to unlearn the rules we grew up with. But I’m trying. Mia’s coming by after school tomorrow to pick up her summer reading list. I don’t know if she’ll get the 5 she wants on the exam. I don’t know if she’ll get into the out-of-state liberal arts college she’s got her eye on. But I know she won’t spend the whole summer worrying if she’s even allowed to try, just because she didn’t check the right box ahead of time. That’s a start.
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