On Thursday I attended my first LSAT class. I went with a prestigious company known to only hire instructors who scored in the 98th percentile of the exam, or higher.
She seemed to know exactly what she was doing. Rather than just chucking the scantron sheets at the students right away, our instructor made sure to shake our hands as soon as we entered the room, introduce herself, and allow us to do the same. She talked for a few minutes about how the class would work, some phone numbers to have on hand-- the usual headliner items. In this vein, she gave us some information to put the test's importance into perspective. We learned that law schools have an index numbering system they use to rank and evaluate candidates, and that an individual's LSAT score influences about 75% of their ranking.
With a quick side glance, I could see the immediate effect that this statistic had on the room. Everybody sat up a little straighter, pulled in their chair a little closer, raised their heads slightly higher in order to face the petite blonde.
Of course she had to stress the importance of this test, it was her job. Not just as charity, but to stir up some anxiety as well-- heaven forbid any of us feel confident enough after taking this practice exam, that we were to withdraw from the class! So, that was to be expected.
But I guess she got a little overzealous in her cause, because, next thing I know, this happened.
"So, that means you guys had better take this class seriously. How are you going to get married otherwise, right? ... I mean... if you don't do well on the test, you can't get into a good law school, and if you can't get into a good law school, you'll have to marry someone ugly or dumb, and later when your kids complain about being bullied in school, you can tell them it's because you didn't study for the exam!"
I grinned slightly and shook my head. Apparently, this was an inappropriate reaction, as I was met with a wide eyed look from the instructor and a quick "What?" in an eerily matter-of-fact-tone. And then she moved on. If anyone else around me also found this to be riotously silly, they weren't showing it.
I let my expression melt into theirs and let it stay that way all the way through the exam.
I have always striven to excel academically, in whatever I wished to pursue, without thinking twice about whether the idea of that success, in itself, could possibly be a bad thing.
Is this how LSAT scorers in the 98th percentile are supposed to think, though? That your ability to pass a standardized exam would not only decide your life partner, but form the basis for your persona? Is this perspective one that law schools would wish for their best students to find acceptable, even if only as humor?
Some people say that the ideal that a nation ought strive for is a meritocracy. And I do think, that so much of the allure of a first world country like the US lies not only in the potential for success, but in the programmatic nature of this success. "If/ then" statements start to become a road map for happiness here.
"All you have to do is obtain a shiny degree from one of these schools, and then you're guaranteed a job at one of these companies, and then if you keep working 60 hour weeks you'll eventually fall into this income bracket, which will assure you of that retirement home, who's sure to pick out the perfect casket for you! So, anyway, yeah, that student loan is probably a good idea."
This sounds wonderful to someone who may have never had an outside shot at these material comforts. It does amaze me, that, in a few tens of thousands years, humans have been able to rise from an anarchic state of nature to eventually create a mechanized process that ensures their daily survival.
But then at some point, their children grow up believing that life is always going to be a giant paint-by-numbers. That if you eat an apple a day, wash your face with this soap, finish all of your spelling homework, and brush your teeth every night before going to bed, you're bound to be healthier, smarter, sexier, happier. Certainly, you're entitled to a better standard of living than your predecessors.
Call them spoiled brats, but this the vision of their future that scores of middle-class Americans are raised to understand. And for so many years, it was one which at least seemed to be within their grasp.
So then, what of the so-called outliers? Those people who are unable to follow these steps, or are unwilling to, or those who do but who never get the expected results?
Are they just supposed to accept that someday, their kids could turn out to be too ugly or stupid, and may complain of being bullied at school?
She seemed to know exactly what she was doing. Rather than just chucking the scantron sheets at the students right away, our instructor made sure to shake our hands as soon as we entered the room, introduce herself, and allow us to do the same. She talked for a few minutes about how the class would work, some phone numbers to have on hand-- the usual headliner items. In this vein, she gave us some information to put the test's importance into perspective. We learned that law schools have an index numbering system they use to rank and evaluate candidates, and that an individual's LSAT score influences about 75% of their ranking.
With a quick side glance, I could see the immediate effect that this statistic had on the room. Everybody sat up a little straighter, pulled in their chair a little closer, raised their heads slightly higher in order to face the petite blonde.
Of course she had to stress the importance of this test, it was her job. Not just as charity, but to stir up some anxiety as well-- heaven forbid any of us feel confident enough after taking this practice exam, that we were to withdraw from the class! So, that was to be expected.
But I guess she got a little overzealous in her cause, because, next thing I know, this happened.
"So, that means you guys had better take this class seriously. How are you going to get married otherwise, right? ... I mean... if you don't do well on the test, you can't get into a good law school, and if you can't get into a good law school, you'll have to marry someone ugly or dumb, and later when your kids complain about being bullied in school, you can tell them it's because you didn't study for the exam!"
I grinned slightly and shook my head. Apparently, this was an inappropriate reaction, as I was met with a wide eyed look from the instructor and a quick "What?" in an eerily matter-of-fact-tone. And then she moved on. If anyone else around me also found this to be riotously silly, they weren't showing it.
I let my expression melt into theirs and let it stay that way all the way through the exam.
I have always striven to excel academically, in whatever I wished to pursue, without thinking twice about whether the idea of that success, in itself, could possibly be a bad thing.
Is this how LSAT scorers in the 98th percentile are supposed to think, though? That your ability to pass a standardized exam would not only decide your life partner, but form the basis for your persona? Is this perspective one that law schools would wish for their best students to find acceptable, even if only as humor?
Some people say that the ideal that a nation ought strive for is a meritocracy. And I do think, that so much of the allure of a first world country like the US lies not only in the potential for success, but in the programmatic nature of this success. "If/ then" statements start to become a road map for happiness here.
"All you have to do is obtain a shiny degree from one of these schools, and then you're guaranteed a job at one of these companies, and then if you keep working 60 hour weeks you'll eventually fall into this income bracket, which will assure you of that retirement home, who's sure to pick out the perfect casket for you! So, anyway, yeah, that student loan is probably a good idea."
This sounds wonderful to someone who may have never had an outside shot at these material comforts. It does amaze me, that, in a few tens of thousands years, humans have been able to rise from an anarchic state of nature to eventually create a mechanized process that ensures their daily survival.
But then at some point, their children grow up believing that life is always going to be a giant paint-by-numbers. That if you eat an apple a day, wash your face with this soap, finish all of your spelling homework, and brush your teeth every night before going to bed, you're bound to be healthier, smarter, sexier, happier. Certainly, you're entitled to a better standard of living than your predecessors.
Call them spoiled brats, but this the vision of their future that scores of middle-class Americans are raised to understand. And for so many years, it was one which at least seemed to be within their grasp.
So then, what of the so-called outliers? Those people who are unable to follow these steps, or are unwilling to, or those who do but who never get the expected results?
Are they just supposed to accept that someday, their kids could turn out to be too ugly or stupid, and may complain of being bullied at school?
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