Why I Trusted Another Student With My Son’s College Questions
By Aisha L. (not her real name), Parent of a High School Junior
I never thought I'd let someone just a few years older than my son guide him through something as important as college admissions. But here I am—grateful that I did.
I come from a family that believes in adult guidance, professional expertise, and structured planning. As a nurse who worked her way through community college and nights shifts, I’ve always told my children, “Do your research, talk to the experts.” So when my son Malik (not his real name), a high school junior with big dreams and even bigger anxiety, started asking questions about applying to college, I assumed we’d talk to counselors, admissions officers, maybe hire a consultant.
What I didn’t expect was that the turning point would come from a 20-year-old junior at a university I hadn’t even heard of until last year.
The Questions I Couldn't Answer
Malik is smart, driven, but cautious. The kind of kid who reads every word of the Common App before filling in his name. He had questions—so many questions. Not just about deadlines or financial aid, but things I didn’t know how to answer, like:
- “How do you talk about something painful in your essay without sounding like you’re trying to get pity?”
- “What if I get in but don’t feel like I belong?”
- “How do you even know what to major in when you haven’t tried anything yet?”
I realized my advice, rooted in my own lived experience—apply, work hard, be grateful—wasn’t enough for the world he was stepping into.
Then We Found Jordan
Jordan (not his real name) is a peer advisor—though he never introduced himself that way. He just said, “Hey, I’m a first-gen student too. I remember having the same questions.” That’s all it took. They clicked instantly.
What made Jordan different wasn’t his knowledge of application deadlines or the jargon (though he knew that too). It was that he remembered. He remembered what it felt like to sit in a room full of more confident kids, to hear about “early action” and “demonstrated interest” for the first time, to wonder whether talking about growing up in a multigenerational household would make him sound “too different.”
That memory—that closeness to the experience—made him someone my son could actually open up to.
More Than Just Logistics
Jordan didn’t just answer Malik’s questions. He asked his own. “What’s the class you took that surprised you the most?” “Who do you help at home when you’re not doing schoolwork?” “What’s a time you felt really proud of yourself and didn’t tell anyone?”
These weren’t filler questions. They were the keys to Malik’s story.
One day after their session, Malik handed me a printout of a draft essay. It was about tutoring his cousin in math and what that taught him about patience and confidence. He’d never talked to me about that before. I read it and had to blink back tears.
Jordan didn’t just help Malik write a better essay. He helped him see himself.
Why I Trusted Him
If you’d asked me a year ago whether I’d let a college student mentor my son through this process, I would’ve said, “Maybe as a supplement.” Now, I think it’s essential.
What Jordan gave my son wasn’t a strategy or a shortcut—it was trust, camaraderie, and proof that someone like him could succeed. That peer-to-peer connection filled a gap that adults couldn’t. Because no matter how many degrees or years of experience we may have, sometimes what a teenager really needs is to hear: “I’ve been there. You’re not alone.”
And that’s why I trusted him. Not because he had all the answers, but because he remembered the questions.