(MONEY Magazine) – In my family, the dinner table sometimes served more as a forum for active debate than for calm digestion. We would gather there each night for discussion of current events, presentation of report cards and curfew haggling. Naturally, then, it was the dinner table that I pounded with my fist during my junior year in high school while shouting, "I refuse to consider the Ivy League! I refuse to attend any college less than a six-hour drive away from home! And I refuse to apply early!" My father remarked that I certainly had plenty of time to think it over. Then he asked if he could please have the butter. The exchange captured the essence of my family's experiences as I went through the process of choosing a college. We continually told one another and ourselves not to fret, but there was still periodic table pounding. Someone would remember out loud that I had failed a geography quiz in fifth grade, and the wailing and gnashing of teeth would begin. Specifically, my parents wailed; I gnashed. The College Search (capitalized to indicate its slow but inexorable domination of our lives) was highlighted by The College Tour. As we visited schools, Ma and Dad wanted to ask the guide lots of questions, and I wanted them not to embarrass me. They wanted to see classrooms, and I wanted to scope frat houses. They forced me to write down my impressions of each college, and I scrawled "Yuck -- hope I don't have to go here" on paper napkins. They were trying to help, but when they slogged me through the rain at one college, gesticulating with a moist campus map, I thought they were intent on torturing me. Having survived The Search and completed college, I can now advise parents to accompany their kids on campus visits. Your children may insist that they do not want you to go with them, but though they will never admit it, most really don't want you to leave them alone just yet. In fact, overall, a successful college search requires delicate psychological maneuvering. " The parents' presence is valuable," a friend of mine remembers, "but they really need to keep their opinions to a minimum." I think most of us felt that way. We wanted to know that our folks would still love us if every college that we applied to rejected us. We did not want to know what our folks thought about every aspect of every college that we applied to. Parents should continually remind the kid of the importance of what he's doing but not be bossy, and -- above all -- not take any resistance to their help personally. And the child must make the big decisions, such as where to apply and matriculate. I began to tackle my applications the summer before my senior year. I transcribed napkins from my College Tour. I alphabetized the bale of admissions materials. Recognizing my organizational frenzy as a flagrant attempt to avoid the applications, my parents started to ask questions that would force me to confront the important issues. Did I want to go to a single- sex college? Would I prefer the East Coast? Should I concentrate on schools with strong English programs? Of course, I didn't know the answers, but I finally started addressing them -- really considering the next four years of my life.

Visiting more campuses, we went to northern New England. "As long as we're in the neighborhood of Dartmouth," said my father -- phrasing it, of course, as a question -- "why don't we go look at it?" My stubbornness about avoiding the Ivy League had been based on strong preconceptions that its schools stood for snobbiness and conformity. But during my afternoon at Dartmouth I was intrigued -- by the beautiful campus, by the academic possibilities and by the animated student tour guide who seemed so excited to meet us and so enthralled by her school. I toured several other Ivy colleges. At Princeton University, I was enchanted by the grounds and the traditional Gothic architecture. I was impressed by the educational resources. I was in awe of the open-stacks ; library with over a million volumes. Plus, I met a cute boy from Texas who attended the school, and we started dating. I liked it there. So I decided to apply for early admission to an Ivy League college after all, just 42 miles from my Summit, N.J. home. That gave rise to more questions: Had I remembered to list JV tennis as one of my extracurricular activities? Yes, Ma. Did I put enough postage on the envelope? Yes, again. On the day the letter of decision arrived, I crawled under my bed and opened the envelope. Princeton had accepted me. Covered with dust, I bounded into my father's arms. My parents had made it clear from the beginning that the choice of a college would be mine. Largely crafty in their influence, they waited until this day to laugh and to say -- my father actually did say it -- "You were so adamant. But our fiendish plan succeeded."