The slats on the front of our house are battered. Some are broken. They tell the story of thousands of shots my son Will took against them — and they remind me of something I did at Anderson that changed everything.
The wooden slats on the front of our house are battered. Some of them, much to my wife Elizabeth’s frustration, are broken. And every one of those dents and cracks tells the same story: thousands upon thousands of shots and passes that my son Will fired into the front of that house, over and over and over again, determined to get better.
Elizabeth wanted me to stop him. Reasonably so — the house was taking a beating. But every time she asked, there was a part of me that couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. Because I had done the exact same thing.
Not against our house — against a brick wall at Anderson College, now Anderson University. Hours alone, just me and that wall, kicking the ball against it relentlessly until the repetition started to feel like something. Until the touch got sharper, the pass more precise, the shot more confident. I knew what I was doing. I knew it was the only way to get better. And watching Will do it against our house, I saw my younger self in every single strike.
Every great player had a wall
This summer, Will and I watched the US national team play in the 2026 World Cup together. There is something about watching elite soccer that hits differently when you’ve played the game — when you understand what it took to get there. The speed of the decision-making, the precision of the first touch, the quality of the pass under pressure. None of it happens by accident.
Every player on that field — Christian Pulisic, Folarin Balogun, every one of them — had a wall somewhere. A place they went alone, over and over, doing the unglamorous work of repetition until the skill became instinct. The US had a remarkable run, winning their group before falling to Belgium in the Round of 16. Watching Pulisic in tears on the sideline after being substituted told you everything you needed to know about what that journey meant to him. That emotion doesn’t come from talent alone. It comes from years of showing up to the wall.
Will understood that watching those games. He could see it in the players’ movement — the automatic quality of what they did under pressure — and he knew, because he’d been doing his own version of it in our front yard, that nothing about it was accidental.
The SAT is beatable. But you have to find your wall.
Here’s where it gets interesting for students — and a little uncomfortable.
Will loves kicking a soccer ball. The repetition comes naturally to him because the thing itself brings him joy. He doesn’t need to be convinced to go outside and shoot. The wall is its own reward.
Nobody feels that way about test prep. Nobody.
But here is the thing I need students to hear: the SAT and the ACT are not measures of intelligence. They are not destiny. They are beatable tests — tests that respond to preparation the same way a soccer skill responds to hours against a wall. The student who sits down and does the questions, over and over, who works through the problems they got wrong rather than avoiding them, who shows up to the repetition even when it isn’t fun — that student will improve. Consistently. Meaningfully.
The principle is identical to what Will does in the front yard. The difference is that kicking a soccer ball feels good and test prep doesn’t. So we make excuses for one and find reasons to skip the other. But the math is the same either way: repetition builds skill. There is no shortcut around the wall.
How to find your wall — and actually use it
Will doesn’t think of shooting against the house as homework. He thinks of it as getting better at something he cares about. Shift the frame. The SAT score you’re working toward opens doors. The prep is the training session that gets you there. Show up to it the way an athlete shows up to practice.
The instinct after getting a question wrong is to move past it. Don’t. That wrong answer is the wall. Sit with it. Understand exactly why you missed it. Do similar problems until the pattern clicks. That is where the score actually improves — not in reviewing what you already know.
Will didn’t get better at shooting by spending one weekend firing a thousand balls at the house. He got better by going out there repeatedly, over time, until it was automatic. Thirty minutes of test prep five days a week will do more for your score than a panicked all-day session the week before the test.
Parents — the families who come to me senior year wishing they had started test prep earlier are too common. Freshman and sophomore year are not too early to begin building familiarity with these tests. The students who have the most time to find their wall are the ones who arrive at the test with real confidence behind them.
Students — a meaningful improvement on the SAT or ACT isn’t just a number. It opens schools that weren’t in reach. It unlocks merit scholarships that can change what college costs your family. The work is worth it. The wall is worth it. Find it and use it.
The slats on the front of our house are probably going to need to be replaced at some point. Elizabeth has made that clear. And when the time comes, I’ll do it — but I won’t be in any hurry. Because every dent in those boards is a record of something real. Of a kid who found his wall and kept coming back to it, day after day, because he understood something that took me years of coaching to learn how to teach:
You don’t get better by wishing you were better. You get better by showing up to the work, over and over, until the skill belongs to you.
Find your wall, students. It doesn’t matter if it’s a soccer ball or an SAT practice set. What matters is that you show up to it.
Carpe diem.
Want to help your student find their wall — and build a college application around the work they’re actually doing? Entering the Arena gives you the full strategy.
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For Chris Parsons, ‘the wall’ is the place you go to do the unglamorous, repetitive work that builds real skill — his son Will firing thousands of shots against their house, Chris himself kicking a ball against a brick wall at Anderson, the US national team putting in years of repetition to reach the World Cup. The point is that skill isn’t accidental. It comes from showing up to the same work over and over until it becomes instinct — and the SAT rewards exactly that kind of preparation.
Because the SAT and ACT aren’t measures of intelligence or destiny — they’re skills tests that respond to preparation the way a soccer touch responds to hours against a wall. Students who do the questions repeatedly, work through the ones they got wrong instead of avoiding them, and show up consistently will improve — reliably and meaningfully. There’s no shortcut around the wall, but the flip side is that the score genuinely responds to honest, repeated work.
Treat it like practice, not punishment. Do the problems you got wrong — that wrong answer is your wall; sit with it until you understand exactly why you missed it, then drill similar problems until the pattern clicks. And choose consistency over cramming: thirty minutes five days a week beats a panicked all-day session the week before. Reviewing what you already know doesn’t move the score; working the edges does.
Earlier than feels necessary. Chris sees too many families arrive senior year wishing they’d started sooner. Freshman and sophomore year aren’t too early to build familiarity with the tests — the students with the most time to find their wall arrive at test day with real, earned confidence. Starting early turns a stressful sprint into a manageable, repeatable routine.
A meaningful score improvement isn’t just a number — it opens schools that weren’t in reach and unlocks merit scholarships that can change what college actually costs your family, which matters more than ever now that federal borrowing is capped. At the College Planning Center, Chris and his team help students turn that test-prep discipline into a college list and application strategy built around the work they’re really doing.
