College at Last

I always did well in school. My grades never failed to make my parents smile, and my grandmother’s pride in me grew with each passing year. She started buying savings bonds for my college fund and swore I’d be the first in our family to go.

So, in many ways, I assumed it was a foregone conclusion that in the fall of 1976, I would head to a prominent college with ivy-covered buildings. The dream grew more intense during middle school and my first two years of high school. Visions of sorority parties, football games, and professors with patches on their sleeves filled my nights.

It wasn’t just my family who expected me to make it to college. My teachers always talked to me about what I’d major in. My grades were good. With my 3.82 GPA, no one doubted I’d be able to get a scholarship. So, I lived for the day I would be on some campus, living in a dorm and taking the classes I needed to become a teacher.

English was my passion. I loved every class. I especially enjoyed creative writing and my dream refined itself into a career as an English teacher during the day, and a Pulitzer Prize writer at night.

It was a simple dream. And one I believed in fervently. The only problem was I didn’t realize that it wasn’t just good grades that opened the doors to college. There was so much more that I wasn’t aware of, and neither was anyone else in my extended family.

Without going into all the gory details of how I missed out in the fall of 1976, let’s just leave it at that. When my other friends received their acceptance letters, I didn’t receive anything. It was then, I had to face a harsh reality.

Instead, I joined the U. S. Army and left to see the world. During my first enlistment, I got married. And as the years flew by, I gave birth to four beautiful children.

My role as a mother took over my life, and I pushed the dream away. I told myself it was too late. I’d never been the coed I’d imagined back when I was in high school. Instead, I was a wife and mother – two vital roles. Positions in life that were much more important than valedictorian of the graduating class of 1980 from some Ivy League school.

Flash forward to the spring of 2005. My youngest child was a mere two months away from his high school graduation. Though he had many different talents, he didn’t feel the need to go to college.

And neither had his siblings. Only one of my sons took advantage of the program to take college classes during his junior and senior years, so he received an associate degree, along with his high school diploma. Beyond that, no one even applied to college.

My daughter went into the Air Force, my oldest son pursued his dream of becoming a D. J., and so there was a glut of cash in the college fund.

Frankly, I was in shock. My husband and I worked hard to offer our children the very thing I’d wanted for my entire adolescence, and they didn’t grab hold and make the very best of it.

And then, my hubby proposed a crazy idea.

What if I used the money to go to college?

My mind refused to consider it. Yes, I knew a lot of people went back to school when they were my age—or even older. They pursued a degree that would help their career or perhaps pursue a new path in life, but I was almost fifty. What would an older woman like me do with a college degree?

Despite my doubts, my hubby and I attended a campus visit to one of the state schools. The day was planned for prospective students and their parents, but we were there to see if my hubby’s idea was even possible.

And by the time we sat down in the mess hall to enjoy the lunch provided, I was hooked on the crazy idea. Since the school was three-hundred miles away from where we lived, I would need to move, but my hubby insisted we could do it.

I was afraid to believe it would be possible. How many fifty-year-old women pick up and leave their home to go to college? I wasn’t worried about what people would think. I was concerned about logistics.

And then it was time for my appointment with the Dean of Students.

Much to my delight, she didn’t find the idea of a woman my age enrolling as a freshman in college ridiculous. Quite the contrary, she applauded my decision.

“You know what? We have housing for married students on campus. You’re eligible to move into one of the apartments. And, we have several available for the fall term. What would you think about that?”

“Really? How close to the campus are these apartments? Would it be almost like I was living in the dorms?”

She laughed. “I think it’s as close as you want to be to the dorms. Our incoming Freshman can be quite rowdy, and at least in the apartments, you’d be around married couples.

“If you don’t mind living in one of the older buildings, there is one apartment right across from campus. It’s only a one-bedroom, but I understand it’s just you and your husband, correct?”

“Yes. And, my husband won’t even be here full-time. He’s taken a job as an over-the-road trucker while I’m in school.”

“So, you’ll only have your studies to concentrate on, won’t you?”

“Exactly.” My head was swimming. Was I going to do this? Could I allow myself to think only of me?

At the end of our campus visit, my hubby and I drove the three-hundred miles back to the town where we raised our children. We talked about a lot of things. But mostly, we talked about the opportunity in front of me. He assured me that he was behind me one-hundred and one percent. All I needed to do was enroll in the fall semester.

Two weeks later, I mailed the deposit for my new apartment, and I gave our landlord two-months’ notice.

My youngest son’s high school graduation party had two purposes. While he and his friends celebrated the finality of their high school years, our friends toasted to my second chance to fulfill a dream.

On a warm September day, I stood with the freshman class of Eastern Washington University. The six hundred of us walked under the arch at the opening of the campus.

Rather than thinking it was twenty-nine years too late, I decided it was the right time and the right place for me to be.