I’ve always been the black sheep of my family. I grew up only knowing adults who did physical labor or worked their way up in a technical profession. The only higher education anyone had was from the community college in town. My mom, sister, grandmothers, aunts, cousins were all young mothers; their work anchored in homemaking and part-time jobs. I had no idea, or encouragement, that I could ever make it to a traditional four-year university, let alone have the resources to pay for it.
That’s not to say that my family didn’t support me. Even though I hadn’t seen my parents read more than an instruction manual, they bought me all the books I wanted. When they realized they couldn’t help me with my homework anymore, they commended me for my good grades, but never pushed me further. They signed off on my class schedules, trusting that I knew best what to take. However, in my last month at Judson Middle School, when I was preparing for new and uninviting world of high school, my English teacher, Mr. Phillips, rejected the classes I was registering for in the fall. I remember being so terrified when he said that my place all along should have been in the honors level where my insight and intellect could be more appreciated, and that he wouldn’t sign off on the form until I enlisted in honors humanities. I had never heard such …show more content…
I had no idea what I wanted to study, no assurance that I was qualified for scholarships, and no confidence that my family could cover the costs otherwise. I began thinking about what might interest me. The subjects that had always inspired me most were the humanities, sign language, and studio art. I put sign language language interpreting as a backup plan, because those careers are usually shortened by arthritis and carpal tunnel. I didn’t have the confidence in my money-making ability with studio art, so I put that as a hobby. I was then left with the humanities, and my unshakable love of
That’s not to say that my family didn’t support me. Even though I hadn’t seen my parents read more than an instruction manual, they bought me all the books I wanted. When they realized they couldn’t help me with my homework anymore, they commended me for my good grades, but never pushed me further. They signed off on my class schedules, trusting that I knew best what to take. However, in my last month at Judson Middle School, when I was preparing for new and uninviting world of high school, my English teacher, Mr. Phillips, rejected the classes I was registering for in the fall. I remember being so terrified when he said that my place all along should have been in the honors level where my insight and intellect could be more appreciated, and that he wouldn’t sign off on the form until I enlisted in honors humanities. I had never heard such …show more content…
I had no idea what I wanted to study, no assurance that I was qualified for scholarships, and no confidence that my family could cover the costs otherwise. I began thinking about what might interest me. The subjects that had always inspired me most were the humanities, sign language, and studio art. I put sign language language interpreting as a backup plan, because those careers are usually shortened by arthritis and carpal tunnel. I didn’t have the confidence in my money-making ability with studio art, so I put that as a hobby. I was then left with the humanities, and my unshakable love of