Slipping quietly back into the wide world of academia, as I approached the Cashier's counter, I felt something in my stomach doing a rumba. I smiled hello and slid my state identification card across the gulf to the aging-hippie-looking man behind the counter. While he typed my numbers into his terminal, I took in the people milling around the area. It seemed I was about to throw my lot in with beings who were barely older than some of my shoes.
I looked again. Perhaps a few more appeared to be over 30, some of them maybe even over 40, like me. I wondered how many of the over-40's were, like me, returning to college after a 23-year absence. I wondered how many had been led to this campus, like me, by a relentless, gnawing dissatisfaction with their lives. I wondered, for how many of them had it required a leap of faith simply to apply to college after such a long time. For how many had the mere act of registration been like crossing a wooden bridge over a burning sea?
I didn't have a clue about how I was going to finance my Great Endeavor - paying the tuition this first semester for two classes would take all of my tiny savings account - I only knew that I must, I would find a way. As much as I abhorred debt, I'd take out a loan if I had to, but I knew the money was out there for those who have the desire and the willingness to do what is necessary to get it. I'd already gotten leads on some scholarships for which I'd qualify, once I had a few credit hours under my belt.
It would be that first award that would mean the most to me. It would be that first award that would begin to erase the years of husbands and lovers who insisted that my reach was much, much smaller than my grasp. Perhaps the Second Start Scholarship being offered right here at ACC would be the one that would say to me, "Yes, you can have what you want! Yes, we think you can do it! Yes, we believe you can achieve your goals, despite that little hiatus of 23 years! Yes, we want to be a partner in your success!"
The aging hippie was speaking to me, asking how I wanted to pay my tuition. I had already written out the check. That check represented my entire net worth at the moment, and I held on to it a nanosecond longer as I handed it to him. A moment later he handed me a printout showing that I had paid for my two classes. I stared at the printout, then looked at the man with slightly wider eyes. "Does this mean I'm a student?" I asked, stupidly. He smiled suddenly and said, "Yes, Miss Galloway, that's what that means. Congratulations!"
Note from Dee accompanying this essay (which accompanied her scholarship application): There's a funny story to go along with this. I was also "awarded" some Work Study money and I chose to work in the Accounting offices of the college. Now I'm working with the guy I described in my essay. Since everyone in the financial aid office knew exactly who I was talking about, they gave him a copy of the essay. He told me he had it in his "Heroes" file and showed it to me. I was very choked up and felt very blessed.
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Letter to the Author:
Dee Galloway at SuperDee5@netzero.net