The Long Road

When I was a freshman in high school, my English teacher, Mr. Meredith, asked us how many planned to go to college. I raised my hand. There was no doubt I was going to attend–and graduate from–an institution of higher learning. What I didn’t realize was what a challenge this would be. Not academically, but logistically.

I struggled with knowing what I wanted to do with my life. As a senior in high school, I was told by a guidance counselor to pursue a career in teaching. Since the thought of controlling a classroom of 30 kids or more terrified me, I discounted his suggestion. I did, however, take a good hard look at the college he recommended. It had a journalism program specializing in magazine writing. That sounded fantastic.

My parents agreed it looked like a good choice, and we visited the campus. I fell in love with it. I applied, was accepted, and plans were made for me to go. What I didn’t count on was my parent’s divorce. By the time it came to graduate high school, they told me their finances were tied up in the divorce proceedings and they couldn’t afford the college of my choice. Get a job, they said, and attend community college.

So I did just that. I excelled in the local community college, and was fortunate that a few of my friends from high school also attended there. But after a year, my parents told me they could afford to send me to college, as long as my choice of school was less expensive than the one I had originally wanted to go to.

I found a school that met that requirement, but what I didn’t realize was it wasn’t accredited. It also was a very religious school, and while my beliefs coincided with much of what they were teaching, I had my differences. However, the structure of a strict school was what I needed after a very hang-loose approach to parenting by my mom and dad, and I stayed for three years.

Eventually, however, that school and the beliefs I was expected to abide by became oppressive. I left a semester before I graduated, fully intending to return to college when I was able to find the right school.

Three years later, I found it. I discovered that since my second college hadn’t been accredited, I’d have to take many courses over again. Some requirements were waived, but I still had to make up the credits.

But it turned out this was the right college, rather, university. They changed from being a college to an university sometime in my senior year. While some students bemoaned the change, I welcomed it. An accredited university suited me just fine.

Plus, they had an outstanding school of journalism, with lots of opportunities for internships. I took full advantage of that feature, with no less than five internships by the time I graduated. I should mention here that it was funds from my stepdad’s death that allowed me to attend school full-time, and it took me a long time to pay back my mom. A very long time. But at least it wasn’t student loans.

I graduated mid-year, and there was a blizzard the day of my graduation. Yet somehow family and friends made it out there to see me get my diploma, I was almost 31, and to this day, it marks one of the happiest days of my life.

It took me nearly thirteen years to graduate from college, but I don’t regret it one bit. I ended up with a good education, and that’s opened up worlds for me.

Image Credits: Internship © gustavofrazao–stock-adobe.com; Worlds © Photo and Art Panda–stock.adobe.com; Dollar Sign © berkut_34–stock.adobe.com