When Dreams Shatter Make Lemonade Until You Run Out of Lemons

The story goes like this. I grew up on three different continents attending American International Schools. I was a straight-A student for the first 14 years of my life. Then, my family and I moved to the United States. The doom of inculturation, othering and entitlement swirled around me like a whirlpool grabbing my legs, pulling me into an abyss of academic failure. I was not prepared for any of this.

This once straight-A student barely made it out of high school. Yup. Except the History teacher took pity. It was all I needed not to drudge through summer school and the failed glances of friends and family.

My parents dreamed of their children being well-adjusted and well-educated. As I neared high school graduation and the hunt for the right university, I could not convince my parents to let me take time off. My futile dinner conversations only heightened my level of anxiety. Every rejection letter that arrived at the house seemed like further indication that I was not ready, but my parents insisted I had to go. You must go. You must get an education. It’s your step into the future.

I eventually got accepted into a university. Again, I was unprepared. Four years later, I received a letter from the university. They wanted me to leave. My GPA had dropped so low that they could not allow me to continue.

I made an appointment with the Dean to rectify this, but most likely, it was to save face with my parents. Let's face it. I was not crushing the dreams they had for me.

My father offered to accompany me to my appointment. As we sat in the waiting room, the secretary told us that the Dean was not available and instead I would meet with the Associate Dean. A few minutes later, we were escorted into an office. There were some quick introductions, and within minutes I took ownership for my poor grades. Nervously, I stumbled with some words, and said something like, “I hope you will allow me to have another semester to show that I can turn my grades around.”

"No," the man said. He peered over his glasses. Were there some warts on that colossal nose? I think so. I think there were. He continued, "Not only will you not be able to return to this university. You will never be able to attend another accredited university ever again."

It was so final. The words of the warted-nose man crushed my parents' dreams and my spirit. I don't remember saying goodbye to the ogre and soul crusher. I only remember the slow walk across the quad to the Yearbook Office, where I volunteered my time. The quiet fell around us. Eventually, my father half-whispered, "Maybe we got this wrong." I felt the disappointment oozing from his pores – this man whom I respected so much. He worked hard to earn his Ph.D. and wanted the best for his children.

My heart and brain cranked into survival mode, not allowing much dusty misery. I was able to get a job quickly and began working. After a couple of years in a lowly administrative job, I remember thinking that this could not be it for me. I was meant for more.

A few days later, while eating my breakfast, an extended learning booklet from the local community college was sitting in front of me. I hesitated as the memories of disillusionment flooded my thoughts and emotions. I turned to my cereal bowl, dropping my head down. My father was sitting across from me sipping on his coffee, working on the daily crossword puzzle.

His hand gently reached across the table and slid the booklet closer to me. I looked up at him. His gentle eyes spoke the truth of who he knew me to be.

I carefully opened the booklet and saw a listing for a Career Planning class. I read the description, noticed the cost, and thought, what do I have to lose. By the end of the year, I had not only completed the class but had signed up for an Introduction to Graphic Design class.

The professor of the Career Planning class was also an Admissions Counselor at the community college. One of the requirements of the class was to schedule a one-on-one meeting with her. As I nestled into the seat adjacent to her desk, I noticed the orderliness of papers and books. She appeared calm as she glanced over my recent assessment results.

As the conversation moved into the future, I shared my recent academic journey, finding myself getting emotional as I neared the moment of sharing what the ogre had said to me. Her response confirmed my crushed spirit.

She was gentle but firm, understanding that I might be apprehensive.

“But something led you to my class,” she said.

I inspected my shoes and the floor hoping that I wouldn’t have to speak, fearful that tears would come and I would not be able to stop them.

The quiet surrounded us and she finally said, “I promise you this will never happen again.”

I looked up. The compassion that she shared with me gave me the courage to clear my throat and speak. “I am interested in the graphic design program, but honestly I don’t know why.”

“Well, that’s a start,” she said smiling.

I think I smiled. No, I was too nervous. I sat staring at her smile, allowing myself to pause as I gathered my thoughts. “I guess it is.”

“So, we have an Introduction to Graphic Design class. Would you like to sign up?”

“Oh. I…I…”

“My philosophy is if you don’t try, you’ll never know.”

I felt my head nodding up and down.

“So, how about a Tuesday, Thursday class at 8am?”

“I work full time.”

“Ok, how about a Monday, Wednesday class in the evenings?”

“I … I might not be able to make it on time.”

She took a hard look at me and then glanced back at the class schedule. “We have a Saturday morning class. Do you work on Saturdays?” she responded with sarcasm.

The nervousness rose into my cheeks. She softened her voice and posture and continued, “Remember, it’s one class. You’ll never know until you try.”

I knew she was right. I knew it in my bones. “Yes,” I said. “Yes. I’ll do it.”

“Ok! I’ll sign you up right now.”

I'm thankful for that woman. She not only nudged me into the first graphic design class, but that became the catalyst that launched me into an Associate’s Degree program in Advertising Design. So, I did my education backward. So what. In the end, I not only completed the program with a 3.5 GPA, but it fueled my long career as a graphic designer and Art Director.

And, years later after I was married, my husband encouraged me to finish my Bachelor’s degree program. Again, the memories of failure flooded through my veins. I heard the voice of the counselor saying, “You’ll never know until you try.”

I found an accelerated program, which allowed me to finish in 18 months. On graduation day, I sat with the others, dressed in our cap and gowns. I couldn’t believe this moment was here.

As they announced the Valedictorian, I smiled listening to the young woman sharing her benediction to the audience before her. Then, the administrators turned to academic awards. As my thoughts began to drift away into my happy place, I suddenly heard my name. I was one of two people to receive honors awards.

My academic journey didn’t end there. Soon after, my husband and I enrolled in a Master’s program, and three years after, we graduated together—again, I finished with straight-A’s.

The moral of the story: don't let one bad situation take you down. When people who don't know you speak words of untruth, don't believe them. Yes, they will sting, but keep your heart and soul intact. I know ... it's easier said than done. But believe this. Believe in yourself.

People instinctively know who they are. The road might get muddy and slippery, bud deep down, you know who you are. If something seems impossible, can it be made possible?

Most recently, I was in a doctorate program. Although I have taken a break, I know that my parents didn’t get it wrong. I was meant to be in school, just not that school.