I walked into the financial aid office at Kingsborough College with 86 cents in my bank account. Come hell or high water, I was going to get an education. Paying for it was the last hurdle.
The office was hot, grimy, and designed to make students cry. The lines were long and the advisors were the most stereotypically unfriendly New Yorkers I’ve ever met.
After an endless 45-minute wait, a frazzled counselor thrust a stack of papers in my hand and dismissed me saying “have both your parents sign this before you come back”.
Both? I’d faster teach a giraffe to fly than ask my ultra-orthodox Jewish dad for help. Everyone’s got their own set of rules to live the world, and his included never, ever allowing his children to mingle in such a secular environment.*
I got back in line. The counselor drawled again “sorry honey, either have them sign or prove to us you’re parentless.” and tried to send me on my way.
Shit.
Time for the manager. Emancipating myself from my parents at 20 years old was the last thing I felt like doing just to learn how to multiply.
The associate director walked out. We’ll call him Michael for privacy, but also, I just don’t remember his name. The pressure of weeks and weeks of trying to figure out my new New York life (hello, apartment scams, subway scams, chinese food scams…everything’s a scam when you’re new in Brooklyn) burst out; I started to cry.
Stiffly, Michael passed me one tissue after the next and waited for me to explain.
He looked at the stack of paperwork in my hand and my mascara-streaked face, asked “how will we know if you sign for your dad” and told me to come back once I was done.
(I guess I was about to become a scammer myself.)
I went to Kingsborough College for 2 and a half years. Every semester, I’d swing by, tell Michael how much from my minimum-wage-salary-but-not-minimum-wage-living-prices I could set aside for school, and he’d get creative.
Once, he even marched me over to the vice president’s office and said “you’re giving this girl a scholarship”.
So she did.
Another time, he waved me away and said “you’re covered for the next 4 months”. I think he paid it himself since I never filled out any paperwork that time.
Why was Michael like this? I’m not sure. Maybe he just cared. Whenever I thought of quitting, I thought of telling Michael “hey, I don’t need your help anymore” but I couldn’t do it. So I stayed, I learned to multiply, and I got my education back.
The next time I cried at the financial aid office at Kingsborough College was when I told Michael “thanks - you made a difference”.
I love this story and the kindness that was found in your life’s journey
Another great read and excellent moral takeaway, Yehudis. This opening is so strong:
“I walked into the financial aid office at Kingsborough College with 86 cents in my bank account. Come hell or high water, I was going to get an education. Paying for it was the last hurdle.”
It gives off major Erin Brockovich vibes.