There is a higher power!

Sometimes, my job requires me to really go to bat for a student. It's not an actual requirement, per say, but if there's a kid--a really great kid--in a situation that needs someone who can encourage, nudge, or once in a great while, shove the admissions office or the financial aid office or some other office at a college or university in the right direction, I usually want to stick my professional neck out and help him/her. I'm not sure I could look at myself in the mirror if I abandoned a student when he/she is being given the run-around or being overlooked or denied what they really need or deserve in the college arena. I don't do it often, and when I do, it's not just for any student, so my family, friends, and colleagues have come to understand that when I'm in a freakish tizzy about a student's situation, that student is most definitely a great kid.

Sometimes it's a situation that's easy to fix: "Hey, this kid's financial aid was canceled, but we mailed the paperwork 3 weeks ago, could you double-check? It's all there? It's just a computer error? It's fixed now? Ok, great, thanks for your help". Sometimes it's a little more complicated than that, and I have to get a little, shall we say, tough with the college people. Once a student overheard me during one of these "tough" phone conversation with an admissions office and he said I sounded scary, but that he knew he'd call me the second he needed help like that. I took it as a compliment.

This year, I had the single most challenging "go to bat" situation of my professional life. Franny (not her real name, obviously), is one of my favorite kids. She's smart, she's persistent, she's quiet, but hilarious once you get to know her, and she's one of the only people I know with the capacity to love and forgive without question. She's had more than her share of reasons to forgive, too, making her ability to do so even more admirable. She's grown up in one of the roughest parts of Baltimore City, yet wants to become a social worker. Her genuine desire to do something good, to make positive changes in her world--it just kills me.

To make an incredibly long story short, Franny was given the ultimate run-around at a usually very organized and prestigious school--I'll call it the University of Miscommunication. She was admitted, then she wasn't, then she was. She was recommended for an academic enrichment program, but the program claimed she never followed through with paperwork that she had never received. The program blamed admissions, admissions blamed the program. I went back and forth between admissions and the program for a few weeks, each just laying blame on each other, but neither stepping up to say, "hey, regardless of who's at fault, this is a problem, and something needs to be done to help this girl". After a particularly ridiculous round of phone calls, none of which were yielding any progress, I reached my tolerable limit and had the most unprofessional moment of my career. I tore into the director of the academic program, called them incompetent, and reprimanded them for not taking responsibility or reaching out to help Franny. I won't re-count the entire conversation, but it was not pretty, and I hung up feeling angry, frustrated, and embarrassed. I stand by my reasons for losing my cool, and I even stand by most of what I said, but I knew right away I had not made a wise decision on how I said it. In reality, my heart was breaking for Franny because I knew she was on the verge of losing her chance at the college education she truly deserves for no other reason than other people's incompetence. When I hung up and cried (Yes, cried. I'm a girl, I'm an emotional mess sometimes, even at work. What's it to ya?), it was partly out of anger at both the situation and myself, and partly out of fear for Franny's future.

After that, I really didn't know what was going to happen. The admissions office finally got a clue and realized the ball had been dropped somewhere along the way and whether or not they thought it was their fault, they became extremely eager to help Franny out. They returned every single phone call, apologized profusely, and started putting pressure on the academic program. Unfortunately, Franny's college fate was in their hands. So, we jumped through some more hoops to get them the paperwork she needed, and last week her folder was complete. All we had to do was wait for the director--the same director I reamed out--to make the final decision. Needless to say, it's been a nail-biting week, nor have I been able to sleep well thinking about what would happen if she wasn't admitted. Where would she go? What would she do? And I'm not the only one. She has a slew of teachers here who have been behind her since the beginning and we've all been working hard to get this situation resolved--a lot of people who care about her have been invested in this decision. We even discussed whether or not legal action would be a possibility if she wasn't admitted.

Well, the wait is over. This morning she rushed into my office with the University of Miscommunication letterhead and I read my favorite sentence of all time: "It is with pleasure that we inform you....". The sigh of relief I let out and the weight that lifted when I read it cannot be adequately explained. I can't imagine how Franny must feel. I really don't know if she understood the extent of her situation or to the extent we've gone to make sure she was treated fairly, but I know she was nervous, though she never said it. That's what I love about her--she was always optimistic. So, she leaves for the summer program in a month, and when she passes her summer course (which we've never doubted), her tuition will be covered. How could it have worked out any better?? What a great way to end a week!