September 4, 2016 - 15:43
Kate Weiler
I will be the first to say that I am inherently privileged. I am white. I am from a generally upper-middle class town in suburban Massachusetts. I am a student at an expensive, prestigious liberal arts college. Many would draw parallels between me and the white, Jewish student of June Jordan’s, discussed by Jordan in her essay “Report from the Bahamas.” However, there is one key difference between this student, antagonized and kept at a distance by Jordan as he “does not care one way or the other about currently jeopardized Federal Student Loan Programs because…they do not affect him” (Jordan 43). He needs no outside help to pay for college. My story is a bit different. Sure, I come from a wealthy town, where students complain about their used Mercedes Benz that their parents bought them, get their senior photos taken for over $300, and jet off to their second (or third) home every long weekend. In the past, when I tell other students in Massachusetts that I come from Sudbury, I have been greeted with scoffs, eye rolls, and comments such as “wow, you must be rich,” or “I’ve heard that place is snobby.” I don’t blame them. The majority of students graduating from my high school have never had to worry about money, and that is fantastic for them. I, on the other hand, have had to worry about money, and that has shaped my identity in a major way, because of where I happened to grow up.
I was offered my first job when I was fifteen, after volunteering at my local public library for over 10 hours a week over the summer. I took it, delighted that I could start saving money for college. I was a rising freshman in high school. The numbers that scare most students beginning the college application process are acceptance rates: can I get into a 30% acceptance college? 9.2%? 67%? Will anyone want me at all? Those numbers, while disheartening, did not bother me much as time went on. The closer it got to January, the numbers that continuously flashed in my head were the costs of attending a college or university. While these numbers did vary, from in-state tuitions of Massachusetts’s public institutions to private colleges, they were shocking. My family has been helping pay for my grandmother to stay in a nursing home with a high level of care since I was in middle school. My mom has not worked since I was born, and dedicates much of her time to visiting her mother and worrying about me. My father, for the past two years, has been working admirably hard to secure full-time work, but nothing has stuck. On the papers we submitted to colleges, it is glaringly obvious that we need help. My parents[KW1] [KW2] have been dedicated to saving money since they got married, long before I was born, and have always assured me that I do not need to worry about money, but as we stopped going on vacation, out to eat, going clothes shopping, and even ordering takeout, I was so grateful I took that job. I have been putting money away for four years now, and will continue saving with my Work Study at Bryn Mawr.
After a long and grueling application process last spring, I was one of ten students offered the largest scholarship my town gives to incoming college students. “You are so lucky!” my fellow classmates told me when the names of the scholarship recipients were announced (43). This comment, said with good intentions, struck me the wrong way every time. Luck had nothing to do with it, I knew that. I needed that money. I studied hard for four years, and while my grades were not the best against my school’s standards, they were enough to get me into Bryn Mawr. Any extra time I had went to community service, extracurriculars, and my part-time job. I built my resume this way on purpose, starting my first year of high school, knowing that I had to go above and beyond to get into institutions, as well as to get financial aid from them. The schools who waitlisted me are notorious for not meeting financial aid need, which was not a surprise. Luck didn’t get me that scholarship. The fact that neither of my parents were working at the time I was applying, combined with my dedication to school and work, got me that scholarship. The fact that I, the only child of the family, was the only one with a stable job for two years got me that scholarship. The fact that I worked my ass off for four years in classes that were too difficult for me, without being able to afford a tutor when I struggled, got me that scholarship. Having people tell me I was lucky that I had that need made me fell as Jordan felt when her student told her she was lucky that she had a “cause…a purpose,” not realizing that I sacrificed my own mental health for four years just to get the money and grades to go to college, while they only had to worry about the latter (43). Yes, this need was a major drive for me to work hard, but it made high school that much harder. The same thought ran through my mind every time: “is that [her/his] idea of lucky?” (43). Just as Jordan speaks of race as a privilege in her essay, the privilege of those who told me that I was lucky for getting financial aid was money.
Money isn’t as obvious as race or gender; a lot of the time, you cannot tell who needs financial aid and who does not, especially in a town where appearances are everything. These students were the norm; the culture of my town promoted flaunting your financial gains and hiding your losses behind Louis Vuitton shoulder bags. Most had gains; that was their normal, and it was difficult to comprehend that someone could live in such a rich town and not be rich themselves. My house has been called ‘cute,’ ‘quaint,’ and ‘adorable,’ while others are ‘elaborate,’ ‘stunning,’ and ‘larger than life.’ I get lost in my friends’ houses. If I take a left, will I be in the indoor movie theater or the room with the grand piano and suit of armor? Like Jordan’s students, those who told me I was lucky, or called my house ‘cute’ didn’t check their privilege before they spoke. I don’t blame them, based on where they grew up. Sometimes I don’t check my privilege either, because it comes in so many shapes and sizes. After reading Jordan’s essay, I identify with her feeling for confusion when she was called lucky for having hardships. While I am white and come from suburban Massachusetts, the financial aid I received was not lucky. It was necessary for my being here today, writing an essay in Bryn Mawr’s Campus Center. I didn’t cry when I got into Bryn Mawr because I was accepted, while that came as quite a shock. I cried when I got into the college because the admissions office offered me the most money to attend their institution. That showed that the college truly cared, and understood the difficulty of my last four years. In a commercialist world, it was a huge relief. It said, ‘you can go to college without debt.’ By giving me the help I needed, the college “[took] responsibility without power” (47). The institution took it upon itself to make sure I was financially able to get an education, although it had the power to give me much less and have myself figure out the rest on my own. This sent me the message that I am more than my financial situation. I am a person who wanted an education, and the college was willing to help me realize that dream, something so many people are still denied because of the invisible, often ignored privilege of money.