My world has turned upside down, but it hasn’t stopped. Final exams are racing toward me, and I refuse to let the trauma of my past destroy my future. This is everything I’ve been working toward for five years. I’ve gotten straight A’s in every class for the last year and a half. One more hurdle left to see if I’ll make summa cum laude.
I spend the remaining weeks of the schoolyear vacillating between feeling angry, exhilarated, and overwhelmed, culminating in a busy week of final exams. When the grades are due to be posted, I race to my room and sit glued to my computer, clicking refresh, refresh, refresh.
I check the online campus system one more time and see that yes, my final grades are up! I receive all A’s—and one A– in Management of Multinational Enterprises. My heart drops, but my disappointment is instantly replaced by determination. I’ve worked so hard to make summa cum laude. I’m not going to be defeated now.
I march to my professor’s office and knock on his door. When he answers, I don’t waste any time and lay it out: he gave me an A–, but I deserve an A.
We’ve discussed his marks before. He likes to take off half points for misusing hyphenated words and refuses to change those marks despite my providing spelling evidence to the contrary.
With a sigh my professor tells me, “Kids come to me about this all the time and I’ve never changed a grade for a student, but you’re welcome to try to prove me wrong only regarding substantive content, not grammar.”
I turn on my heel and head straight to my room. That night, I dig out every single one of my old papers and exams. I hunt through every debatable mark he’s ever given me, and then I find a citation in the assigned reading to support my work. Like Churchill, I’m not giving in.
I return to the professor’s office with the evidence. Now that I’ve found my voice, I refuse to silently accept injustice. I show him each place he marked me wrong where what I wrote on the exam was in the textbook. His skepticism melts into reluctant admiration, as, point after point, he concedes that I’m correct. As he tallies the minor grade changes, he looks up in surprise. “Well, I’d never believe it, but you’re right. You did get an A.”
I walk out of his office exultant. I did it! I’m graduating summa cum laude.
Grandad and Barbara fly in from Indiana and Mom flies in from California to attend my college graduation. It fills my heart to celebrate this momentous occasion with them. I’ve felt so alone through the struggles of this journey. I’m glad they will be here to share in my victory.
I’m most surprised that my father shows up. Our few phone calls had always ended with him advising me to give up this “waste of time and money” and go back to be being a missionary. His presence means more to me than I’ll admit, even to myself. My dad still lives in Houston. He now has four children with Maria—at last count, I have thirteen siblings from him—and works with Chinese churches, often living off the kindness of others, and sometimes doing construction work. He has been cut off from the Family financially—never given an explanation, he just simply stopped receiving his monthly stipend.
In the rush of all the college ceremonies I’m required to attend, it’s hard to find any quiet time to catch up with him and the rest of my family, and I don’t really try. My revelations are still too raw, and my thoughts are too confused for me to debate them with my parents. I will deal with them later, when I can understand them better.
I’m being honored with multiple academic awards, including the medal for exceptional achievement in my major, which my dean tells me they don’t give out every year, only when the committee determines a student is worthy.
As my father attends the various award ceremonies, he recognizes for the first time that I’ve done something big. He puffs up, proud as a peacock, boasting about me to everyone. It’s nice to hear, but I don’t need his affirmation anymore. I knew what I was fighting for.
30
The Truth Will Set You Free
I don’t have much time to enjoy my victory. After graduation, I pack everything I own into a U-Haul and head back across the country to Berkeley, California, where I have been accepted to UC Berkeley School of Law. There are no scholarships, but at least I can get loans.
I’m not particularly excited to go to law school. It’s a practical decision motivated by self-protection, not discovering what I truly love. My greatest fear as a teen was becoming a single mother, destitute and unable to care for myself and my baby. I’d thought that college would ensure that that could never happen, but midway through my senior year, I’d realized too late that college didn’t translate directly into a job with a good income. Worse, after four years, I still didn’t know what profession suited me. All I knew is that I didn’t want to be a teacher. Been there; done that. So, master’s degrees were out. An MBA seemed to be more about networking than learning, and it still didn’t guarantee a job at the end. That didn’t seem very secure to me.
After reading countless career books and looking at advanced-degree programs, I decide on law school. A lawyer is a profession with a skill set, like a plumber. With a law degree, I could always hang out a shingle and make a living, no matter where I ended up. My choice is about survival, not passion.
I’m delighted with the camaraderie of my classmates. I decide that I will still study hard, but I won’t stress over every grade like I did as an undergraduate. I’m going to enjoy myself more, say yes to drinks, and balance schoolwork with fun. I’m going to get a little younger.
My enlightenment begins in a contracts class, in which I come to appreciate how the law runs every area of our lives, regulating everything from garage ticket stubs to home ownership to marriage.
The teacher pounds into us the five elements of an enforceable contract or agreement.
Offer with a clear object—the parties must understand the terms of the deal.
Acceptance.
Exchange of value. Both sides must provide value or it’s a gift, not a deal.
Mental ability—children and people with mental incapacity cannot contract because they must be able to appreciate the consequences of their agreement.
No undue pressure—using pressure to force someone to do something is blackmail.
What I thought would bore me is fascinating because it’s all practical; it’s how the world runs. How do regular people live without knowing how this works? They’d get screwed every day.