Why I Do This Work

Hint: It's not about money.

This year, the small community of students I serve here in Atlanta celebrated some major wins. Each application cycle, with the help of a wonderful band of counselors, teachers, priests and volunteers, a senior class of first-gen, low income, minority students competes with the rest of the nation's students for admission to college. Over the past year, I have worked closely with one girl, Lucia (not her real name). Her situation is so tenuous that she has been wearing the same outdated glasses since ninth grade. Her father's violence is indiscriminate, directed at Lucia, her mother, her siblings… at random. When Lucia spoke up about it, her mother's only comment was, "You're prettier when you are quiet." Despite this, Lucia is an eloquent and outspoken young woman, and an elite student. She dreams of becoming an attorney and defending other girls facing similar adversities. Her hard work qualified her for a full scholarship through Questbridge. This past Fall, Lucia got into one of the top Ivy League schools.

In December, a group of my old friends gathered in rural Georgia for our annual celebration of our friend David, who passed away a few years ago. The intention of this gathering is to prevent the isolation and despair that proves fatal for so many men our age. If I were to guess, I'd say we're evenly divided politically, but unified by the experience of having played football at Princeton and all of the dissonant challenges that entailed. A few of us, like David, came from backgrounds not unlike Lucia's. Others came from the very highest echelons of society. Most, like me, were from places in between. All of us, at some point, looked around at the ivy covered walls and wondered what weird combination of mistakes must have resulted in our being admitted there. That experience has helped me relate to my students who will be entering elite colleges, and to help prepare them for the emotional dissonance they will inevitably face.

One of the great blessings of my life is to have gotten so close to people from so many different walks of life. The relatively homogenous suburban New Jersey town from which I hailed did not expose me to much diversity as a child. In the decades since leaving there, I have learned that character is not a function of origin. It is an act of will, supported by choices and people that harmonize with the best sides of ourselves. I learned this from Lucia, from David, and from the many other quality people who have graced my life. The truth of life has presented itself to me directly, up close and personal, one human at a time. I am still trying to learn it. I work with a great variety of students, and I learn from each of them as I provide guidance and help. 

It is humbling when you stand next to a spiritual giant like Lucia and recognize your own shortcomings. She will walk into her Ivy League school with a sense of purpose that I never had at her age, born of pain and stubbornness and an indomitable commitment to resist definition by the bullies in her life. In our public discourse, she is a caricature; lightly documented, speaking accented English, easily stereotyped by political opportunists. But she is the best of us. And so are some of the men I saw on our football weekend, who at first glance could not look less like her. Character is everywhere, waiting to be recognized, but you have to be close enough to see it. It is especially clear in the unguarded ambitions of young people; hope for a bright future, and a strong desire to make a difference. It is an honor to work with them.