My mother will not admit it again, but when my brother checked the mailbox last December and let out a startling yelp that drained the color from her face and sent the dogs scrambling to his rescue, she thought he was being kidnapped straight from our curb. Even though we had been waiting for news from his first choice college for weeks, the large envelope that my brother held in his hands as he rushed into the house turned the family into an emotional mess. We teased our mom for imagining that someone would try kidnapping a man taller and stronger than her, my father, and me, but seeing my brother’s joy in calling our sisters to share his acceptance reminded me that he is still the baby in the family. And being the son of parents who did not receive an education beyond 6th grade, he had fulfilled the dream that each of us had wanted so badly that there were no words to express how proud he had made us.
Though this was only a few months ago, I remember this silly and sweet afternoon with a knot in my throat. Just as his future became bright and full of possibility, it was transformed into a scary step into the dark when he received the final letter from his school’s financial aid office that revealed crushing information: his cost of attendance would be 3/4 of my family’s income. When I learned this, I felt like the immense sense of hope that his acceptance had brought us was torn away, and in its place, a sickening set of emotions - rage, helplessness, defeat - was left in the pit of my stomach. I have navigated my family’s poverty in a number of ways throughout my life, but none have presented me with such a frightening reality that there are insecurities and challenges that are a part of being a college student that I cannot prepare my little brother for. I cannot share with him the cure for the nerves that comes with falling sick during the term when our insurance will not cover a trip to the doctor and pharmacy. I cannot keep him from opting for the less expensive meal plan, even if he is not sure where the rest of his meals will come from. I cannot keep him from being distracted from his classes when he calls home and hears how frail our mother sounds from working from 7am-11pm for four days straight. I cannot promise him that the few students of color at his school will make him feel at home if they are of middle- or upper- class backgrounds—the last thing I would want is for him to feel alienated when he is looking for community. My brother may experience none of these things, and he may experience many others. Still, he will likely find that the cost of being first-generation and low-income on a college campus is hard to bear.
When these thoughts make me question if the struggle is worth it, I remind myself that Carleton has also surprised me with brilliant opportunities that I would not want to spoil by explaining the challenges to him. The warmth and support of our many campus communities and this institutions' impressive resources have brought me to heights I could not have imagined: heights that mean that much more because I reached them despite the obstacles my family and I scale everyday. Other first-generation, low- income students, many who have become my closest friends, inspire me with all the phenomenal work they do. They serve as my daily reminder that we are driven, strong, and resilient. They truly are the fuel to the faith I have that my brother and I will make it.
This appreciation is never meant to mask the bigger picture, though. Along with this appreciation, I speak with love and anger, knowing that for many students, the social, financial, emotional cost of being low- income is so great that they are shut out of higher education. For as empowering as Carleton can be, it directly marginalizes others, and ultimately denies poor families by remaining need-aware for a percentage of applicants. This institution’s administration proves that it does not prioritize the needs of its existing low-income students by failing to promise long-term financial support for TRIO, as the office waits with uncertainty to hear if its most important grant will be renewed. The college’s focus on how the numbers reveal the impossibility of a larger financial budget rather than re-envisioning new solutions to an old problem only makes the prospect of a socioeconomically diverse student body, inclusive of undocumented youth, a distant consideration. These institutional barriers are unacceptable.
My anticipation of the many complex ways my brother will experience class on his campus, including the way he will carry the financial burden on his shoulders, will continue to worry me. Rather than letting this consume me though, I allow my frustrations to motivate me to be a better advocate for greater college access and ongoing support for poor families. The most powerful lesson I have learned from being first- gen, and my greatest source of pride, is knowing that my successes are never solely mine. Someone had to sacrifice all that they had for me to be where I am, and the privilege of being here will not stop me from doing the same for someone else.
Note: While my brother agreed to my sharing this story and has read the final product, his emotions have not been represented in this essay, out of respect for his privacy. Read Luis' story here.
- Kathryn Melendez
Though this was only a few months ago, I remember this silly and sweet afternoon with a knot in my throat. Just as his future became bright and full of possibility, it was transformed into a scary step into the dark when he received the final letter from his school’s financial aid office that revealed crushing information: his cost of attendance would be 3/4 of my family’s income. When I learned this, I felt like the immense sense of hope that his acceptance had brought us was torn away, and in its place, a sickening set of emotions - rage, helplessness, defeat - was left in the pit of my stomach. I have navigated my family’s poverty in a number of ways throughout my life, but none have presented me with such a frightening reality that there are insecurities and challenges that are a part of being a college student that I cannot prepare my little brother for. I cannot share with him the cure for the nerves that comes with falling sick during the term when our insurance will not cover a trip to the doctor and pharmacy. I cannot keep him from opting for the less expensive meal plan, even if he is not sure where the rest of his meals will come from. I cannot keep him from being distracted from his classes when he calls home and hears how frail our mother sounds from working from 7am-11pm for four days straight. I cannot promise him that the few students of color at his school will make him feel at home if they are of middle- or upper- class backgrounds—the last thing I would want is for him to feel alienated when he is looking for community. My brother may experience none of these things, and he may experience many others. Still, he will likely find that the cost of being first-generation and low-income on a college campus is hard to bear.
When these thoughts make me question if the struggle is worth it, I remind myself that Carleton has also surprised me with brilliant opportunities that I would not want to spoil by explaining the challenges to him. The warmth and support of our many campus communities and this institutions' impressive resources have brought me to heights I could not have imagined: heights that mean that much more because I reached them despite the obstacles my family and I scale everyday. Other first-generation, low- income students, many who have become my closest friends, inspire me with all the phenomenal work they do. They serve as my daily reminder that we are driven, strong, and resilient. They truly are the fuel to the faith I have that my brother and I will make it.
This appreciation is never meant to mask the bigger picture, though. Along with this appreciation, I speak with love and anger, knowing that for many students, the social, financial, emotional cost of being low- income is so great that they are shut out of higher education. For as empowering as Carleton can be, it directly marginalizes others, and ultimately denies poor families by remaining need-aware for a percentage of applicants. This institution’s administration proves that it does not prioritize the needs of its existing low-income students by failing to promise long-term financial support for TRIO, as the office waits with uncertainty to hear if its most important grant will be renewed. The college’s focus on how the numbers reveal the impossibility of a larger financial budget rather than re-envisioning new solutions to an old problem only makes the prospect of a socioeconomically diverse student body, inclusive of undocumented youth, a distant consideration. These institutional barriers are unacceptable.
My anticipation of the many complex ways my brother will experience class on his campus, including the way he will carry the financial burden on his shoulders, will continue to worry me. Rather than letting this consume me though, I allow my frustrations to motivate me to be a better advocate for greater college access and ongoing support for poor families. The most powerful lesson I have learned from being first- gen, and my greatest source of pride, is knowing that my successes are never solely mine. Someone had to sacrifice all that they had for me to be where I am, and the privilege of being here will not stop me from doing the same for someone else.
Note: While my brother agreed to my sharing this story and has read the final product, his emotions have not been represented in this essay, out of respect for his privacy. Read Luis' story here.
- Kathryn Melendez