One Friday afternoon, late in the
second semester of my sophomore year of high school, I made my way
from the cafeteria, up several flights of stairs, and entered my
science class. Expecting yet another mundane lesson in chemistry, I
was pleasantly greeted by my teacher with a small pink slip of paper
in hand. Apparently I was to go to principal's office. I racked my
brain, trying to think if I had done anything wrong recently that
merited administrative discipline. Unable to find something to be
guilty about, I made my way for the principal's office.
I entered a room in which nineteen of
my peers stood, all of huddled together. My principal, Mrs. Houser,
told us that all of us had achieved above average PSAT scores. We
were told that our scores coupled with recommendations from our
teachers placed us in a unique position, and that an exciting
opportunity awaited us in the summer should we so choose. That was
the first time I ever heard about the Seedling Foundation.
It was explained to me that a nice
lawyer who worked in downtown Austin, a man named John Blazier, had
offered to be our educational benefactor. He was looking for several
academically successful students from different Austin-area high
schools to provide them with free SAT training in hopes that it would
help them get admitted to better colleges down the line. Mrs. Houser
polled all of us, asking if anyone was interested in participating in
the program. Unsurprisingly, there was a resounding yes from every
student in the room. We all wanted this opportunity. Unfortunately,
not all of us would be able to go. The names of ten students were
picked out of a hat, and luckily I was among them. That summer I
spent every Sunday in Mr. Blazier's law firm downtown working with
teachers, practicing math, reading, and writing, trying to get better
at taking the SAT.
I was thankful to have participated in
the Seedling Foundation because I felt it put me at an advantage as
far as getting into a good college. In high school I always thought
of myself as a good student. I aimed to take the most challenging
courses I could, get involved with student organizations, and give
back to the community when asked of me. I did enjoy learning, but the
main reason I always challenged myself academically was that I really
wanted to go to a good college.
Having been born and raised in Austin,
Texas, I spent my entire life thinking I would go to the University
of Texas. Admittance to UT was the barometer for my success as a
human being as far as I was concerned. In my mind, I could probably
kill a guy, and as long as I got accepted to UT, I was certain my
parents would be exceptionally proud of me. Come senior year, UT was
the first school I applied to. I always wanted to be a business
student, so I sent off my application, hoping for admission to the
McCombs School of Business, and bided my time. I knew I didn't have
the money to go out of state, so I applied to some other Texas
schools on a whim: Texas A&M, Texas Christian University, and
Baylor mainly.
I thought my prospects were good
because in Texas admittance to in-state schools is based on the ten
percent rule. Basically, if you're ranked within the top ten percent
of your graduating class at your high school, you're automatically
accepted into several Texas institutions. My academic goal was to
remain within this threshold for automatic acceptance throughout my
high school career, and I did. What I did not know at the time,
however, was that at UT, the top ten percent rule only guarantees you
admission to University itself, not necessarily to the particular
College you want.
The most disappointing day of my life
came when I received my “acceptance” letter to UT. Upon opening
it I discovered that I hadn't not made it into the McCombs School of
Business, but instead my second choice, the College of Natural
Sciences. I had no desire to go into the field of science; I had
picked my second choice college at random. I didn't want to be a
doctor, and I wanted nothing to do with science. This really shook
me. I had no backup plan. My plans for the future, which had
previously seemed so clear cut, were destroyed. Time didn't make
things any easier for me. I was distraught to hear about other kids
in my grade who were accepted to UT's business school despite having
worse SAT scores, worse class rank, and less community involvement
than myself.
I didn't know what to do. I considered
still going to UT anyway, hoping to transfer into the business school
with a high GPA. It would be a risky move to say the least. In the
end, this made me consider TCU more heavily. However, I didn't warm
up to the idea of going to a different university overnight. For a
long time TCU played second fiddle to UT, but the more I got looked
into it, the brighter my outlook on life became. I was offered a nice
scholarship and I become more fond of the Neeley School of Business
as I heard more and more about it.
Looking back on everything, I'm really
glad that things played out the way they did. I have a tremendous
life here at TCU. I'm just far enough away from home that I've been
forced to develop a newfound sense of dependence that I doubt would
have been fostered if I went to UT. When I visit my friends at UT
now, I really find it hard to imagine myself going there. The school
is far too big. I've been in many of the lecture halls. I appreciate
that at TCU I feel like a name and not a number. But beyond that, I
value my rejection from UT for another reason. Although the
disappointment was initially crushing, I feel like it has made a
stronger person. Furthermore, it taught me a valuable life lesson:
Things don't always work out the way you intend them to, and that's
okay.
“If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans.” - Woody Allen
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