Wednesday, September 21, 2016 // The Statement
4B
Wednesday, September 21, 2016 // The Statement 
5B

D

ressed in a black cap and gown, walking 
across a stage in front of thousands of 

their colleagues with a sash over their heads 
and diplomas in their hands — people dream of 
their college graduation from the days of their 
youth. It is a day held in the highest esteem. 
The ensuing party, full of thoughtful gifts and 
congratulatory gestures, is often also antici-
pated — but while being the subject of praise 
and adoration for a day is nice, the reason grad-
uating from college is such a momentous and 
meaningful occasion is much more layered.

Society hails the importance of a college 

education as a ticket to upward mobility and 
a new kind of necessity for a prosperous life. 
Since the turn of the century, college enroll-
ment has risen dramatically, as high school 
diplomas and, more recently, even bachelor’s 
degrees, have lost their clout. A college degree 
has become almost an assumption, a taken-for-
granted symbol of accomplishment, because 
contemporary culture claims that everyone 
should — and does — attend college and earn 
one. But that viewpoint fails to include an 
important, and significantly rising, segment of 
the population.

Nontraditional students, often defined as 

adult students over the age of 25, have taken 
over college campuses yet are still overshad-
owed by their more typically aged counter-
parts. According to the National Center of 
Education Statistics, 38 percent of the 18 mil-
lion students enrolled in college in 2007 were 
classified as nontraditional. However, despite 
their growing presence in the classroom, non-
traditional students across the higher edu-
cation landscape lead largely invisible lives. 
Often overlooked by college administrators 
and fellow students alike, nontraditional stu-
dents tend to be lost in a sea of youth.

***

Helen Maynard graduated from the Univer-

sity of Michigan this past April, but she wasn’t 
part of the incoming freshman class in the fall 
of 2012. When Maynard took her first steps on 
campus, the year was 1983.

A Cleveland native, Maynard faced finan-

cial troubles from the outset, as out-of-state 
tuition costs roughly double that of in-state 
tuition, and they didn’t subside as time went 
on. By the time her senior year rolled around, 
she worked three jobs simultaneously — an 
ice cream parlor, a retail clothing store and 
the campus recreational sports department — 
and held an unpaid internship position at the 
Community Television Network, the local TV 
station in Ann Arbor. As could be expected, 
Maynard struggled to handle the balancing 
act, eventually burning out and being placed 
on academic probation. The chips were heav-
ily stacked against her, but then, seemingly out 
of nowhere, a production opportunity that paid 
reasonably well came up and she had to make 
a decision. So, a few credits shy of graduating, 
Maynard dropped out.

Time passed, but still facing an uphill climb 

to pay back her student debt, Maynard decided 
to move back to Ohio and put her retail back-
ground to use while attempting to catch the 
attention of local TV crews. One day, on her 
way home from work, one of the videographers 
she knew from the local ABC station was pass-
ing by in a truck. When he saw her, he yelled 
out the window, telling her to call the head of 
the station. They had an opening on the desk. 
With a salary and benefits, she thought she 
would be able to pay off her debts and finally 
go back to school.

But then her professional life took off, and 

those plans had to be put on hold. After moving 
up the ladder with promotion after promotion, 
working her way from producer to assignment 
editor to assignment manager, Maynard began 
to realize that the idea of finishing her degree 
had faded away.

“You stop thinking about it,” she said. “And 

it’s just not on your mind anymore.”

When Maynard did finally return to the Uni-

versity in 2014, it wasn’t as a student. She came 
because she had been selected for a Knight-
Wallace Fellowship, a program for mid-career 
journalists to complete a self-directed program 
of study, participate in professional workshops 
and travel abroad within a single academic 
year. It was that experience that brought the 

didn’t even exist. Even desktop computers 
were a rarity. To access the Internet, students 
had to wait in line at the Michigan Union to 
use the small computer lab in the basement. 
Now, there are computer labs in most aca-
demic buildings on campus. But they often sit 
untouched, as students nowadays often prefer 
to use their laptops in their dorm rooms.

For Maynard, the power to choose the life 

you want to lead is a sentiment she’s found 
common among her younger peers, and it’s one 
that resonates with her. She hasn’t always had 
the choice to determine how her life would pan 
out, so she understands its value. But she did 
decide to come back to the University and fin-
ish her degree, and it’s a choice that has paid 
off.

“I didn’t realize that there was a hole,” she 

said. “It gives me a new confidence to say, ‘OK, 
I don’t have to figure out an answer to that 
question if it comes up.’ It gives me pride to say 
I’m a graduate of the University of Michigan. 
It’s like hitting a giant reset button. I have the 
same issue as everyone else who graduated 
this year: ‘What am I going to do with the rest 
of my life?’ I’ve got a lot of life left.”

***

Leslie Barroso graduated from Eastern 

Michigan University with a bachelor’s degree 
in English literature and a minor in sociology 
when she was in her late twenties. Though 
she was on track to graduate in four years, she 
dropped out of college during her senior year 
to join her family’s insurance business. But 
after an experience filled with more lows than 
highs, Barroso decided to switch course.

After she earned her degree, she bypassed 

the workforce and chose to start a family 
instead. She got married and moved to a small 
island in Maine, where she spent the majority 
of her adult life raising her children as a stay-
at-home mom. It wasn’t until three years ago 
that Barroso returned to Ann Arbor, but col-
lege wasn’t part of her plans initially.

She had always considered continuing her 

education and earning a master’s degree, but 
since she could never figure out what to study, 
the idea fizzled out. Living in Ann Arbor again, 
the allure of the University was hard to resist. 
So, fate stepped in.

Volunteer work has always been important 

to Barroso, and moving to a new place didn’t 
stop her from getting involved in the commu-
nity. She spends a considerable amount of time 
at the Women’s Huron Valley Correctional 
Facility, and she also works with young women 
in recovery to help ease their troubles. Then, 

she met a few social workers in 
her circle of acquaintances, 
and that’s when it hit her. 
She wanted to pursue a 
master’s degree in social work.

So she enrolled in the School 

of Social Work in the fall of 2016, 
which means she is only two 
weeks into her 16-month long pro-
gram; however, she is already learning how to 
navigate the classroom environment.

In one of her classes a few nights ago, the 

professor told the class to partner up on their 
own, and she had a sense that she would be the 
odd one out because of her older age.

“I just knew I was going to let everyone 

else pair off and I would take who was left 
because nobody flocked over to me,” she said. 
“And I didn’t take it personally. I understood 
it. They’re forming friendships in their own 
group.”

While it might seem like it would be hard for 

her to find a sense of belonging, Barroso says 
that it’s quite the opposite. Her email inbox 
is loaded with offers to join various student 
groups and attend certain organized activities. 
But she has openly chosen to opt out of those 
opportunities — a choice frequently made by 
nontraditional students — because she simply 
doesn’t have enough time in the day.

“To be honest, I don’t expect to find a sense 

of community here,” she said. “I have such a 
busy and full life outside of this — and I put a 
lot of that on hold to go to school. I really need 
the information they can teach me, so that I 
can do what I want to do afterwards.”

Barroso wants to work for an agency as a 

therapist in direct practice, hopefully at the 
University Health System, while also develop-
ing a private practice on the Internet to pro-
vide herself with more flexibility. While it may 
have taken her a while to figure out the next 
phase of her career and life, she said she knows 
now that it has all worked out for the best.

“You only get one lifetime, so it took me this 

long but, oh well,” she said. “All these things 
converged to say, ‘This is what you want to 
do,’ and I think I made the right decision. I 
do have those feelings that I wish I had done 
it 10, 20 years ago, but not much further than 
that because I really loved the life that I lived 
between then and now. I’ve been really lucky.”

***

Brittney Williams also graduated from the 

University this past April, but her road back to 
college was considerably shorter than those of 
many nontraditional students. She left origi-

nally during her junior year after her 
mother was diagnosed with early onset 

Alzheimer’s disease, and she had to go 
home to Alabama to serve as her mother’s 
primary caretaker and help take care of 

her younger siblings.
She came back five years later, in the sum-

mer of 2015, to pursue a bachelor’s degree in 
sociology, along with minors in Afroamerican 
and African studies and community action 
and social change through the School of Social 
Work, where she is now a master’s student.

Though Williams was in her late twenties 

by the time of her return, her undergraduate 
classmates seemingly couldn’t tell the differ-
ence. She said until she actually disclosed her 
age, many people just figured she was a fifth 
or sixth year senior. But they responded well 
when they did eventually find out the truth.

“I think that people looked at me in a class 

mom sort of way, and so they were like, ‘You’re 
so wise,’ ‘You’ve experienced so much life,’ 
and I kind of embraced that,” she said. “And so 
much of my nature, because of my caregiving 
experience, is about loving on people and mak-
ing them feel supported, so it was fine with 
me.”

While Williams felt accepted by her fellow 

classmates, it wasn’t the same as having people 
who could fully understand her situation. It 
wasn’t until she participated in a focus group 
of nontraditional students at the Center for 
the Education of Women that she felt a sense 
of comfort.

The experience made her openly wonder if 

there were any student organizations where 
these dialogues about the trials and tribula-
tions of nontraditional students existed. When 
there were none to be found, she resolved to 
take matters into her own hands.

So she founded the Michigan Organiza-

tion of Non-Traditional Students, her self-
described “brainchild,” through the Center for 
Campus Involvement. She convinced the CEW 
to become its sponsor, so it became a sponsored 
student organization, and she served as presi-
dent.

Initially, the organization struggled to find 

its footing and recruit members, for several 
reasons. Williams noted there are many logis-
tical issues that can prevent nontraditional 
students from participating in student groups, 
such as having busy schedules, raising children 
or commuting to class. On top of that, there is 
often a mentality that nontraditional students 
are supposed to focus solely on academics, not 
engage in social activities.

To combat these issues and get the organi-

zation off the ground, Williams reached out 

to the CEW for help. Together, they shifted 
the mission from a social gathering place to 
an educational resource center, implement-
ing workshops about dealing with being the 
same age as the professor, doing group work 
with younger peers and finding resources that 
aren’t as socially accessible to them, and they 
resonated strongly with many nontraditional 
students.

As an example of how the group helps con-

nect nontraditional students, Williams said if 
UM’s Counseling and Psychological Services 
utilized social media as a key outreach strat-
egy to connect to the digital generation, a 
nontraditional student in his or her late fifties 
would have a much less active presence online, 
if at all. Therefore, an older student would have 
less access to resources and support from the 
administration, a fundamental problem Wil-
liams noticed across the college landscape.

“How you think about age is that at certain 

points in life you have different levels of self-
sufficiency,” she said. “I think half of it is mak-
ing assumptions about what people know and 
what people need who are older students and 
half of it is about not wanting to come off as 
condescending.”

While Williams has since stepped down as 

president to concentrate on life as a graduate 
student, MONTS will continue to carry on its 
mission to create a safe space for nontradition-
al students with a new executive board and a 
budding membership.

“It’s really exciting,” she said. “It’s nice to 

have something that you conceptualized and 
worked so hard to establish continue to grow. 
It’s great.”

***

Oftentimes, when we talk about college, we 

see something specific — the typical experi-
ence of someone 18-24, navigating their first 
years away from home. But for a growing num-
ber of non-traditional students on campuses, 
that isn’t the case. Though they take the road 
less traveled, they reach the same ultimate 
destination, and if these three women are any 
indication, the journey is worth the wait.

idea of earning her degree back to the forefront 
of her mind.

“I hadn’t thought about it in years, and being 

here on campus made me think about it again,” 
she said. “I was so struck by all the great work 
that young people were doing and the enthusi-
asm and that feeling of you can go do anything 
and there’s every opportunity, and I had lost 
some of that.

“It’s an amazing environment being on cam-

pus, the amount of energy that you have, the 
variety of viewpoints, this unlimited opportu-
nity to learn. It just re-kindled something.”

So Maynard reached out to the Center for 

the Education of Women, a University orga-
nization that provides various services and 
financial support to women and nontradition-
al students in an effort to empower them to 
achieve educational success and degree com-
pletion. After applying and sharing her story 
with them, Maynard earned a spot as a CEW 
Scholar. It was that scholarship that enabled 
her to enroll as a student again for the 2015-
2016 academic year.

Through fellowship events and professional 

workshops held by the CEW, Maynard found a 
community of contemporaries that could relate 
to her experience as a nontraditional student 
and its inherent challenges. While some of 
her coworkers were amused or confused by 
her decision to return to school in her early 
fifties, her colleagues in the CEW understood 
her reasoning and encouraged her to carry on. 
She knew it was the right decision for her, and 
their support eased her transition back into the 
world of academia.

The University she found upon her arrival 

was starkly different than the one she left 
three decades ago. The technological revolu-
tion at the turn of the century, for example, 
made it harder for her to keep up with her 
technically-skilled classmates who had grown 
up in the digital age.

On her first day, she showed up to class 

without her laptop because she had read a 
CTools notification the night before from the 
professor that told the class not to bring them. 
But when she looked around the room, all of 
the other students had their laptops out. As it 
turned out, the professor had told them not to 
bring them, except on the first day in order to 
complete an online assessment.

“(Before) if you didn’t know by the end of the 

day or the class, you weren’t going to find out,” 
Maynard said. “No one was calling your dorm 
(saying) they wanted you to read X instead of 
Y. Now I’m getting emails and notifications on 
CTools at 11 o’clock at night.”

When she started school at UM, laptops 

