Wednesday, March 22, 2017 // The Statement
6B

Personal Statement: A Place to Call Home

I 

never expected to go to the Uni-
versity of Michigan.

I grew up in a small town in the 

middle of a cornfield (also known 
as southwest Michigan) and 

graduated in a class of 59 students. There, 
college isn’t “expected” by any means. The 
town I grew up in has a population of rough-
ly 1,500 people and is primarily dominated 
by agriculture and factory work.

It’s the kind of place that doesn’t offer AP 

classes, but does offer a consumer’s math 
course (basically we learned how to finance 
a house and do our taxes — “real-life” math, 
if that’s what you want to call it). We didn’t 
have any college-prep classes like calculus. 
The kids who did want to go to college — the 
few that there were — were not exposed to 
the rigorous curriculum that prepares stu-
dents for schools like the University.

Many of my peers entered the workforce 

straight out of high school, per usual. It’s 
more uncommon for kids in my town to go 
to four-year universities than it is to get a job 
and buy a house.

Because of this, I tried to keep most of my 

college endeavors under wraps. Friends and 
family members knew I wanted to go to col-
lege, but they didn’t really know where I was 
thinking of applying. The general consensus 
for most education-oriented students was 
community college. For a long time, that’s 
where I thought I would end up.

At some point during my senior year, 

though, I started applying everywhere, 
including schools with out-of-state, private 
price tags. I didn’t apply because I thought I 
would go to the schools I was applying to, but 
just because I wanted to see where I would 
get in. I had the grades, the ACT scores and 
extracurriculars, but I came from a little 
Midwest town in the middle of nowhere. I 
wasn’t getting into the University.

So you can imagine the conflict of emo-

tions I had when I received a big envelope 
in the mail with the word “Congratulations” 
sprawled across the top. I wasn’t exactly 
thrilled to be accepted to the University 
of Michigan, mostly because a part of me 
hoped I wouldn’t get in.

It sounds stupid, but I knew I wouldn’t be 

able to attend a school with a price tag like 
the University’s. It almost hurt to be accept-
ed and know that I couldn’t go. I had tossed 
the idea of going to school here out the win-
dow at the same time I submitted the appli-
cation.

I hadn’t considered attending the Univer-

sity as a legitimate option, so now that the 
opportunity was open to me, I didn’t really 
know what to think. Kids like me who come 
from towns like mine generally don’t even 
apply to schools like the University, let alone 

get in. I hadn’t been on a visit, I didn’t know 
how I would major in nursing at a school 
that people call “a public Ivy,” and I was 
lacking in the math and science background 
that I would need.

Ultimately, though, I decided to go. I 

can’t really explain how it happened — one 
second, I had given up any shred of an idea 
that I would go to school here, and the next 
(which was conveniently the last day to reg-
ister), I was enrolled at the University. I had 
received financial aid and scholarships that 
covered all of the costs, which I think was a 
driving factor in the decision.

But there was something about unan-

swered potential that really made me want 
to branch out and go somewhere I had never 
even been before. So I enrolled.

I didn’t tell my family about my deci-

sion for a while, in particular because they 
weren’t thrilled about the idea of me going 
to college in the first place. My parents have 
always been a little disengaged in the pro-
cess, especially after my brother graduated 
high school. It’s hard to explain, but basi-
cally I was verified as an “unaccompanied 
homeless youth” in high school.

I moved in with my brother during my 

sophomore year. I worked two jobs and paid 
for my own clothes, car, groceries and bills. 
Neither one of my parents had been there for 
me through the application process, so I did 
it by myself.

Needless to say, it was pretty clear from 

the beginning that if I decided to go to 
school, I’d be responsible for footing the bill. 
What I didn’t expect was the support that 
the University gave me with my finances. 
Once I realized I would have 
the funds to go, it seemed like a 
prime opportunity to be a first-
generation college student.

Looking back on it now, it 

wasn’t easy being self-sufficient 
in high school. But in the long 
run, I appreciate the lack of 
support I had at such a crucial 
point in my life. It taught me to 
be independent and responsible 
in times where I shouldn’t have 
to have been, and nothing has 
prepared me more for my time 
at the University.

What I wasn’t ready for was 

how difficult it would be to go 
through college without a tra-
ditional support system. It’s 
frustrating — so unbelievably 
frustrating — to not have the 
support that I felt other stu-
dents had. As a first-generation 
student who was alienated at 
the start of my college career, I 

consistently felt I was lacking support.

My family doesn’t really know the norms 

of college, and I feel like I’ve missed out on 
a lot because of that. Care packages haven’t 
ever been a thing, nor will they ever be. I 
don’t get phone calls from my parents asking 
about my exams because they don’t remem-
ber when they are. There’s never been an 
interest in my writing for the Daily, or for 
attending a football game with me or seeing 
campus.

At risk of sounding like an angsty 20-year-

old, I want to clarify that it’s not that my 
parents want me to fail in life — they’re my 
parents, they obviously don’t. But they don’t 
see college for what it is, and that’s an oppor-
tunity for me to build on my potential. And 
it seems that no matter how much time I 
spend here, or how much work I put in, it’ll 
just be considered a waste of time.

So despite the lack of background 

knowledge in math or Spanish or what-
ever academic challenges I may have 
faced that first semester freshman year 
(and continue to face), those weren’t my 
biggest obstacles coming into college. I 
didn’t have a support system to fall back 
on.

That hurt most when my roommates 

were calling their moms for medical 
advice, or when they needed a shoulder 
to cry on after a hard exam or when their 
families would come to visit. It’s why I 
feel uncomfortable around my friends’ 
families — not because I’m envious or bit-
ter, but because I don’t know how those 
things are supposed to work.

If you’re like me, and your family 

doesn’t back you up as often as you wish 
they would, the best thing you can do 
is find a place that provides you with a 
makeshift family. I got a taste of that with 
my two roommates freshman year (lucky, 
I know). But really, the place where I 
found the most comfort was the Daily.

It sounds like such a plug and so 

cheesy, but it’s true. I don’t know if it’s 
because we never stop covering events or 
publishing stories so it seems like a con-
stant presence, but the Daily is my home. 
It’s like being a part of a sports team. The 
older students have mentored me, and 
picked me up when I’ve been down. The 
people I’ve met have done so much for me 
on an unbelievable scale, and I’m not sure 
they know it.

But even with the support I’ve learned 

in college, I still face challenges when I 
go home. As a second-semester sopho-
more, my dad still asks me if I am plan-
ning to graduate. It’s like a surprise that 
I’ve stuck it out this long, and even more 
surprising that I plan on staying.

If I had a dollar for every time someone 

implied that I couldn’t graduate from col-
lege, I’d probably have enough money to 
pay the University’s tuition without any 
financial aid.

Long story short, everyone has a differ-

ent path to Ann Arbor. For some, it might 
be as simple as counting to 10. But for 
me, it changed my life. It taught me to go 
beyond expectations and to try things I 
never thought I would ever be able to try, 
and I feel like that’s kind of what college 
is all about.

by Laney Byler, Daily Sports Editor

ILLUSTRATION BY EMILY HARDIE

