Excerpt from Chapter 12: Dreams Do Come True

When I went home that night, I shared the story with my mother; she said she would call the school and talk with somebody about it. The next day, true to her word, she came to school to meet with another guidance counselor. After hearing what had transpired, he gave my mother a business card and said, “It is clear to me that the other counselor will not help you, but I have an external resource that could. Her name is Pam Boivert, and she runs an Educational Opportunity Center (EOC) Trio program for low-income, first-generation college students. Perhaps she can help your son out.” He said this to her with uncertainty, but it was another option for me to try.

My mother called the number on the card that same day to schedule an appointment for us. Our meeting was at the end of the week, and I took everything I had prepared for my guidance counselor with me. I was so concerned and worried that she would say the same thing my guidance counselor had said to me, that I was not college material, and I vowed to do everything I could to prove my case. I was the only advocate I had, and I was desperate for a yes.

When we arrived at Pam’s office off Main Street in the clean business district of downtown Worcester, I was struck by the college pennants hanging on the walls. They were visual confirmation that this center could help kids like me get into college. My mom asked for Pam, and out walked a well-dressed, conservative-looking middle-aged white woman. We went into her office, where she shared what she did as an EOC counselor and reviewed the information that my mother had filled out. She was friendly yet professional, and wanted to know more about my family, my story, and me. After the interview, she told us that we qualified for the program.

“So what does that mean?” I asked eagerly.

“It means that I will help you get into college!” She beamed, sensing the mounting nerves between my mother and me. I nearly fainted when I heard those words. I hadn’t even applied to college yet, and the joy I felt in that moment was unmatched by anything in my life. I felt as if the 800-pound proverbial gorilla had finally jumped off my back.

“I want you to know that I am committed to doing whatever I have to do to make sure I get admitted to college,” I said, an ear-splitting smile painted on my face. With great enthusiasm, I ran through my litany of accomplishments, both inside and outside of school, to add to the college application process. I was talking faster than I ever had, and was intent on covering it all.

Pam held her hands up in mock-defense. “Hold on, we’re just getting started. You will have plenty of time to make your case. First, let’s put together a plan for what we need to get accomplished over the next several months.”

I laughed, and my mother calmed me down by saying, “Douglas, Pam is going to help us. She believes in us, so trust the process and let her do her job.”

I nodded in agreement, saying to myself, Yes, Pam . . . do your job, do your job, do your job, and help me get into college! My excitement was uncontainable. As we wrapped up our first meeting, Pam gave me a homework assignment, which was to create a list of colleges that I wanted to attend. I was encouraged to put them into three categories: safety schools, good schools, and dream schools. We would discuss each of them the next time we met.

That night, I went home to start my research. For the next couple of days, I was obsessed with my search and talked incessantly to other students about it, asking adults if they were college graduates and where they went to college, and I watched several television shows about university life. The week before our next meeting passed quickly, and by then, I had neatly written out the list of schools I wanted to focus on. My safety school was University of Bridgeport, which is no longer in existence; my good schools were Fairfield University and University of Hartford; and my dream schools were UMASS-Amherst and Northeastern University. Even the safety school seemed like a dream school considering everything I had been through. Regardless of where I attended, I wanted to leave Worcester and one day come back as a contributing member of society, giving back to other youth and families that were going through some of the same life challenges I had experienced.

I went by myself to my next meeting with Pam, because I felt that my mother had taken me as far as she could and that I needed to take control of my own future. It was time for me to break new ground as the first member of my family to attend college.

The meetings with Pam were all very productive, and we treated the application process as though it was a second job, working on deliverables on a daily basis with laser-like focus. Pam helped me fill out each college application, helped me craft my personal statement of purpose, helped me fill out my financial aid application, and helped me research and apply for scholarships that I was eligible to receive.

Each time I met with her, I could not get over how willing and open she was to helping me. The support Pam gave me was the fuel that got my ignition going and was such a contrast to the guidance counselor who tried to ice me out of a college future. It was clear to me as I worked with Pam that my guidance counselor had no interest in helping me, and I was glad that I did not let his advice become the final authority over my situation. My heart went out to other high school students who, one way or another, were told not to apply to college because they were not college material. Each day I went to school, I passed the main office and glanced into the guidance office. Never again will I allow the voice of someone else dictate what I will become in life, I thought. Never again!

With Pam’s help, I did everything I needed to do and completed the entire college application process. The EOC paid the application fees. Now it was out of my hands and up to the colleges. And God. I knew that whatever happened, I did what I needed to do. Just one month after getting off the streets as a homeless teen, I had applied to college. Something I thought was merely a dream was starting to come true.

Several months went by, and even though the process of applying to college was over, I continued my relationship with Pam because I had very few adults in my life who genuinely helped me and wanted me to succeed. I decided that I would try, come what may, to keep her in my life as a source of inspiration and motivation to continue to do my best in life.

During the spring of my senior year, students started getting letters from colleges regarding their acceptance or denial. The news came in one of two forms: regular-sized, light envelopes meant that you did not get in, while thick, heavy 8½ x 11 envelopes meant official college acceptance . . . You were a college student in the making. When I sent in my last application, I prayed every day for God to make a way for me to receive at least one of those giant, heavy envelopes.

Sometime toward the end of the month of March, I received my first large envelope from the University of Bridgeport. My mother put my mail on my bed, and when I saw the University of Bridgeport as the return address, I ripped open the letter and read:

Congratulations on your admittance to the University of Bridgeport.

I did not need to read the rest of the letter. I dropped the paper and fell to my knees. “Thank you, God,” I shrieked out loud and buried my head in my pillow, crying tears of joy that all my hard work had paid off. I sat in my room for close to an hour, reading the letter over and over again. Eventually, I made my way back to my feet and out of my room to share the news with my family.

“Ma, I got into college. I can’t believe it, but they want me, I am college material!”

My mother, beaming with joy, cheered and jumped up and down, putting her fists in the air. “Yes, God is so good!” she shouted.

Later that week, the next acceptance letter came from Fairfield University, then the University of Hartford, and then the University of Massachusetts, Amherst. My last acceptance letter was from Northeastern University. I had gotten into all five schools I applied to. Not bad for being told that I was not college material. By the time I read the Northeastern letter, I was face down on the ground, thanking God for making possible what had seemed to me to be the impossible. Pam Boivert was an angel sent down from heaven specifically to be my bridge from homelessness to college in less than six months.

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