The year my oldest son, Chase, began his senior year ofhigh school was one of the most challenging times of my life. I could barely pay the rent, and the water and electricity were often shut off. My job teaching private Pilates didn’t pay enough for me to stay in the expensive neighborhood where I had raised my kids and lived during my marriage, but I was determined not to move my children away from their schools and friends. I took on extra work waitressing on the weekends, but still struggled tomake ends meet. One day, while loading the kids into my car, the landlord tapped my shoulder and handed me an eviction notice.
My ex-husband and I invested all our money, including the proceeds from selling our home, to purchase a car dealership. My ex-husband was (and still is) a brilliant car guy, so the investment seemed low-risk. However, as the saying goes, timing is everything, and we bought at the wrong time. When the economy dropped, the dealership closed its doors, leaving me penniless and alone with three children.
I had sold most of my family heirlooms and jewelry but was barely surviving. This was the year that my oldest son would be applying to college, and without a dime for tuition, I was terrified. He was a decent student, but I knew that wouldn’t be enough for him to garner academic scholarships. My late mother had also financially struggled as a single mom, and she had managed to send me to a great college, and I was determined to do the same for my sons. I just needed to figure out how.
Chase played water polo, swimming, and cello. Late in his junior year, he and a few friends formed a Reggae band that quickly gained popularity amongst his peers. He played the bass guitar (basically a cello turned sideways), and the band began taking up more and more of his time. The two things that needed to be taken off his schedule were playing the bass and water polo. His water polo position was set defender, and he was the second tier with a few big guys who would most surely be recruited to one of the SoCal schools. Plus, there wasn’t a lot of scholarship money in water polo, and I needed to keep my eye on the prize—getting Chase scholarships. I also knew I was fighting an uphill battle without money for private cello lessons, swimming stroke clinics, and ACT prep courses.
One Saturday, early in Chase’s senior year, he told me he wanted to quit the cello, swimming, and water polo. I recall the physical pain I felt as a twisting knot in my stomach. It had always been my dream for my kids to share the same four-year college experience my mother had given me. I had to make it work, and there was no way I could let him quit these extracurricular activities. We ended up in a full-blown screaming match, and by the end of the fight, I agreed to let him quit water polo while staying in the band, but he had to continue swimming and playing the cello. He reluctantly accepted. There was a lot of door slamming, sulking, and hiding in his room while I wondered if I was the worst mom in the world.
I had attended a small liberal arts college in Ohio and knewthat a string of well-endowed schools there would love to have kids from a demographic like Los Angeles. A friend gave me miles so Chase and I could fly to Columbus. I borrowed a sorority sister’s cousin’s car, and she generously offered to let us stay at her house. We mapped out our drive, set up our interviews, scheduled cello auditions and meetings with swim coaches, and headed to Ohio. All of the schools we were looking at were Division 3 sports. This means that they technically can’t offer money for sports, but they can offer academic scholarships with the hope that they will play the sport/instrument while at school.
The car we drove had a broken front seat and what I thought was a weed leaf sticker on the back. I was mortified to be driving to visit colleges with a weed sticker! Before our first tour at my alma mater, Denison, we stopped at a coffee shop where I asked the barista to look at the car’s sticker. “Ma’am,” he said, “that’s a buckeye leaf.” Chase and I laughed as we drove up the hill to Denison, where he would meet with the swim coach and audition for the symphony. Finding the small music department building was difficult, and we were a little late for his cello audition. Once we found it, we waited for a long time, but the music director never showed up, and we returned to our car with a seventy-dollar parking ticket.
I won’t bore you with the details of the other tours and interviews, except for the one that meant the most to Chase. When we arrived at Ohio Wesleyan for his interview, his name was literally in lights in the admissions office. I could see thatChase was excited, too. He had a beautiful audition in a largeauditorium where he played a stunning cello piece. Inside, I feltnervous because I would never have been brave enough to do what he was doing. There he was, alone on stage while a panelof staff sat and listened. They then formed a circle around him and bombarded him with questions. After the music department, we headed to the pool, where the head coach told Chase, “I’m looking for a 200 freestyler, and you fit the bill.” On the drive back to the house where we were staying, Chase told me that he wanted to go to Ohio Wesleyan. I told him that if he decided to go, he owed it to the coach and the music department to at least commit one year to swimming and playing the cello. “I know,” he said, smiling.
The stars aligned, and the scholarship offers were included with his acceptance letters. Ohio Wesleyan offered him the most money; we were short twenty thousand dollars total between the scholarships and grants. He took out a student loan for five thousand dollars a year for four years. The school covered everything else. The weekend I dropped Chase at college, I reminded him that he owed it to the coach to swim for a year. This was Division 3, and they couldn’t force him, but I wanted him to know that the coach was counting on him. The music department had offered him a scholarship as long as he was a music major. After the first year, Chase decided he didn’t want to major in music and lost the five thousand a year scholarship. My boyfriend, now fiancé, generously offered to cover that lost scholarship money.
My son joyfully swam on the Ohio Wesleyan team for four years. The team practiced daily for hours, with winter training in Florida and long bus rides to swim meets. Chase also played the cello in the symphony all four years. I had grossly underestimated my son’s commitment and dedication to his sport and music, but mostly, I had underestimated his character. He taught me that he has the kind of character I admire, someone who doesn’t give up, keeps his word, and is reliable. I couldn’t be more proud of my son, who is now a father, a husband, has a strong career in the nonprofit sector, and is a homeowner. I hope that someday, when he takes his kids to look at colleges, he’ll remember the buckeye leaf and laugh. I also hope he will understand how much it means to a parent to give our children more opportunities than we had and see them shine.
