FCYU-Feature Story

Real Smart
Leaving college prep school helped me get ready for life

By Amber Grof

My handwriting gradually slowed as the minutes ticked by. I looked across the bleak room and stared longingly at my bed. I had covered it with stuff that would be uncomfortable to lie on, so sleep wouldn’t tempt me from my work.

I rolled my eyes with frustration at the thought of the three hours spent dusting, sweeping and finally watering all of my foster mother’s damn plants. Crap! It was already midnight and I still had my Chinese and cryptology homework to do. My heavy eyelids begged me to put them to rest. I placed my head on top of my folded arms. My alarm took me from my slumber six hours later.

This was my life at Bard High School Early College, where you graduate with not only a diploma, but a two-year college degree. When I first learned of Bard in the 8th grade, it seemed amazing. I imagined being half way done with college at the age of 18, awaiting admission to Harvard, my writing already published in well-known magazines. I had it all planned out in my dreams.

Bard had very high standards. They wanted the smartest of the smart, straight A’s only, thank you. At the time, I thought that straight A’s was what being smart was all about.

A Golden Opportunity

After I received my acceptance letter from Bard, I was ecstatic. I was one of only five from my junior high school who had been selected. All of my teachers were proud of me; receiving that letter placed a huge smile on my face. Bard became my golden opportunity to prove myself.

And I did. Bard helped me build my self-esteem. When the school year began, I had already been in foster care for a couple of years and I had just transferred to a new foster home. I was still adjusting to the bitter attitude of my foster mother, who saw me as little more than her maid. My biological parents were never that encouraging either.

Though I was upset about being placed in care, I hoped that my new foster parents would be different. But I was too hopeful. So I started putting all of my energy toward excelling at Bard. It helped take my mind off my troubles at home.

Proving Myself Smart

But Bard was much more demanding than it seemed at first. In junior high school, I was a master at slacking off. I had the smarts and never had to put forth any effort. My 8th grade teachers would applaud me on my excellent essays, clueless that I had quickly scribbled them on my way to school. When I tried to pull that off at Bard, I realized that I could fail. After I earned 60% on my first Chinese quiz, I had to be tutored. A feeling of stupidity filled my insides as my teacher lectured me for 50 minutes.

At first, this motivated me. I poured myself into my studies and scheduled appointments with my teachers to get extra help with my work. My efforts paid off in my grades, and I no longer heard the constant criticism from my foster mother. My ears were now filled with praise from my teachers.

I felt vindicated after seeing my report card. My B average was proof that I was more than my foster mother’s maid. But I wanted her to admit it, too: I needed her to say I was smart, that I was capable of doing things. I needed support from her that she would just not provide. I felt alone and ignored.

A Change for the Worse

When I was released back to my birth mother during my sophomore year, I thought things would change. Maybe our time apart had given her a push to improve herself. It hadn’t, though, and I became angry about it.

We always argued. My mother frustrated me more than my foster mother ever had. After our arguments, I would be too fused up to care about anything. I would throw my books aside and go to sleep. My anger showed in my grades at Bard, and my teachers began to notice a change in my attitude. My work was either poorly done or not done at all.

I spoke with a friend about my problems, and she told me about emancipation: if granted by the court, I could live independently, though I was underage. With her help, I learned a lot about the process. I started developing a plan for supporting myself.

Freedom, for a Price

After a lot of paperwork and constant talks with my case worker, I was finally emancipated in August of 2006, at the age of 16. Because I couldn’t afford a place on my own, I would remain living with my mother but I paid my own way, including my share of the rent. Emancipating myself meant I was no longer obligated by her “rules.” I was free to make my own schedule, which was important because I had many responsibilities, including my first job, as a sales associate at a clothing store.

I wasn’t able to fully support myself working part-time for minimum wage. Most of my paychecks went toward paying rent. At times, I would eat at my aunt’s house because I couldn’t buy food. Still, I was my own adult. I was struggling, but being independent felt great. It was much more agreeable than living under my mother’s rule, or a stranger’s.

I started working more and more hours: I would go to school at 9 in the morning, rush straight to work at 2:45, and finally reach home around 10:30 at night. I was too exhausted to get any of my schoolwork done, especially when my mom and I argued.

I Couldn’t Find My Balance

For the second time, school went on the back burner. I couldn’t seem to balance being a student at Bard with everything else. And I had trouble trusting people enough to open up about my personal problems. I had no one to talk to at Bard. I could complain to my peers about my frustrations with school, but I never felt comfortable telling them my issues at home. I felt like I was living in two worlds: one where I was a struggling student and the other, where I was a struggling daughter.

During my junior year, my guidance counselor and I began meeting weekly, hoping to find a solution to my struggles. He suggested a job that would pay more and offer me a better schedule so I could stay on top of my schoolwork. I quit my sales job once I was hired at this other position.

My new job was amazing. It had flexible hours, but more importantly it inspired me. I was a program associate at a community center that helps young women build leadership skills. I was shown ways to help make change in the world through activism: fighting for women’s rights, ending poverty, and other causes I was passionate about. I learned more there than I ever had at Bard.

But as the months passed, I still couldn’t manage my schoolwork. It was all just too much.

Leaving Bard

My assistant principal was known for helping students leave Bard if they were doing poorly. She gave them the extra push they needed to transfer out. So when I walked into my guidance counselor’s office and found her there after mid-term report cards were mailed out, I immediately became tense and worried. After we touched on my struggles, she cut to the chase.

“Well, how do you feel you’re doing here?” And there it was. I knew what she meant. So I said what she wanted me to say. I told her that I was struggling way too much. That maybe Bard was no longer for me. That I should leave. I knew I had to leave, I just didn’t want to admit it yet. With apologetic smiles on their faces, my counselor and assistant principal spoke to me about my options for transferring.

Leaving Bard was harder than emancipation. Bard represented my capabilities, my intelligence. If I couldn’t finish Bard, what did that say about me? How smart was I really if I didn’t graduate from there? What colleges would want me now? It was hard, but I knew I either had to transfer or worry about getting kicked out because of my poor grades. I decided to transfer in the fall to a high school where students earn credits by participating in both internships and in-class studies.

Regrets

At the end of the summer, my mother decided to kick me out, so I moved in with a roommate in Manhattan just as I was starting at my new school.

My new teachers acted as if they were in a room with illiterate 6th graders, and the students there played the role perfectly. Students didn’t seem to care if they passed or failed. They would lounge around the classroom, fall asleep, text, and drive me nuts.

I became bitter, and thoughts of being back at Bard would creep into my head. If I had applied myself harder in Bard, I would still be in there and wouldn’t be regretting my transfer.

I worried about my education. My Bardian friends would complain about the overload of homework as I sat wondering why my new teachers never gave us work to take home. At the end of my first Chinese class, I nearly cried. I’d spent three very long and hard years studying Mandarin, to go to this school and just sit there and watch as the teacher incorrectly pronounced phrases the students could use if they ever took a field trip to Beijing.

I Had to Push

By the end of the first quarter, I decided to make some changes. I now knew I needed to be more careful when selecting classes and internships. I needed classes where I was not the only attentive student, and internships where I would be doing more than answering the phone all day.

Now I knew that if I was going to get something from this school, I’d have to push for it. So I spoke with the teachers and got insight on the courses they were teaching.

In a strange way, I realized that many things had actually been handed to me at Bard. All I had needed to do was attend the classes and study. At my new school, I had to take the initiative and do all the work for myself. Having to take that extra step helped me to start discussions with both teachers and students and in turn, learning became more enjoyable.

I might not have been able to take on everything Bard has to offer, but I learned a lot from my struggle to do it all. And by leaving Bard a year ago, I was able to expand my options in ways I never imagined. Through my new school, I got several media internships that let me network with journalists and activists through radio stations, magazines and television stations, something I would have previously ignored because of my studies. I feel prepared for college—and for life—in ways that I hadn’t been at Bard.

New Adventures

The bright screen of my laptop strained my eyes. It was two in the morning; I should rest. Yet my mind was still buzzing with excitement.

I clicked out of the website for Sierra Leone. I had been researching the organization in Africa where I’d be volunteering after high school thanks to some connections I made through my job at the community center. Now I knew what the sleep-away camp in Sierra Leone looked like. An abundance of tents, with children all running around to their different workshops and activities, smiles wide across their faces.

Sierra Leone had just ended an intense civil war, and I wondered what the atmosphere would be like. I could only imagine what those children and their families have gone through and what joy the kids would get going to camp. The writing workshops were what I’d been looking forward to most. I couldn’t wait to teach the kids and write stories about my experience there.

As I lay down, my imagination went wild thinking about the amazing things I might encounter on my trip. I could not wrap my brain around this. Me. I’m going to Sierra Leone. I’m actually going to volunteer my time in Africa. How is this possible?

A text from my friend at Bard complaining about her 10-page paper brought me back to the present. I closed my eyes, all the more reassured my transfer was for the best. Being “smart” has a whole new meaning now.

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