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“Are you willing to give up some of your free time to dedicate to this program?” she asks.
“Yes, I am.”
“It’s a commitment. It’s hard work. We provide a small stipend, but that doesn’t come close to covering all the time you’ll invest. It’s every Wednesday night, and some weekends.”
“Okay.”
She says she’ll let me know. When I leave, I realize I’m shaking and my heart’s fluttering.
“Well, of course,” Scott says when I tell him how nervous I was. “It’s a big deal.”
“It’s a lot of work.”
“Most things are,” he says.
When I get home from school the next day, there’s a message on our machine from the director. “We just think you’re a fabulous student,” her message says. “We would love to have you join the program.”
It starts on Wednesday night, and I have to give up my serving shift to go. The tables are arranged in a square, and the florescent lights are humming overhead. I take a seat with the other seven participants, fill out a nametag, and introduce myself. The director stand before us, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail again.
“Nice to meet you all,” she says when we’ve gone around the room. “Welcome. You are all here because you are excellent students. You probably realize that higher education is the access point to your personal success. You may also know that if you succeed academically, you can create a better life for yourself. It will pull you out of poverty, it will increase your social standing, and you will discover your talents and strengths so that you can be your personal best. I cannot over-emphasize the importance of higher education! Set your goal as earning a PhD, everyone. By walking this road, you’ll gain access to the good life.” She pauses, taking a long look at each of us. “You all have what it takes,” she says, “that’s why you’re here. And McNair is here to help you. Through this program, you’ll earn the key that will unlock the door to your personal best.”
Perfect. Her words inspire and thrill me. I know this country has a lot to offer. I’ve heard of it, and I’ve caught glimpses of it, but I’ve never before found access to it. Now, here, finally, is an access point. On the other side of this hard work and effort is the good life: personal happiness, success, fulfillment.
My first step is to set up a meeting with my McNair mentor, an English professor who will be paid by the program to help guide me and mentor me on the academic ins and outs. She has agreed to help me choose a research paper topic, show me how to conduct the necessary research, help me form my argument, and proofread my paper for me. In exchange, the McNair Scholars Program will pay her a thousand dollars.
I write her three e-mails and leave two messages before she gets back to me, and then I have to drop a serving shift to meet with her because the only time she can meet, apparently, is five o’clock on Monday. But I don’t hold it against her. I arrive on time, knock on her office door, and wait. Then I knock again and wait some more. A few minutes later, I’m ready to walk away when she comes rushing around the corner, her arms loaded with folders. She fumbles with her keys to unlock the door. She barely looks at me.
“Are you Melanie?”
“Yes.”
“Here, have a seat.” She moves some books off a chair and shuffles papers around while explaining that she’s willing to answer any questions I may have, and she will proofread my paper once it’s written, but beyond that, I’m on my own. “I’m just really busy,” she says.
“Okay. That’s fine.” What else can I say? I could complain and get a different mentor, I suppose, but I don’t want to cause any trouble.
“Good.” She looks relieved, or maybe a bit guilty. “You don’t have any questions yet, then?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you know what you’re going to write about?”
“Not yet.”
“Start,” she tells me, “by choosing a writer you really like and then read what others say about them.”
So as I go through my English classes, I pay close attention to which writers I like. There are so many. So many amazing minds, so many glorious works. Then, a month into British Lit, we’re assigned Virginia Woolf’s A Room of One’s Own. It’s brilliant, radical, and moving, and it hits me as the work I need to focus on. I go to the library and ask the reference librarian to help me find some discussion on the text, and she teaches me to use the database to find literary criticism. I sit and read it for hours on end. One of my English professors comes by and sees me reading away and stops to tell me how wonderful it is to see such dedication.
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