There’s No Place Like Home (Thinking about Katherine H)

It was never a question whether I would go to college or not, my mother made it known very early that I would be going to college. I guess it’s good to have aspirations for your children and try like the dickens to get your children to buy into your vision. The main problem we had however, is my mother didn’t know exactly how to get me there. She was clear that she wanted me to go away to school. Upon entering high school, she made sure that I was on the “college bound track” meaning that I would have to take what they called regent exams in all the core classes in order to graduate with an academic diploma. That was a good start. There were two really large problems.  The first one was that I didn’t have a good guidance counselor. In the late sixties it was very common for the counselors to push black kids towards commercial diplomas rather than academic diplomas.  Now please don’t misunderstand me, there is absolutely nothing wrong with getting a commercial diploma, particularly for those wanting to go to a trade school. Guidance counselors are paramount in directing children in the “next steps” after high school but for children who come from non-affluent families, it is an absolute must to have a counselor that will help to navigate the all too complicated process of  “getting into college”.  You really need someone who knows what they are doing and knows the student personally in order to successfully guide them – thus the title GUIDANCE COUNSELOR.  I sincerely feel that this is one of the areas in both high school and college that is lacking. Since I was one of the “bussed” children I went to a school outside of my neighborhood. I know there is  now a lot of controversy about “bussing”. I actually now have mixed feelings about that whole issue. As with most things, there are pros and cons. One of the cons, as it turned out, is that I didn’t find out  that I had to take the SAT in order to go to college until just a couple of days before it was given. I never thought of myself as particularly smart and since I had no experience with taking that kind of test, it proved to be quite challenging. There were definitely a lot of “smart” kids in the high school I attended. After a great deal of consternation, it turned out that I got accepted to a small junior college, Post Jr. College in Waterbury Connecticut. The transition was definitely difficult. I had made plenty of friendships in high school and now I was embarking on a whole new and vast experience where I would pretty much be on my own. Post Jr. College was a small (approximately 3,000 student campus) where I wound up being one of approximately 10 black students. The day arrived for me to go and my mother had arranged for my Uncle to drive me since he was the only one in the family with a car. I was petrified!!! My mother was so excited. We arrived before my roommate and so I had first dibs at which bed I wanted. In time, I found out that I was the only Black girl on my floor. The room was a nice size for two people and since I was on the back side of the building, at the end of a long hallway, my room faced the woods. My mother and aunt got busy unpacking some things for me and making my bed and then I really started to panic with the realization that they were actually going to leave me there by myself. I refused to cry even though it took every bit of strength I had not to. I had come from what turned out to be the best years of my schooling experience (high school), to a lonely desolate place of uncertainty.  

What if nobody liked me? What if these people (who mostly didn’t look like me) were mean and hateful towards me. I had had plenty of experience with that but at least I had home at the end of the day where I knew my parents would protect me. Oh how I longed for that small project apartment in Brooklyn where I was surrounded by lots of street noise and blaring sirens all through the night.  Even though it wasn’t the best neighborhood, it was home for me – it was familiar. At college I was surrounded by lots of woods which made me feel uneasy. I had heard tales of black people disappearing in woods never to be found again. What if I went missing? Who would look for me? I wasn\’t prepared for the complete darkness of the night. I often kept the blinds open searching frantically for the moonlight.  

My roommate arrived and both she and I were a little apprehensive about this roommate thing. She, for one, had never been around black people before and definitely not close up and personal. What seemed strange to me was how I knew so much about \”white culture\” and how she had little to NO idea about \”black culture\”. 

Although on the surface we appeared to get along OK (I generally can get along with anybody), she found another roommate and moved out within a month – so It winded up that I had the room to myself. 

I did manage to make friends with the other 4 black girls in the dorm (one of which is one of my best friends to this day). Through it all, God sustained me and sent angels along the way to get me through. I don’t think I would have made it through that year without them. I guess that first year in college was a necessary step in my growing up process. 

One thing for sure is that I looked forward to the end of every two weeks because that’s when I would get money from home. Although it was just a mere $14 dollars, I would spend half of it feeding the pay phone at the end of the hallway just to check on my mother and father and little brother, and the other portion I saved so I could take the train home. Each time I arrived in Grand Central Station, I would take a deep cleansing breath. I was so thankful to be back in familiar territory.  In the words of my favorite childhood character in my favorite movie (The Wizard of Oz)  “There’s no Place Like Home!”