Late for School (2)

That's the answer, I said to myself. Linda always feels better in the evening, so I'll just sign her up for night school.

Linda was busy filling out enrollment forms when the registrar looked at me with brown, persuasive eyes and said, "Mrs. Schantz, why don't you come back to school?"

I laughed in his face. "Me? Ha! I'm an old woman. I'm fifty-five!"
But he persisted, and before I knew what I had done, I was enrolled for classes in English and crafts. "This is only an experiment," I warned him, but he just smiled.

To my surprise, both Linda and I thrived in evening school. I went back again the next semester, and my grades steadily improved.

It was exciting, going to school again, but it was no game. Sitting in a class full of kids was awkward, but most of them were respectful and encouraging. During the day, I still had loads of housework to do and grandchildren to care for. Sometimes, I stayed up until two in the morning, adding columns of numbers for bookkeeping class. When the numbers didn't seem to work out, my eyes would cloud with tears and I would berate myself. Why am I so dumb?

But when I was down, Linda encouraged me. "Mom, you can't quit now!" And when she was down, I encouraged her. Together we would see this through.

At last, graduation was near, and the registrar called me into his office. I entered, trembling, afraid I had done something wrong.

He smiled and motioned for me to have a seat. "Mrs. Schantz," he began, You have done very well in school."

I blushed with relief.

"As a matter of fact," he went on, "your classmates have voted unanimously for you to be class orator."

I was speechless.

He smiled again and handed me a piece of paper. "And here is a little reward for all your hard work."

I looked at the paper. It was a college scholarship for $3,000. "Thank you" was all I could think to say, and I said it over and over.

The night of graduation, I was terrified. Two hundred people were sitting out there, and public speaking was a brand-new experience for me. My mouth wrinkled as if I had been eating persimmons. My heart skipped beats, and I wanted to flee, but I couldn't! After all, my own children were sitting in that audience. I couldn't be a coward in front of them.

Then, when I heard the first strains of "Pomp and Circumstance," my fears dissolved in a flood of delight. I am graduating! And so is Linda!

Somehow I got through the speech. I was startled by the applause, the first I ever remember receiving in my life.

Afterwards, roses arrived from my brothers and sisters throughout the Midwest. My husband gave me silk roses, "so they will not fade."

The local media showed up with cameras and recorders and lots of questions. There were tears and hugs and congratulations. I was proud of Linda, and a little afraid that I might have unintentionally stolen some of the attention that she deserved for her victory, but she seemed as proud as anyone of our dual success.

The class of '81 is history now, and I've gone on for some college education.

But sometimes, I sit down and put on the tape of my graduation speech. I hear myself say to the audience, "Don't ever underestimate your dreams in life. Anything can happen if you believe. Not a childish, magical belief. It means hard work, but never doubt that you can do it, with God's help."

And then, I remember the recurring dream-Hurry, Gin, you'll be late for school-and my eyes cloud over when I think of my mother.

Yes, Mom, I was late for school, but it was all the sweeter for waiting. I only wish you and Dad could have been there to see your daughter and granddaughter in all their pomp and circumstance.


Virginia Schantz As told to Daniel Schantz