What I could not know then was that this term was created to help define the unique struggles I would face during my time as a first-generation college student. I read the words on the folder aloud: “Carolina Firsts.” Sounded a bit pretentious to me. Confusion? Understanding? She smiled and her eyes softened as she pulled a Carolina blue folder from her desk, sliding it towards me. Unable to hide the pride in my voice, I finally responded, “Well, my mom is a registered nurse! She just finished getting her degree from our local community college last year.” Now it was difficult to distinguish the look on her face. The knot in my stomach had evaporated I sat upright and smiled widely. She would sit for hours upon hours, studying and taking quizzes and making flashcards. After plugging in her laptop and grabbing a Diet Mountain Dew from the fridge, her stake-out would begin. She’d intently lie out her nursing books, needlessly-full pencil pouch, and one of those lined, canary-yellow legal pads. I thought back to the many late nights I’d seen my mom shuffle inside from a long day of working at the drugstore. It was not that I’d missed the question the first time it was just that I did not quite fully understand what my high school guidance counselor was asking me. “You are not a continuing-education student, is that correct?” A knot began to form in my stomach as I wondered if it would be silly to bring up such achievements to a person who has a master’s degree. I had always been impressed by his work ethic. Not for academic accomplishments, but for his innovative and successful farming techniques. Numerous scenes of my stepdad receiving certificates and awards danced around in my head. “So, you’re a first-generation college student, right?”
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