That One Tucker Kid

Grab a drink, sit back, and get comfortable. I'm about to tell you a story about that one Tucker kid. You know the one. The youngest girl that came from the wrong side of town. The one that was homeschooled and everyone said she wouldn't amount to much. The one that started college at 16. The one that had a baby at 19 and everyone thought they had been proven right. The one that kept fighting and graduated with a B.A. at 20. The one who, at 26, decided to go back to school for her Masters and shocked the nay-sayers all over again.

Good for her, right? Well, you might be wrong. Here she is, out of school for over six years, working 40+ hours a week, and surviving as a single parent when she suddenly decides, "Hey, I think it would be a great idea to voluntarily put myself through a few years of torture." Did I mention she was a masochist?

Still, she put in extensive time and effort to make her application as competitive as possible. Then she waited. And waited. And waited even more. Just when she was convinced she was going to be rejected, she received notice that she had been accepted to her program of choice: Public History- Historic Preservation. 

She was ecstatic. She had everything planned out: when to get her texts, order her ID, pay for her parking pass. She even went to the campus the week before to figure out exactly where her classes were and how long it would take her to get to them. She might be a bit on the OCD side, but don't judge.

Even with all her planning and preparing, the first day was rough. Trying to juggle getting her son from school, to practice, then the babysitter, drive two hours, and jog up a large hill to get to class (our girl here isn't much on physical activities) was tricky, to say the least.

She accomplished it all, though. There she was sitting in class, breathing heavy and sweating, praying no one noticed the fine trembling in her hands. Then the lecture started. People were tossing out five-dollar words like they were candy at a parade. Suddenly, she went from being the big fish in a little pond, to a little, bitty fish in shark infested waters. Her notes varied from statements like, "What was I thinking?!" to "Google this term." Occasionally, there was an "Exactly what the heck does that even mean?!" thrown in. She survived, though. All three excruciating  hours.

Then came Orientation which almost gave her a panic attack: extracurricular activities, GPA requirements, internships, and programs. At one point, I'm pretty sure she stopped breathing. Afterwards, she ended up in her adviser's office bordering on tears and contemplating quitting. It was only day two.

Yet, we shouldn't underestimate our girl. She took stock of herself, her goals, and exactly what she wanted to be able to say to her son about the decisions she had made in her life. So she did what she does best: she started planning. 

Now, she's reading textbooks while at her son's football practice, typing papers while cooking dinner, and researching the Chicago Manual of Style while helping with math homework. Life is about rhythm. Her rhythm has quickly changed, but she's determined to catch on to the new beat.

Oh, trust me, our girl is still terrified, overwhelmed, and seriously considering heavy drinking, but she is also determined. I don't think we will be hearing the last of her anytime soon.