The Place Where I Learned The Word "Matriculation" #TheeILove
Source: jsums.edu
It’s homecoming week at Thee Jackson State University, home of The Sonic Boom of the South. As I scroll through my Instagram feed seeing all the festivities going on on Thee Yard it caused me to reminisce on how I ended up at my Dear Ole College Home.
Back in the summer of ‘99, yes 1999, I had my heart dead set on attending Winston-Salem State University in Winston-Salem, North Carolina for two reasons: Lawrence Starks and Lillian McFarlin. My maternal grandparents attended WSSU and I wanted to continue the legacy. As I was going through different university packets - when I really should have been watching my group in the Kelly Park pool - Doug, one of the senior camp counselors, saw the Jackson State folder on the bottom of my pile. He said that I should attend Jackson State. I gave him the “for what” sideways glance and said something to the effect that the school is located on LYNCH STREET and sounds hella bootsy. Unbeknownst to my sixteen-year-old self, Doug was an alumnus of Jackson State. He ran down a brief history that went through one ear and out the other. I eventually said I would make it my safety school to which he gave me a sideways glance because he knew I had six California State Universities as my safety schools.
Fast forward to the Spring of 2000, acceptance letters start coming in via THE MAIL. USPS. I received my acceptance letters from Xavier University of Louisiana and Dillard University, both in New Orleans and my acceptance letters from the three CSUs I decided to apply to. I did not receive an acceptance letter from Jackson State. I was still waiting for my acceptance letter from WSSU because I knew I would be a Music Business Management and Merchandising freshman come Fall 2000. Nope. I received my first and only collegiate rejection letter. My spirit was shot by the words, “We regret to inform you…” I remember handing the letter back to my mom and walking down the hallway to my room. BRUH. I think I cried for like an hour while listening to DMX’s It’s Dark and Hell Is Hot. A young G was hella crushed. How were they going to reject me? ME? A 3.45 GPA having 1140 SAT and 19 ACT scoring legacy student. THE FULL [expletive]! The next night, I ended up talking to the lady I love the most, my Grandma Lillian. She low-key made the sting 5% better. An hour later, I spoke with my grandfather who was just as livid as I was. The carrier of his last name was not going to his alma mater where he paid his alumni dues, oh hell no, unacceptable. He ended up calling his frat brother in admissions to find out why I was not accepted. My grandfather’s inquiry resulted in me being ONE science credit from the requirement needed for acceptance. My transcript from the Sequoia Union HS District did not include my freshman classes from San Mateo Union HS District; per the SUHSD transcript, I was down a science class. Kali Starks was not going to be a WSSU Ram.
Around the end of April, or early May 2000, my lovely parents made the decision to sell both houses in Menlo [Menlo Park] and move onto my stepdad’s land in Mississippi. In my mind, it was whatever because I already decided not to accept the full ride to Xavier or the partial to Dillard. HBCUs betrayed me so [expletive] them. I made up my mind that I was going to Sacramento State University [California State University, Sacramento]. For what reason? I did not know nor did I care. About a week after the grand moving announcement was made, my parents and I had a meeting regarding my collegiate journey. It went something like this:
Mom: You’re not going to Sacramento State.
Me: *stares* Okay, why?
Mom: Because [redacted] works in San Carlos. She only goes home to Sac on the weekend. The closest relative you will have is [redacted] here in Menlo and I don’t want you up there by yourself.
Me: *refrains from rolling my eyes* Okay.
Stepdad: You don’t want to go to Sac State anyway.
Me: *nods head*
Mom: So you are going to go to Jackson State.
Me: Huh? What?
Mom: You are not going to like New Orleans. The first hurricane, you’ll be trying to come home. (My mom be knowing.)
Stepdad: Jackson is an hour and a half away from [redacted] so you could come home when you want.
Mom: You’re going.
Me: *counts to 20* Um, I did not get in.
Mom: Yes, you did. I called them-
Me: *stares through narrow eyes*
Mom: -you got in. They had three admission files under the incorrect spelling of your name.
Me: *continues to stare through narrow eyes* So, I have to go to Mississippi, with y’all.
Them: Yes.
Me: I can’t stay in California?
Them: Yes
Me: I have to go to Jackson State, in Jackson, in Mississippi? Hella racist Mississippi?
Them: *stares in parental annoyance*
Me: Can I marinate on it?
Them: *continues to stare in parental annoyance*
About 2-3 weeks later, I graduated from high school. Two weeks after that, a semi-truck packed with all my family’s belongings was en route to [redacted], Mississippi. The next day, my parents and I (and our three cockatiels and pitbull) started off on the 24+ hour drive to the Magnolia State.
Source: soulofamerica
On August 12, 2000, my parents drove me down to Jackson State University. I remember riding down J.R. Lynch Street from Pascagoula seeing dilapidated duplex houses, a random cemetery, a Mason temple, and my stepdad telling me not to walk down that street for anything (this was before JSU became new money fancy). We parked in a gravel parking lot adjacent to Alexander East dormitory, my new home for the next eight months. Looking back, I had way too much stuff as a freshman and regretted bringing it up when it was time to move out at the end of the Spring semester.
My first weeks at Jackson State University humbled my ass quickly. There was a learning curve and things that I know now I wish I knew then. Hello, FAFSA. Hello, Honors College. Hello, they should have used your SAT score, not your ACT score, when placing you in courses. I heard the word “matriculation” in almost every informational lecture given during those first few weeks. I learned that all my academic and financial affairs were my responsibility and handled by me, myself, and I. Even though I would hang out on the plaza until all hours of the night or wait around for THEE Sonic Boom to march through from the practice field, I still had to get up in the morning on time for my 9 o’clock class. My best friends and mom were no longer there to wake me up. It was hella different for me, a sheltered, spoiled, seventeen-year-old from San Mateo/Menlo Park, California, but I adjusted, found my way, and began developing into the person I am today.
I went to my parents’ house for Thanksgiving break a few months later. My mom kept all my mail in a basket on the sofa table. In the pile was my acceptance letter from Jackson State University. Late but somehow on time. Lmbo.
Until next time… *besos* L.A.
Originally Published on October 11, 2018.
