July 26, 2009
COLLEGE OF STATEN ISLAND
A Dillar a Dollar, a 12 O’Clock Scholar
By BRIGHID CASTACIO
Class ended early on our last meeting of the semester before summer break, and I felt completely at odds as
to what to do with myself. The stress of the past few weeks had become so intense; it seemed as if sheer
madness was not very far off. In that moment, as I left the classroom, the singleminded purpose of finishing
these courses, which had driven me day and night for so many weeks, simply dissipated and left me aimless
as I drove away from the campus. I called my husband to check in and see if the children were sleeping.
My daughter had fallen asleep waiting for me — her personal vigil to stay awake “until mommy comes home”
was unsuccessful. But of course, I thought to myself, she had been getting up with the sun to begin our mad
dash: walk the dog, get the baby ready, eat some breakfast, search for missing keys that, for some reason or
other, were always missing.
As I pulled the door shut that morning, I realized I hadn’t brushed her hair. With a sigh, I momentarily
debated whether to go back inside. Stay? Go? It was already 5 after, and my class was about to start. She
would have to go as is. Poor kid. To make matters worse, I had recently extended her daycare schedule to a
full 35-hour week. I had held off as long as I could, but there would have been no way to finish the semester
without it. I was angry at myself the other day, when I sat down at the end of the night and realized I had
spent a grand total of one hour with her. That was completely unacceptable.
There had been no room in the daycare center for my son, which was probably better anyway, since he had a
weak immune system and had already been hospitalized twice, including right after the semester started,
much to my chagrin. He had been staying with my sister, who fortunately enough was unemployed. We joked
about how she was my nanny-fairy. She had spent her day playing blocks, reading books, walking the baby
and dog to the park, washing the dishes, doing the laundry — well, sort of, and when the baby took his nap,
she would study for her G.R.E.
As I left campus that evening, I wasn’t headed anywhere in particular, and just seemed to follow one street to
another, wherever they led, until finally I found myself on the other side of Staten Island, on a hill
overlooking the Narrows. I sat there for a while and looked out at the bridge, watching the ships coming and
going.
My thoughts reverted to last December. I was not a student then, just a mom, with little plans to return to
school just yet. I had started my master’s two years before, but took a break when my son was born last year.
But with the economic downturn making it increasingly difficult to keep up with the payments on my
already-existing student loans, and at my husband’s absolute insistence, I found myself in the classroom one
evening in late January.
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