My name is John, and at 68 years old, I can finally say something I never imagined I would: I’m a college graduate.
When I first told my family I was enrolling in university, they were furious.
They said I was far too old to waste money on an education I would “never get the chance to use.” To them, the savings I had spent decades building weren’t really mine anymore — they were the inheritance they expected to receive someday.
But after losing my wife, I felt completely lost, and going back to school was the first thing that gave me a reason to wake up excited again.
Deep down, I knew she would have wanted me to do something that made me feel alive.
People laughed when they heard about the 68-year-old sitting in lecture halls with students young enough to be his grandchildren.
Some rolled their eyes, and even my own sons stopped speaking to me.
