A small bag of sand is positioned humbly on my work desk. Regarding the sand’s origins, I am unable to give a definitive answer, but of its destiny, I am perfectly cognizant. Though I only became aware of the sand’s existence at the age of eighteen, it had dwelt in my life for quite some time before then. It had left its mark behind me, traveled kindly beside me, and eagerly waited before me. Although the sand had proven to be a profound resource throughout my entire life, I was completely unaware of its value. Even as I observed the small granules of sediment flow far too quickly from the hands of my fellow man, I was oblivious of its worth.
My ignorance was finally mitigated on a cool autumn morning in a small classroom at Carroll College, only a soft-spoken professor and an hourglass before me. The professor’s hands were positioned in a prayerful manner, slightly covering his mouth. He asked us, “What is going on here?”
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Contrary to my collegiate peers whose high schools had offered advanced placement classes and health science electives, my vocational courses were in agriculture, and my incoming ACT test scores were low. I assured all of my professors that I would need extra help compared to my peers. Though I was concerned about how I would be perceived as an agrarian college kid, I was not ashamed of it; it was an intricate part of who I was. But still, I was concerned about the implications that it would have on my ability to excel at the most prestigious liberal arts school in my state. That was, until I learned about the sand—my sand. All I needed to do, I purported, was give my studies time. I began to earn and continued to earn some of the highest scores on all of my exams and writings. I began tutoring students who had done much better than I had done on the ACT. I realized that my background had not maimed me in casts of