April is the cruelest month. Just ask anyone rushing to finish those tax forms. While university undergrads are spared the brunt of this burden (possibly the best perk of not having any real career to speak of), April brings its own annoyance to many of us in the collegiate crowd: it’s when Georgetown wants those financial aid forms.
Every year, it’s the same cycle. Spend several tedious hours clicking through various web sites, fill in the correct numbers and fervently hope whatever committee doles out the money will cut you a break and make it that much easier to finance your four years of beer, pizza and, oh yeah, classes. In truth, the actual filling out of the forms isn’t very stressful. What is somewhat painful is the thought that runs through my head during this whole process: unlike many others, I could never afford to be in this place without help.
Arriving at Georgetown, I had no idea how many others were also dependent on financial aid, and I was convinced that the number was incredibly small. One of the first things I ever heard about Georgetown was, “That’s where all the rich kids go.” The list of people who have come out of here is very impressive; it also leaves you (or me, at least) with the impression that nearly everyone comes from a family with bottomless bank accounts and their own small island in the South Pacific.
For much of my freshman year I avoided all talk of grants and loans. I never mentioned my bank account, nor how many lavish trips I haven’t been on. Why tip off my new friends, all of them likely millionaires, that I wasn’t? I dreaded the hunt for a work study job. Going to a private Catholic high school, “work-study” had meant scraping gum off the bottom of desks, and I was sure I would get stuck with a job that was just as demeaning.
Gradually, of course, it became clear that I was stressing out over nothing. For one, the work-study jobs are actually pretty good; I’ve yet to scrape off anyone’s gum. More importantly, though, I realized that there were other students in the same situation. A lot of them, actually. The more I heard people talk about Pell grants and FAFSA deadlines and the specter of student loans, the more I felt comfortable that I wasn’t the odd man out. Every once in a while I’ll learn someone is the scion of a CEO family, but now I see them, not me, as the exception.
I don’t know whether other students on financial aid had the same worries when they first started. I’ve thought about asking, but I can only imagine how awkward that conversation would get: “Hey, did Georgetown make you feel poor too?” Regardless, I have a hunch I wasn’t alone in worrying about this, or in the relief I felt when I realized that Georgetown students don’t discriminate if your bank account doesn’t have a dozen zeroes at the end.
Studying in Spain has put the entire financial aid situation in even clearer perspective. The average Spaniard spends at most $1000 per semester for a fine public education. When I mentioned Georgetown’s tuition costs to one classmate, he responded, “That means all you Georgetown guys must be loaded, huh?” It felt pretty good to say no, we aren’t all millionaires. We just get a little help.
