Thread by @robertmclaws

Since we’re talking about how we got into college today, here’s mine:

I worked my ass off and was awarded a 4 year, full ride Air Force ROTC scholarship in 2000. Had the second-highest score on the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery (ASVAB) in the state.

That meant I could pretty much do any job I wanted.

Final award was contingent on passing standard military entrance tests (physical, etc).

I was advised by my instructors not to make a big deal out of my exercise-induced asthma, and it wouldn’t be a problem.

I was so worried about “lying” on that part of my physical, that I was not prepared for my responses to other possible questions.

Questions like “Have you ever had suicidal thoughts?”

I was not at all prepared for that question.

I had undiagnosed depression as a kid. Would sit on the roof of my two-story house and fantasize about jumping off; ensuring my death by jumping just right so my head would hit the rail of my above ground pool and snap my neck.

I’ve never talked about this before, publicly, BTW.

My parents were fighting all the time and about to get divorced, so since my twin sister and I were the oldest, we were basically taking care of my younger sisters.

The only thing that stopped me was how devastated my youngest sister would be if I had done that. She was my pal, couldn’t do that to her.

So I dealt with it. In silence. Made myself get better. Junior ROTC was a huge part of how I was able to deal.

But a month before these tests, I had been blindsided at school the day of graduation that I had failed my college English class (which was totally my fault, I was just lazy and didn’t do the work) and that I was a half-credit short in English and could not graduate.

I had just been up for 36 hours helping the Student Council edit the Senior Video. I missed out on the Senior Picnic because I needed to sleep. Had 3 hours of sleep before I got called into the office for “an emergency”.

You needed 18 credits to graduate HS in Phoenix. I had 35. Literally could have almost graduated twice.

My guidance councilor was not told.

I found out later she could have fixed it by dropping all my weighted English grades down and combining the credits. If she had known.

The school I busted my ass for didn’t have my back. My parents were more worried about how it made them look than how I felt. I was alone.

In my sleep-deprived daze, I told them I would make up the work, & that they should say something about it at graduation.

This was a really bad idea.

No one stopped it.

The principal saw it in her notes. She did not stop it either.

I played the viola in the school orchestra. You were required to play during graduation, or you didn’t pass the class.

I sat on the field. Without my cap and gown.

My twin sister also played the viola. She sat near me, in hers. Then the seniors were called up to take their seats. I stayed behind, in the orchestra. Conspicuously absent.

I desperately wanted to tell the principal not to say anything. But doing so would have required a disruption to the event. I couldn’t figure out how to get her the message.

So I watched in horror, as my principal announced to 800 students of the Class of 2000, and at least 1600 of their parents and siblings (not to mention all of my teachers and ROTC instructors) that “Robert McLaws will not be graduating with the rest of you.”

I wanted to die.

Then I watched all my friends, along with my sister, get their diplomas. While I sat in the orchestra and tried to play the Graduation March while not falling apart.

(I’m shaking even now, writing this)

The next few weeks were a blur. I didn’t know that the next day, a hoard of teachers stormed the Principal’s office and demanded her resignation.

Two days later, I was supposed to go on a senior trip to California with my best friends from ROTC.

I still had my stuff packed up from my attempt to move out of my house on my 18th birthday without telling my parents (sorry guys).

So I told my parents I was throwing it out, took it all to a storage unit, and went with my friends to Cali. Not expecting to come back home.

In between the joy and freedom of one of the best trips of my life, my friends convinced me to come back with them.

After staying at a friends house a few days, my dad showed up at work and took me to lunch, where the youth pastor from my church was waiting.

He was a huge help. I moved back home, and spent a week in a room in my school’s front office. I had to make up the half credit with a correspondence English class, which consisted of 3 book reports. Two of the books on the list were books I had done reports on for other classes.

So I cranked out three 5-page essays in a week. Including reading Lord of the Files again so I could write a decent essay.

I took the papers to the correspondence English teacher.

He flipped through a couple pages of the first one & said “This is more work than anyone has ever done in this class!” and wrote an A on all three papers.

I went back to the front office. They handed me my diploma.

Class of 2000. *Requirements fulfilled June 2000.

I was livid.

All that, and I could have taken the correspondence English class 6 months prior, reprinted 3 reports from other accelerated English classes, and been done?!?!

My first introduction to the broken system called adulthood.

All of that is to say, when I drove to Luke AFB to complete my evaluations, & the form said “Have you ever had suicidal thoughts?”...

I was still in the middle of my nightmare.

This piece of paper didn’t know me. I didn’t have to look it in the eyes and be ashamed. It couldn’t be disappointed by my failure.

When God and most of my adult support system had let me down, this blank white paper was my confessional.

So I said yes.

That in and of itself was not the problem. The fact that I had no medical history of being treated was the problem. Forget that I had been kicked in the balls and was still standing. Didn’t matter.

One word torpedoed my entire 20 year plan.

And I didn’t have a backup.

My ROTC instructor (a full-bird Colonel) tried to appeal the decision, but it didn’t work.

I decided if I started programming professionally, I could get real world experience 4 years ahead of my peers. Screw college, I didn’t need it.

So I taught myself .NET.

Two months later, I met the woman who is now my wife. A year later, 9/11 happened. Many of my ROTC friends went to the Middle East. Several did not come back.

God had not let me down. I was spared the fate of my friends, & made stronger for even worse hardships that lay ahead.

I’m so very grateful for everyone that helped me back then, and all the love and support I have from my friends & family now.

I tell this story so that others can know that they aren’t alone. I’ve been there. I get it. I’m still here. I hope this helps you in your battles. /fin

Good lord this one could have used some punctuation. Breathe, Robert! LOL