October 2002

Martin

WALLACE E-MAILED TO SAY HE had finally connected with Caitlin and her family. Wow, he wrote, what nice people.

I laughed out loud in the quiet dark of Mr. Muzawazi’s office.

So very true, I thought.

I was gathering all of my teacher recommendation letters to send to Caitlin’s mom. My physics teacher and guidance counselor each wrote a letter for me, as did the headmaster. The first one I’d received was from Mr. Makunura, my chemistry teacher, who had handed me his letter the day after my request. It looked so official, typed on Marist Brothers stationery. Class was just about to start, but my curiosity was strong: I quickly scanned the letter.

Academically, Martin is an outstanding student, the letter began. I looked around quickly to make sure no one saw what I was doing. It would be embarrassing to be caught reading about myself. I couldn’t stop. He mentioned my O-level scores, and said that I was in the top 5 percent of my A-level class. He spoke about my academic achievements at Nyanga but then he wrote something that made me feel so proud. Given his intellectual capability and motivation, I feel strongly that he will successfully go through the challenging course he has chosen. Martin is an exceptional student, one of the best I have come across.

Mr. Makunura had started his lecture, so I quickly placed the letter in my folder and started to take notes, unable to contain the smile that was stretching clear across my face.

I’d always called Caitlin’s parents Mr. and Mrs. Stoicsitz, but then Caitlin wrote me a letter in which she explained that her parents were informal and that most of her friends called them by their first names, Rich and Anne. She added, You’re not like most of my friends. You’re more like family. So my parents would like you to consider them your parents from another country. I hope that is okay.

I flipped through all the letters that Anne had sent me, and the dozens of e-mails I had printed. In one she sent in September, she listed the more than twenty universities she’d already contacted on my behalf. On October 1, she wrote, Are you tired of me yet? and then went on to detail her efforts at new schools, including Drexel, Villanova, and Franklin & Marshall. On October 2, she sent another note recommending I e-mail a woman at a college in Pennsylvania, as they offered full funding for superior students. And then the very next day, she sent another e-mail in which she wrote: MARTIN!!!!! La Salle University!!!! Her father had gone there, and they offered full scholarships. She signed off with I have a good feeling about this one!!!!! I had never seen so many exclamation points in one e-mail. Her enthusiasm was contagious.

Attached to that e-mail was information about the Christian Brothers Scholarship. It read: These scholarships cover full tuition and fees. Only sixteen are awarded each year. The average SAT score is 1350. I suddenly understood the importance of these SAT tests—and that Anne was doing for me what a mother does for her own child.

So on October 15, when I sent Anne and Rich my recommendation letters and my personal essay, I addressed the accompanying note, Dear Mom and Dad.

It didn’t feel strange writing such intimate words to people I had not yet met. On the contrary, it felt right. I ended the letter with I love you. It looked spare on the page, not as robust as I wanted it to come across. So I drew a big heart around it. That looked much better.