My Secret Education
The Two Years of Community College that "Never Happened"
Story by Ali Rahnoma // Art by Marco Reyes

I've spent the last two years of my life receiving an education from De Anza Community College behind my family's back.   During that time I had the audacity to tell them that I already graduated from college at a time when I was barely passing English 101.

I lied to them because it is shameful in my family for someone to be spending so much time at a community college.   It's particularly bad since my cousins are all on their way towards graduating with bachelor degrees in Marketing, Engineering or other fine subjects that actually guarantee no job security in the Silicon Valley.

The truth was simple. I attended school only as rite of passage.   To me, attending community college was something that people my age do, just to do.

When my cousins began to graduate, all eyes turned to me.    With the mounting pressure I told my family that I was transferring and was not interested in the graduation ceremony. I told them that graduation ceremonies were childish and that I would wait for my degree to be mailed. This was during the Spring quarter of 2002, a good two years and about ten classes away from my actual graduation. During those two years my family had been waiting and asking for that AA degree. I kept telling them how the school had the wrong address and that they were verifying all my information.

I would purposely leave random San Jose State University documents that I had picked up from the De Anza College transfer center around my parents' house.   I would keep my De Anza parking permit locked up in the glove compartment to avoid being found out. My charade continued until I realized that a real graduation ceremony was soon becoming a possibility. With all the random classes that I had jumped in and out of, it finally seemed that I might be moving towards something.

So after five years, two years after my pretend graduation, I did it. I became the first in my immediate family with a college degree. The ceremony had local politicians - the same ones that stayed quiet while our tuition fees doubled - speak enthusiastically about the significance of our college education.

"So how many of you are the first ones in your family to graduate from college?" they asked. I shyly lifted my hand from my shining graduation gown, and raised it with the others. I knew that no one in the stands knew me enough to recognize my hand. My family, that would be so proud, was absent.   They thought the ceremony took place years ago.

First generation immigrants may understand how I got into this predicament.   My family comes from a generation of Afghan refugees that have sacrificed their entire lives in order to allow their children to have the opportunity to live the life that my family was denied. Both my parents were only a few academic units short of graduating college in Afghanistan when the Soviet tanks rolled in and forced them to flee the motherland. Attracted by Germany's free university system, my parents found refuge in the industrial city of Frankfurt with hopes of achieving their college degrees. Their hopes were crushed when they found out that their academic units from Afghanistan did not meet the "prestigious" educational standards of Germany.

Education eluded both my parents a second time. My mother, one of the few women in Afghanistan to study engineering, was left by German standards as a home-maker who knew how to use her quick math skills to get the best deals at the local markets. My father, a science man and a well-respected student of economics in Afghanistan, was left to use his skills working as a laborer at the German National Airport. They came to the US for more opportunity and placed all their hopes on their newborn to be.   Me.

I still have no money, no job, but took enough classes to stumble across the graduation stage and receive a document that suggests that I'm an accomplished person. I don't feel accomplished and the degree means very little since I did not share it with my family. It would be a shame if did not tell my parents about the events of the last two years. I intend on doing it, it's only inevitable.   I owe it to my family to include them in my life, and I owe it to myself to deal with my insecurities.   Things will probably never be the same in my family, but the important thing is that my soul can finally be at ease.