My mother enrolled in college at 42 while raising 4 kids. It was the same year I enrolled as a freshman.

The author, right, and her mother, left, both went to college the same year. Courtesy of Amy McHugh

• When I started college, my mother enrolled, too; she was 42 years old.
• She always wanted to be a teacher, so she studied hard while raising her three other children. 
• When she graduated and became a teacher, she became the woman I always knew she could be.

The year I went to college, my mother did too.

She enrolled at 42 years old after having three children. Some days, she questioned what she was doing in a classroom of kids my age. But my mother graduated at the top of her class with a degree in English and was named the recipient of a prestigious award.

After that, my mother became a teacher and morphed into a woman I’d seen glimpses of over the years — one buried beneath the expectation of sacrificing her own ambition for everyone else’s.

Watching my mother chase her dreams and fight the odds has inspired me to this day.

For most of her life, my mother followed tradition

My mother met my father during her freshman year of college. When he transferred schools to be closer to home, my mom left with him. My grandparents encouraged her to go to a secretarial school. It would be a good job until she had a family — her real purpose in life, they led her to believe.

Three months after my father graduated, my parents got married. A year later, they had me. When I was 15 months old, my brother arrived. Two years after that, I got another brother.

My dad worked nights and weekends, coaching and umpiring to subsidize his teaching salary. My mother spent most of her time alone — well, as alone as you can be raising kids. She cooked, cleaned, grocery shopped, mopped the floor on her hands and knees, and broke up fights between my brothers.

Though my dad was a math teacher, my mother knew how to make numbers work. She sat at the dining room table with a stack of bills in her bathrobe and a mug of black coffee. For hours, she manipulated numbers that didn’t quite add up, making sure the utilities were paid but also that my brothers’ hockey camps and an Esprit sweatshirt for my birthday were too.

Creativity kept her alive — most of the time, late at night. She made a three-dimensional Wonder Woman birthday cake and a World Wrestling boxing ring out of toothpicks. Her sewing machine hummed while she stitched Halloween costume requests: Strawberry Shortcake, a pirate, clown, princess, Raggedy Ann, and a ninja.

When I was in junior high, my mother started doing day care in our home. My sister was a newborn, and my mother could stay home with her and also be around when my brothers and I got home from school. She loved her day care kids but not being in the house all the time.

For years, family members and friends told my mother she’d be an amazing teacher. She was quick to dismiss the thought. Who’d do the laundry? The pick-ups? She was too old, she thought, and missed her chance. Fear crept in. What if she failed? Yet the alternative to not pursuing her dream scared her more.

She finally decided to chase her dreams

While my mother typed my college applications, she was also typing her own — in secret. We both applied to English programs and received merit money. I chose a college in a bordering state. My mother chose an in-state school 20 minutes from home. We registered for classes. My mother was mindful of her kids’ schedules; I was mindful that I wanted breaks during the day.

A month into my freshman year, my father said, “You know your mother is taking classes, too.” At the end of our first semester, he bragged about my mother’s 4.0. She hushed him, but I was in awe.

I complained about big exams and papers, and had endless hours of free time. My mother had three kids at home — one of whom was only 5. If she was overwhelmed, she didn’t let on. My father pitched in and folded laundry while he watched the Red Sox, but my mother continued to run point on paying the bills, organizing five schedules, and planning princess birthday parties.

On my mother’s college graduation day — a week after my own — her summa cum laude tassel waved to us as she walked across the stage to accept her diploma. I’d never seen her so happy, so proud of herself. A new version of my mother left the auditorium.

She became the woman I always knew she could be

My mother took a position teaching middle school English. After school, she helped students catch up on work and graded piles of papers. She felt seen and appreciated, something she didn’t when she stayed home with us.

We ate frozen pizza when she got home late from school, and she gushed about her students and colleagues. “Everyone is so great!” she said. “I wish I’d done this years ago.”

After catering to everyone else’s needs for years, my mother gave herself permission to do the same. The move was bold. It made me respect her that much more. Her best friend told me recently, “I always wanted to be a nurse. I wish I had been brave like your mom.”

We all won when my mother pursued her dream of teaching. She laughed more, hugged us tighter, and embraced store-bought birthday cakes. She loved being a teacher and loved being a mom. Her victory was finding a way she could be both.

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