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I can still hear my parents: "We've done our part and stayed poor. You do your part and stay smart."

With no extra money and four children younger than I, I knew my parents could not afford to send me to college. In addition to applying for scholarships, I would have to work.

I began my first job one week after my sixteenth birthday. For the next 21 months I spent several afternoons a week washing dishes and mopping floors in a hospital kitchen. My free afternoons faded, but my savings account began to grow and new friendships emerged.

As college drew closer, I frantically applied for scholarships and loans. I knew, however, that some of the cost would come out of my pocket, and the final count showed that my savings account would easily be enough. Finally, I graduated from high school with plans to leave for college in three months. In mid-summer, the bill for my first semester arrived. I compared it to my financial aid award letter, wrote to cancel an unneeded loan, and triumphantly mailed the check - my own money for my own education.

Once at college, I found a job in the Dining Commons. Nothing glamorous, but it paid for books, telephone bills, and ice cream runs. My job also enabled me to write out another tuition check and begin another semester. As my new classes started, I filled out tax and financial aid forms and began to think about summer jobs.

I ended up with two great jobs that summer, but my schedule was tough. Some days I got up at 2 a.m. to deliver newspapers, snatched a couple hours of sleep, and then got ready to spend the afternoon supervising kids at a drop-in center. Exhausted, I welcomed the thought of returning to the rigors of school.

Now a senior in college, I am busy indexing newspapers and performing research in the school archives, my seventh job. I also work at the front desk in my residence hall a few hours a week. I hope to soon take a relaxing trip with my friends - just after I write my last tuition check, of course! In the meantime, I continue the search for a summer job that will leave me with experience and money for graduate school. In the past six years I have made money and expanded my resume. More important, though, is what I have learned and experienced. I sweated while mopping the filthy floor in a hot kitchen. I enjoyed beautiful sunrises while traipsing across dewy lawns with a bag of newspapers. I was cursed at by a 13-year-old boy whom I had to ask to leave a drop-in program and then was greeted the next day with a hug and an apology. I learned patience while repeatedly playing board games with a nine-year-old confined to a wheelchair. This patience was tested when my new $200 glasses were bent by a child with mental and emotional disabilities.

I am continually using the knowledge I have gained from working in the school archives. Each new job has helped me decide how I want to spend the rest of my life - helping people become aware of their historical and cultural identity - and helped me pay for the education to get there.

As I carefully check my tax returns, budget for my next telephone bill, and anticipate writing my last check for tuition, my mom's words echo in my head:

"We've done our part and stayed poor. You do your part and stay smart."

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