When I Dropped Out At 20, My Sister Told Everyone: “She’s The One Who Didn’t Finish.” Twelve Years Later, I’m Yale’s Dean Of Admissions. One Essay Read: “My Family Moved Past My Aunt’s Setback.” The Name? Amanda Chen. My Niece. I Picked Up My Red Pen And…

my aunt Rachel. Nobody had ever framed my life that way before—not as a warning survived, but as a model chosen. It was both gratifying and unbearably sad. Because if Amanda had found me through Google, it meant no adult in that house had ever bothered to tell her the truth.

After reading Amanda’s essay the first time, I printed a second copy and took continue reading …