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…

and I spent an absurd amount of time deciding where to seat everyone as if geography could prevent history from repeating itself. I chose a small restaurant near campus with warm light, forgiving acoustics, and no holiday symbolism attached to it. No silver passed down through generations. No table that belonged to my mother’s idea of order. Just continue reading …