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…

months. When I graduated at twenty-eight, there was no grand family reconciliation, no cinematic pride. My mother sent flowers with a card that read, Congratulations. Jennifer sent nothing. Yet Columbia offered me a position teaching undergraduate creative writing courses, and for the first time I allowed myself to feel the magnitude of what I had continue reading …