Long story short: I received an acceptance letter for Howard University’s History PhD program. How’d I do it?
I didn’t.
Thanks, God.
In order to really understand what all this means, let’s back up...let’s really back up.
Dr. Eunice Warfield received her doctorate degree (she already had two Masters degrees) in the late 2000s. Grandmommy would always say that I could be the next one to do it. I internalized such feelings.
High school was a tough time. It was 7:30am one October morning and I was sitting in the hallway, preparing for another freshman day. In, she came. It was the school registrar. She was an older White lady who had been there many a year and she could be pleasant whenever she wanted to. I wasn’t sure if it was a bad day for her or not, but she looked down at me and said, “You’re failing Algebra 1. You’ll need to start thinking about summer school.” She promptly walked away.
Is it just me, or was there fog in my eyes?
I sat there feeling the angriest I’d ever felt. I couldn’t comprehend failing, let alone feeling like someone who didn’t even know me was judging me and calling me a failure. I called Mom. She called her mom. Grandmom, then-Director of Education, called the registrar and let her know how a student should be treated, whether they were her grandson or not.
The registrar cried and cried as she apologized to me. I always thought of her as a nice enough lady, and her son, the math teacher was a super chill guy. The registrar apologized again and again for her error in not realizing who I was (yet if I were just “anyone else,” I wonder what could have happened). I did my absolute best and worked as hard as I could (my English and Social Studies grades were over 100, for example).
I still failed Algebra 1.
God, I’ve never failed a class before. I’m not dumb, am I?
At my second high school, I had a wonderful math teacher who was patient enough with me and even introduced me to Star Wars after graduation. He was wonderful. Even though I dealt with some extremely difficult times in the desert, I survived. I survived being called selfish and arrogant by mentors I thought were supposed to help me grow. I survived being rumored about in front of my face in Spanish by a teacher. I survived racist jokes that everyone around me thought were harmless (because I was the only one who looked like me)…and even though I had the highest GPA, there was mysteriously not a valedictorian.
I entered college and was ready to steel myself against anything and anyone. Even though I survived my previous institution, I still felt that constant pain. Am I really an arrogant person? Was it selfish of me to take care of myself instead of being forced to take on additional leadership roles? Aren’t I supposed to keep being the best person I can be?
I endured many trials in college, some public and some private. Academically, school wasn’t hard for me and I ended up with a major and four minors. I stumbled and bumbled. I fought racism first-hand. I wrote things about diversity and inclusion and how much they mean to me. I’ve been attacked by Black Twitter and survived that, too. I fought for Kente stoles and other cultural graduation regalia. I fought for people groups outside of my own.
Then, graduation was coming.
I spent all of my last semester trying to force myself to think about a Masters degree in communications...or was it public relations? Documentary filmmaking? ANYTHING. I just couldn’t be a teacher.
Summer hit and I picked up new hobbies...but could I learn them fast enough to make a job out of it?
Hey God, can you hear me? I’m just asking for a sense of direction.
When I visited the Bay Area, I talked with my Uncle Melvyn, a pastor. He convinced me to pursue a doctorate in history--it’s what I’m good at--and do my documentary filmmaking or whatever else to supplement such work.
By October 2019, I was in Spain. I sat in my room studying for the GRE. Day after day. Week after week.
I talked with one of my professors the week before the GRE about some of my choices. I’ll go and get my doctorate at Yale, University of Pennsylvania, Columbia, University of Notre Dame, or University of Chicago. Ya know, the “super sophisticated” schools.
My wise professor told me to take a chill pill, Phil. Why not go for your Masters, first? I mean, not a bad idea, right? I switched my focus to schools that offered a masters program. From there, I’d work my way up. (Thank you, Dr, Diller)
I sat in front of that computer in Madrid, Spain a little dumbfounded. These scores were not amazing.
Okay, God. You want me to go to school? We’re gonna have to make this work...more like You’re gonna have to make this work.
I paid for every application and had some wonderful professors (you know who you are) send in their letters of recommendation. I put it out of my mind. There was no way I would make it into graduate school at this point...might as well try and start my content creation and journalistic dreams.
Yet, I obviously had to make money.
I submitted an application to Barnes & Noble and Books-A-Million. I haven’t heard from either one.
I woke up last Wednesday prepared to do what I felt I should’ve done all along. It isn’t a failure if I go and teach secondary English and History, right? In fact, I started to convince myself, I could do it. It’d be fun. I’d get into a routine. I could save money for the future. I was prepared to accept my fate and be okay with it. Maybe this is what God wants, I told myself. I guess I learned my lesson. I’ll just humble myself and teach.
I drove in from my alma mater late Sunday morning and slept until about noon. I was prepared to send my teaching application and keep praying. Instead, I woke up to an email from my top choice.
“Howard University Admission Decision”
Oh, okay. I already knew what the contents would read...something about how I was a cool candidate, but nice try, buddy, do it again another year.
I opened my email, emotionally steeling myself for the bite of rejection young adults know so well.
Instead, I saw this:
You’ve got to be kidding me...but wait...what’s that?
I re-read the email again. Didn’t I apply to the Masters program in History? Does that say...PhD!?
I wanted to scream. Instead, I FaceTimed my girlfriend, Natalia.
We screamed. I wanted to scream again.
Ding Dong! went the doorbell. It was my friend, Laura, who had come by for a visit. She wasn’t expecting me to thrust a camera into her hands.
It was time to “vlog” this really special moment: I was going to tell my grandmother.
In we went into the hallway to my grandparents’s room (Grandmommy hates being on camera, but I knew I’d want this moment saved for the rest of my life to remind me who paved the way).
She sat in her new hairdo, one of the few things she gets to do for herself since she’s a full-time caretaker for my grandfather, and sat dumbfounded. She was happy to see Laura, but really confused as to what was going on.
“I’ve got some really BIG news, Grandmommy. Make sure you’re ready.” I handed her my iPad and loaded up the screen. I watched her eyes navigate through those amazing words.
She squealed and jumped up from her chair.
“OH WOW!” Grandmom yelled as she threw her arms around me. “DR. WARFIELD! THAT’S MY GRANDSON!”
Keep in mind, I was supposed to just earn a Master’s and go from there. Instead, my application was manually changed by the institution to a PhD, and that’s a huge step I would have never imagined. I had all but given up.
When Grandmom and I were having a long discussion one Friday night, she made me promise one thing.
“When you do get around to doing your doctorate, I want you to do me a favor. I want you to dedicate it to me. Something along the lines of…
“To my grandmother, Dr. Eunice R. Warfield, who loves me more than words can ever express…”
I’m going to honor that.
While going to Howard University is a massive step, this is where I’ll need everyone’s help. If you believe in prayer, I ask that you pray for me! I don’t have the money to just go to school wherever I’d like, so I’m looking at all the funding I can get. My finances are uncertain, but my grandmother has reminded me that if this door has been opened for me, I’m meant to go. (And if you know where to find funding or you have funding, PLEASE reach out).
If you’ve been reaching out and encouraging me, I want to offer a huge thank you. I was down for a little while and I’m happy to have a better sense of direction.
To my professors and friends who have squealed and cried over the phone with me as they received the news, I just want to let you all know how much you mean to me. Thanks for encouraging me to keep going.
When I remember some of the awful teachers and professors I’ve had, I’m thankful that they were in my life for a reason.
There were several amazing teachers and professors who loved and supported me throughout this journey. I obviously didn’t do this by myself and never want anyone to think that I did. I also don’t believe that these situations I’ve gone through were supposed to destroy me, but to remind me of what God’s done in my life before. Special thanks to all of my friends and family who have advised me on this journey. Next stop, Washington D.C.
It’s been a hard few years, but I’m ready for the next challenge.
“This is the process, the refining, purifying process, which is to be carried on by the Lord of hosts. The work is most trying to the soul, but it is only through this process that the rubbish and defiling impurities can be removed. Our trials are all necessary to bring us close to our heavenly Father, in obedience to His will, that we may offer to the Lord an offering in righteousness… God has given capabilities, talents to improve. You each need a new and living experience in the divine life in order to do the will of God. No amount of past experience will suffice for the present nor strengthen us to overcome the difficulties in our path. We must have new grace and fresh strength daily in order to be victorious.”