When my mother was forty years old, she gave birth to her eleventh child. She had been raised on a farm by a father who did not believe that girls belonged in college and my mother was given a choice, beauty school or bank teller. She obtained her Hairdresser license around the same time that her younger brother was accepted into law school. She met and married my father when she was twenty-three and their little family quickly began to grow. After her third child was born my mother quit her job at the salon and became a full-time stay at home mom. A role that would last for the next forty years. A large family was tough to raise on the salary of a welder, and my mother became a genius at running the house on a dime. All clothes were handmade and handed down from child to child. The outside was our playground and better than any store-bought toy. The inside of the home was where the magic happened. The tiny living room was transformed into a miniature schoolhouse, little desks were placed against one wall, maps hung on the other wall and even a rolling chalkboard made an appearance. My mom loved to teach. This was her passion. Time passed and the little school in our living room began to grow. Word had gotten out. My mom could teach. It started with the neighbor child with a learning disability. After that success more and more parents would bring their young children to my mom for help. She taught them all. My mom was determined not to let history repeat itself and as we grew up, she insisted that we go to college. Especially the girls. She watched proudly as one after the other graduated with bachelor's degrees, master's degrees and even one PHD. Unfortunately, I was not one of the eleven who went to college. In a fit of rebellion, I packed up my car and moved out west at the age of twenty-two. Four years later I returned home, broke, unemployed and pregnant. My mother met me and my unborn daughter with open arms. She helped me apply to LPN school and after 12 months I graduated with a certificate to practice nursing. My mom was there on the day I graduated and she beamed with pride. As the years passed our family grew, many of the eleven married and began families of their own. My mom was always the center that we rotated around. Sunday dinners, Friday night card games. We all somehow found ourselves going home to be with her time and time again. It was at one of these gatherings that our beloved mother made an announcement. She had thought long and hard about it and decided that she wanted to go to college. She was finally going to pursue what her dream had always been. At the ripe old age of sixty-one my mother started her first day as a college student. Four years later, at the age of sixty-five, my mother walked across the stage and received her Diploma in teaching. All eleven children were in the audience cheering her on. Ten years have passed since my mom graduated from college and she is still teaching four days a week. When someone asks me why I am starting college at the age of fifty I just laugh and say, " My mom gave me the courage to start young."