Yesterday I worked on a presentation. I sat on the floor of my office and searched the web for articles and while the weepy indie tunes played in the background, I felt–for a second–like I was in college. And I missed it. A little bit anyway. College was a miracle for me, a place of mystique and reverence. A garden where privileged children spent four years growing the flowers in their minds.

The first time I walked a college campus, I remained close to my father, who still donned his kitchen apron. His face was slightly sweaty from manning the grill and organizing the kitchen workers, but it was his lunch break and he wanted to show me college. Just like that. College. Not like college life, or college environments…I want to show you college. Like it was a singular destination.

My father worked as a kitchen cook for a university and he took me to work on a weekly basis. There–as a 10 year old–I'd don an apron and scrub the dining hall tables, or crack hundreds of eggs in a bucket for the morning's scrambled egg option. From a distance, I'd stare at the blond boys with their collars flipped up and khaki pants and wonder what college felt like. As I walked the campus with my dad, college felt like an Earth, Wind & Fire song. Filled with soul and funk, I could've danced right there in front of the library.

After we paced the grounds together, we made our way back to the dining hall. The strings to my father's apron dangled in the wind, so I gathered them in my hand and stuffed them in his back jean pocket. You can make it to college one day, Jasmine…you just have to believe you can.

All these years later, the idea of college still feels like a soulful song. But now, I know the words and I can sing along to the melody.