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In August 1979, I stood under the old crooked oak at the crossroads, clutching that admission letter for what felt like an entire afternoon. I must have read those words a hundred times: Stillwater Institute of Technology, Department of Mechanical Engineering. Every word made sense, yet strung together, they felt like a dream. The only kid in the whole township to get into college, and it had to be me. But I couldn't celebrate. My family didn't have the money. When Uncle Henry found out, he didn't hesitate. He sold the season's harvest to pay my tuition. I didn't let him down. I studied relentlessly, changed my own fate, and paid it forward by putting his daughter, my cousin, through college in return.