I hated school for most of my life.
That may sound strange coming from a university president, but it’s true. I loved to read. I loved to learn. I loved to think. What I hated was traditional school. I could never understand why I had to sit in class for a set amount of time and follow someone else’s predetermined curriculum. I hated being made to walk in a straight line, no talking in the hallway, rigid meal schedules, and forced participation. I wanted to read about World War II and the cultural nuances of Burkina Faso. I didn’t care much about algebraic equations. I wanted to discuss the cultural implications of the O.J. Simpson trial. I had no interest in pep rallies or state standardized tests. I wanted to explore the depths of Beowulf.
What did I know?
At the time, I had not yet learned a powerful truth about education: you don’t know what you don’t know. That is precisely why learning matters.
So, I showed up at school physically while living somewhere else mentally. I found a sense of belonging with the football team. Football gave me identity, brotherhood, and structure. Every year I worked just hard enough to stay eligible during the season, then drifted once it was over. That cycle followed me from eighth grade to high school.
In my junior year, everything shifted. I had a genuine encounter with Jesus and became what many would now call a “Jesus Freak.” I grew up in the church, but this was different. Bible always in hand. Faith always on my lips. Some might have called me “Carlo the Baptist” because of how boldly I talked about Jesus (funny title for a Pentecostal kid). A year earlier, I had been in the depths of juvenile delinquency. Now I was radically changed. My past only amplified my credibility as a Christian.
That season was also when I sensed God calling me into ministry. Part of that calling crystallized during a visit to Southeastern University in Lakeland, FL. I audited a full day of classes and sat in on a homiletics course. I had no idea pastors actually learned how to develop sermons. My mind was blown away. Later that night, walking alone across an empty field, I sensed God’s call clearly: Study the Bible and teach people about Jesus for the rest of your life.
There was only one problem.
I still hated school.
Back home, I sat in class reading Scripture, writing sermons and songs, and daydreaming about touring with my Christian punk ska band. I was confident I would somehow land in Bible college. That confidence, looking back, was fueled by arrogance and ignorance. Once football season ended, I slid back into skipping school and coasting. Eventually, I was faced with a decision: finish traditionally or drop out.
My mother offered a third option. Night school.
That experiment failed quickly though. Years of coasting had left me without basic study skills. I didn’t know how to manage my time, read efficiently, or write clearly. Once again, I found myself staring at two familiar options: keep failing or quit altogether. And once again, my mother presented a third way.
The GED.
I resisted at first. In my eighteen-year-old mind, the GED was for people who had given up. I was wrong. I took the test with no preparation and passed easily. Florida issued a high school diploma regardless of the path taken, and I even walked across a stage in cap and gown!
I finished school. Or so, I thought.
Looking back now, I don’t excuse my immaturity. I wasted so many opportunities. I failed to steward my potential well in those years. But I also learned something essential about leadership and formation. Although I wholeheartedly agree with and teach Dr. Bobby Clinton’s Leadership Emergence Theory, I do so with one nuance: Leadership development is rarely linear. While there are phases of development for sure, leadership growth rarely follows a straight line. Where pride narrows our options, humility opens them. Learning often begins when we admit that we don’t know what we don’t know.
That lesson has shaped my leadership ever since.
My path into education and leadership was anything but conventional. GED. Military service. Ministry. Distance education. One Diploma and three degrees earned while working full time, raising a family, and serving the church. There was no clean separation between learning and living.
That long, winding road taught me something I now believe deeply: leadership formation rarely happens through shortcuts. It happens over time, through failure, redirection, discipline, and most importantly, grace.
Some journeys take the long way around. They are slower. Messier. Less impressive on paper. But they shape leaders who can stand up under pressure and bounce back when knocked down.
I hated school for much of my life, but I never hated learning. Over time, I came to see that schools, at their best, exist to serve curiosity and formation, and I’m grateful to now lead an institution that understands that difference.
Looking back, my journey into leadership didn’t follow the shortest or cleanest route. It took the long way around, for sure. I wouldn’t recommend every misstep, but I wouldn’t trade the journey that formed me for anything.
Dr. Carlo A. Serrano, President