When I made the Dean’s List in college, I was proud. I had pulled late nights, balanced multiple jobs, and somehow survived on a diet of instant noodles and stubborn hope. But before I could even celebrate properly, word had already spread. According to my grandmother, I wasn’t just on the Dean’s List—I was the Dean. Of the whole college.
She told everyone at church. At the hair salon. At the gas station, probably. There was no disclaimer, no footnote—just full-blown authority granted by familial love and a little creative license. And honestly? I didn’t even try to correct her.
This isn’t a unique story. It’s practically a cultural tradition. Across the internet, stories like mine pop up with a kind of warmth and hilarity that feels universal. One viral comment reads, “I made the dean’s list and my granny told every[one] I was the dean of my college.” Another person shared, “I was in the trenches on a job search. My dad told me to call my cousin, since she was a supervisor at Delta. She was in the Delta sorority. She did not have pull at Delta Air Lines.” The layers of confusion, love, and overestimation? Impeccable.
There’s something deeply rooted in these moments, something more than just a funny misunderstanding. For many families—especially Black families—success is communal. Your wins aren’t yours alone. They belong to the whole household, to the whole lineage. A promotion means everybody’s moving up. A degree means the family name now echoes in boardrooms. And if your actual job title doesn’t sound glamorous enough, don’t worry—someone will upgrade it for you.
Our elders, in particular, have mastered this art. They didn’t grow up in a world that welcomed them into college halls or executive suites. They didn’t always get the opportunity to climb ladders that weren’t built for them. So when their grand babies do, they speak it big. They speak it loud. And sometimes, they add a few imaginary bullet points to the résumé.
This generational game of “telephone” plays out beautifully and hilariously across so many family dynamics. Your cousin who did one tech internship? “He does computers for the government.” Your auntie, who once volunteered at a hospital gift shop? “She basically runs the place.” Your niece, who started selling press-ons on Instagram? “CEO of a nail empire.” Every accomplishment becomes legend. Every title becomes elevated.
It’s the purest form of love. And also the purest form of misinformation.
There’s a tenderness underneath all that noise—a desire to see you not only survive, but shine. And that desire often translates into stories that are… generously embellished. But there’s power in those stories. They rewrite narratives. They affirm dreams. They plant seeds of confidence where imposter syndrome might otherwise take root.
If you’ve ever been on the receiving end of this kind of enthusiastic misrepresentation, you know it comes with both joy and gentle embarrassment. One day, you’re explaining what you do for a living in reasonable detail; the next, your uncle is telling folks you “own part of the city.”
And in that spirit, I present this humble guide to what your family thinks you do versus what you actually do:
| What They Told the Church | What Actually Happened |
|---|---|
| He’s the Dean | Made the Dean’s List once |
| She runs Delta | She’s in Delta Sigma Theta |
| He’s a surgeon | Watched Grey’s Anatomy faithfully |
| She’s a lawyer | Had one heated Facebook debate |
| He’s an engineer | Reset the Wi-Fi that one time |
Still, I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Because behind every inflated title is a deep belief that you’re capable of anything. It’s their way of rooting for you—loudly, messily, and without the constraints of exactness. You might be fighting for your spot in a world that questions your worth. But to your granny? You already run the place.
So no, I’m not the Dean. But if you ask my family, I am. And if I’m being honest? That might be even better.
Have a story like this? I want to hear it.
Send me your “Grandma Said What?” moments, and I just might feature them in the next post. Because in our community, if no one’s exaggerating your success just a little… are you even making it?
Photo by Imani Manyara on Unsplash
