Big Man on Campus

It was not the greatest way to start off the new semester. It was the first day of school and I hadn't made babysitting arrangements for my four year old yet! For one reason or another the money I needed to sign Harrison up for a day care hadn't made it in. I haven't been in school long, but long enough to know that the first day is kind of important, It's the day the professors pass out the syllabi and give students a feel for how they grade. Most classes I take will also base final grades on class participation, so miss the first day and it kind of screws with the rest of the semester. I was in over my head already.

I called everyone I knew within a reasonable traveling distance but no one was willing or able to take my little guy for a few hours. I was left with two choices, miss the first day of school or take the boy with me. Missing was not a reasonable option for me so Harrison and I prepared for our first day of school together.

After getting the big kids off to the bus stop, Harrison and I headed across the street hand in hand to the University. Harrison's miniature spider man backpack was bulging with tiny action figures, crayons, coloring books and snacks, mine with math and reading books and plenty of colored pens. Our first stop: math.

Before walking into the room I had a little heart to heart with Harrison. I calmly explained to him that he needed to sit as quietly as he could and color in his book or the math monster would suck his brains out and he'd become a gummy bear. Joking! I bribed him like a second rate mobster, promising him everything just short of Disney Land if he would be quiet for an hour. He responded to that pretty well and we crept into the classroom. The professor was already beginning his monologue, but didn't notice as we slipped into the seats on the back row. Fortunately this was not the typical classroom set up with individual desks for each student, but rather a row of long tables with PC's and chairs stationed at two feet intervals.

 I sat Harrison in the chair next to mine and quickly set up his coloring books, then got out a tablet and pencil for myself. Harrison did great. He sat so quiet, drawing little H's on his paper in green crayon while I took notes. It wasn't until near the end of the class period before we were discovered, and the reaction was underwhelming. Being a school that is about fifty-percent non-traditional students anyway, this had happened in other classes before. As my professor was passing out the syllabus, he came to the end of my table and simply stated, "wow, these freshmen are looking younger and younger every year".

The kindness of the math professor calmed my anxiety a bit and the rest of the day went smooth. Instead of fighting to keep Harrison quietly entertained throughout the next two class periods, I went into the next classes a little early, explained the situation to the professors, who were happy to send me out with a copy of the syllabus and the short version of the day's lecture. By one o'clock we had visited all of my classes and bought my text books from the campus store, so my little man and I wandered over to the food court for a cup of well-deserved frozen yogurt and hiked back across the duck pond home and made it just in time to catch Curious George on PBS. While the situation was not ideal, the end result was. I made it work, things got done and I spent some quality time with my little guy to boot.

I got this.

The Nutty Professor and Me

I remember this one time when I had a blog and I actually wrote on it. It was about rebuilding a life and family after divorce and all the little adventures that come along with it. With spring semester being over, I think I'll take a little time and write for fun again. Lets see...where do I start...awe...crazy professor story seems appropriate for this occasion.

I was a little early on the first day of English class because I'm a nerd and that's what nerds do. There were however a couple of other early birds as well. One of these overly eager students was a very tall middle aged hippie who sat on the back row. He wore some sort of graphic t-shirt and blazer. His hair was pulled back into a pony tail that stretched all the way to the middle of his back and he wore a thick, graying beard. As the students filed in, he made awkward comments about being old and returning to school. Some of the students would politely chuckle. I however, kept to myself, ignoring any bustling or talking from others in the room. When the room was full the hippie stood up and making his way to the front of the class announced that he was in fact the professor teaching the course. I was a little surprised, but then again this was an English class and English professors are notorious for being eccentric. I did not however expect this hippie to be so influential to my life decisions.

I started school intending to study respiratory therapy, being a respiratory therapist was not a life-long dream of mine, I just thought it would make for a pretty decent paying job and I'd maybe be able to buy a small house for me and the kids once my career took off. But I wasn't passionate about it, just muddling through. I had this crazy notion that just because I'm a single mom I have to be boring, serious and suffer through life. It wasn't long before my authentic self was rattling the cage, trying to get out.The cage banging only got worse when the crazy professor began assigning essays to read and then asking us to write about the essays. The very first essay assigned was written by Anne Lamont entitled, shitty first drafts. It was all about the awful drafts that come out on a writers first stab and second and even the third. I was shocked to learn that even the great authors struggle with revision. Soon after the first writing assignment I was finished with respiratory therapy. I no longer felt that breathing was the most important thing in my life, and I remembered who I am, who I've always been, a writer.

Later in the semester, I learned that the crazy professor came from a pretty sorted past himself, he and I are not entirely different from each other. He too, was a single parent, had full custody. His daughter was very young when he started his higher education and often times, he had to show up to class with her in tow. I could only imagine trying to get my four year old to sit quietly during a lecture. He was an inspiration. I felt that if he could finish college and make a career out of doing something he really loved to do then so could I. My life has changed since I made the decision to change majors, I found myself again.