Thursday, February 26, 2009

Bachelors

It came so fast, yet not quick enough. All my work, hard or not, has led me to this point, and now I am getting ready for the finish. I remember sitting down in my first class at a University and feeling how different it was from high school. Kids around me sat in pajamas and some in nice clothes. I was just there, pencil in hand, backpack at feet, and staring toward the front of the classroom at the teachers. They milled around the piano and the computer talking and occasionally glancing up at the class through there round glasses. Now, I have been to a dozen of the same kind of classrooms and some different. Some classes were even so different that they were able to bring that frantic feeling to my heart and occasionally make me cry. I remember one class that while in the middle of it I dreaded it. Running down the street past the stadium, up the hill followed by a large staircase, I made my way to a small building. Clambering inside, I quickly take a drink, and then I run up the last staircase to the upper floor. In one of the rooms, we sat around a long rectangulare table. I sat with my back to the wall and facing towards the windows. I had all my books for the class stacked in a semi-neat pile with my notebook and pen ready. In he walked, short, skinny, mangy looking hair, and large glasses. His voice entertained as he told stories of the past history of the country. All was good at the moment, but I was unaware of the great fun I would be having in his office one on one talking about my essay. We were not given our essays back till we met with him. Well, I felt pretty good about what I had written, I mean it was to the point and it took me a long time to write. I plopped down in a seat outside his office waiting for him to finish with the student before me. Soon after, she came out, smiling, bobbing curly blond hair and bright blue eyes. This couldn't be too bad I thought, so I stepped into his office. There he sat at his desk in his grey pants, blue untucked button-up, crazy hair, and wide rimmed glasses. He told me to take a seat and so I did and waited while he dug through the essays looking for mine. It took a little while, but he found it, pulled up a chair, and spun around to look at me. "This isn't brilliant you know." His words that followed drifted over me as I thought about my hard work and effort put into the paper. What did he mean, I was always told by all my teachers through school that my writing was really wonderful. That is what I remembered from that meeting. After that I climbed into my dad's car for the ride home and cried. My dad comforted me and told me that he would help me revise it and turn it in again. We worked on it, and let me just say, I have not met a better writer than my own father. He thinks through everything logically and then is able to place his thoughts on paper in such an eloquent way. I was ready again to meet with this odd teacher. He placed the essay near my hands and said that it was an improvement but it just wasn't great. I ended up getting a B on it. After a long semester I finally finished the class with a B and washed my hands of the experience. The essay meetings (I had two essays to be graded that semester) were the worst experience I have had. I only bring it up now to others when I want tell stories of bad teachers, bad classes, and overall bad experiences. I mean, I wonderful experiences as well. I was able to teach young musicians how to play their instruments. I got an A in my second semester English class. I have finished. My hard work has paid off.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008

No comments:

Post a Comment