October 01, 2005
In this one year, I have developed such a deep affinity for the campus grounds which encompass each stately edifice that is Carroll College. I have not shared a classroom with a professor I did not like (yet), I have not exchanged words with a student who was not congenial and I have not once fallen on the oily stained, white crossing strip bridging East Avenue (as of yet). I am attending your institution, after a four year hiatus from college, in order to pursue my love for writing and with the sincere hope that my father had something going when he stated, "college will make you a more rounded person."I did not have the experience of being a freshman in your midst and I have never lived in your dorm rooms. Heck, it's been years since I've even seen one of your dorm rooms on a campus tour I took with my father, a Carroll College Alum, in the summer of 1997 (though I have been ably employed with other things since then). I've never picked up a single food tray in your spacious MDR (and thus I do not know your infamous and beloved Gert) nor have I had the extreme pleasure of tempting fate by sprinting across East Avenue at 8:00 a.m., clad only in my pajamas, to languidly attend my Monday morning classes. Rather, I am what is called a 'non-traditional student.'
A 'non-traditional student' is referred to as someone who is entering college at the age of 23 or older. This definition can also be expanded to include some or all of the following; those who are married, with children, former homemakers, have completed their GEDs late in life and/or those who have a physical disability. I simply meet the age criteria for a non-traditional student.
Instead of parking my car in one of the many open Bergstrom Residence Halls spots or parking on top of one of your cars on Barstow Street, I deftly deposit my vehicle behind the Bergs (in a secret location which I shall never disclose -- never I say!) and make my way toward my morning English class. As I pass, I watch my fellow collegians step outside of their residence halls to smoke a cigarette or gather together in the sun to play a game of volleyball. I've watched a freshman, roughly dressed in shorts and sandals, shave his head outside the door and check his progress through the reflection of the window facing into a place I've never known. I've seen groups of students walk together toward one destination; leisurely strolling and chatting or cheering as though they posessed all of the time the world had to offer. And, within every classroom, someone always seems to know someone else. Yet I am rarely that someone, for I am not defined by the majority as one of you.
I am the one, walking brisk paced alone and hurrying to get to work after my 1:00 p.m. class. Working until 6:00 or 8:00 p.m. on weekdays (and, most dreadfully on Saturdays), I rarely have the opportunity to participate in campus activities or spend an hour of leisure getting to know the students surrounding me. I am just struggling to keep up with my part-time class schedule, my 30-hour a week job and the hefty pile of bills on my kitchen table. I am mentally overloaded with trying to get a hold of my advisor, following through with doctor's appointments and keeping my composure at work while thinking about how, according to Abelard The Philosopher, I am not morally responsible for having blown that red light since we only have a fraction of control over all situations (this, too, must contribute to the reasons for only having received a 6 out of 10 on my last Ethics quiz). But I digress.
All things reconsidered, I must confess that I am not bitter. I do not regret having been spared the life of a dorm dweller; whose walls would most likely discourage the accommodation of my two stupid, fur spewing cats and the perfectly functional "pack rat lifestyle" I have recently acquired. I do not feel I am missing out on the Main Dining Room cuisine, although my stomach contradicts this opinion each morning, and I doubt my fellow collegians are lost in the library without my stentorian laughter ringing throughout. Yet sometimes I feel as though I have missed out on something. As though all of you have the upper hand on me, since I can barely even tell you if Carroll has a pool or not (by the way, do we?!), and that I have forgone the experience of a lifetime by not having lived directly on campus. Then, I realized, you are all just like me; struggling to get by, chasing a job and/or a little one, praying your watch is merely ticking really fast today and hoping to make the grade at the end of the semester. If you're like me, you're also just trying to avoid being the sucker who falls in East Avenue's oily spot.