I attended a very small High School, and we had no type of academic or career counseling. That’s how I ended up a Business Major when I first went to college. Of course I knew I loved literature, but my understanding of an English degree was that it prepared you to diagram sentences all day and argue with people about the usage of
lie and
lay. A Business degree, on the other hand, would at least help you get a job to earn money to buy more books. Logical, right?
So, there I was, my first semester, in a Business Communication class. Our very first assignment was to write a one-page paper about why we were taking that class, and we were not allowed to say we enrolled because it was required for our degree.
I went home and thought and thought, but actually, the only reason I
was taking the class was because it was required for my degree. I was panicking the night before the paper was due when finally I had a brain storm.
I quickly grabbed a piece of paper and wrote that, one night before registration, I was sitting in my room looking over the school catalogue, when suddenly a bright light shone down from heaven, and a voice from on high intoned, “Thou shalt take Business Communication 101!” I was so overcome by the experience that I hardly slept at all that night. I got up early the next morning, drove to the registrar’s office, and enrolled in the class with all due haste.
I typed up an embellished and expanded version of the above story, turned it in the next morning, and then got sick to my stomach.
What in the world had I been thinking? Me, the person who obeyed all the rules, who thought inside the box, who walked the line, a real Miss Goody Two-Shoes, had just turned in a paper that mocked an assignment and probably bordered on sacrilege. I could see myself getting a zero on the paper, or getting expelled from the class, or maybe even from college. How was I to know? I was new at this college thing!
I lived in fear ‘til the next class meeting. Of course, I told no one what I’d done (especially my parents).
The Professor walked in, and slowly, solemnly advanced to the lectern. With a stern face he surveyed the class and then asked, carefully enunciating each word, “And just who is Stephanie Manley?”
I raised my hand, fully expecting to be humiliated in front of the whole class. Instead, he burst out laughing. “This is the best response to this assignment I’ve ever had,” he said. “It’s the first time I’ve ever enjoyed grading it. But, Miss Manley, I would advise you to take all further assignments more seriously.”
The moral of the story? Sometimes, you just have to change majors.
be it’s just that old stubborn childishness surfacing: “Nobody’s gonna tell me what to read!” Maybe it’s laziness—Instead of working, I want to be entertained. Maybe it’s jealousy. When you’re working hard on a degree, it seems like everybody else is getting to read whatever strikes their fancy, while poor-old-me has to keep my nose to the grindstone. Of course, the same thing happens when you’re teaching. You spend all your time reading and preparing for the classes you teach, and recreational reading time is all too short and precious.
