Narrative on Attending a Speech by Ira Berlin

It can wait. Then came Tuesday and Wednesday all with the same story. By the time it was Thursday night I hadn’t even looked at the lab results, I decided I finally had to type it. When I looked at the blank document in front of me, I had no idea what to write about. The lab was over a week ago and I really didn’t remember it all that well.

"Look, I wouldn't dare to ask but it's a requirement for a lot of our students, though you shouldn't have more than twentyfive all together, so it wouldn't be fair just to cancel it and there's nobody else who can take it on—well, except for Harold Whitson but he's already agreed to do The Flying Dutchman's Rationalism seminar for me so I can't possibly ask him." "No, that wouldn't be fair." I could almost hear him throwing his gaze heavenwards. "What can I do?" Deans have it fairly easy; they can rely on simple bullying.

I asked the professor if this was Introduction to Philosophy, with a big smile on his face, he replied with “yes, you are in Introduction to Philosophy!” I sit back in my seat and was ready for the upcoming lecture on Philosophy. Wasn’t sure what to expect (because remember I have never taken a philosophy class in my life). To be completely honest, I couldn’t remember what some of the main topics were. But I do remember always walking in class every Monday and Friday, confused and was unable to make connections to the given topics that we discussed in class. This is hopeless; I think I might drop out of this class.

To try and make the situation better, I tried to converse with some of the students after class, but none of them were willing to even respond. I would say “hey” and some would just nod, others would ignore me as if I didn’t wave. It was a very unusual feeling for me. Usually after leaving class on the first day I would have made at least two to three new friends and I would have even already had their number and we would be talking about future assignments but with these students it was like a whole new world, an anti-social world. Later that night I talked with one of my friends about what happened earlier and her response had me baffled.

After being out of school for over thirty years most of my expectations for any course were based on the fear of the unknown. Hell, I probably couldn’t remember the difference between a verb and a noun, let alone have to write a paper more than one page long, those were two of my fears of entering Room 268 in the Fisher Building the first day of English 111. Those fears quickly subsided, not so much as my fears were unfounded but that Dr. Matuka opened the first class by requiring us to interview a classmate, then recite the interview to the entire class. This is exercise alone made me feel more at ease with the class, my instructor and my fellow classmates, as many of the classmates were similar to me, grown adults. Our second assignment was to write a diagnostic essay that would be graded, however, not counted towards your class grade.

I refuse to let that happen again. That is why I’m studying like my life depended on it. My testing date is only a couple of days away and I start to panic. Did I cover all the material? What if I freeze up in the testing room?

Is she nice? Is she exciting? My cousin told me to create a good impression on my professor and make sure I have one that I am able to talk to and go to when I had questions about my lecture. His advice stood out to me because when I was in ninth grade I tested into college English and the professor was never available when I had a question. He also felt that I did not belong in his class because of my age and tried to make my entire experience in his class miserable, which he succeeded in doing.

Interns are not generally invited to help with conferences, but I was fortunate enough to start with a manager who "(looked) as if (he were) playing by somebody else's rules, while quietly playing by (his) own." In school I broke away from the crowd a little more obviously. After individual debates in English class our teacher invited us to debate the different topics as a class. One of these topics was where our "new" school should be located. I was the only one in my class who didn't agree with the bond being presented to the public.

English was my least favorite subject. I hated reading, I hated writing, I even hated doing research. In My first semester here at Columbus State, I took an English 1100 class. In that class, I rarely came to class, turned every single paper in late, and I didn’t even show up for the final and ended up failing that course. I had to retake English 1100 in order to follow through with my Academic plans.

My classes are very difficult, especially my science classes. Instead of sitting in my dorm room and pitying myself for not understanding and accepting a bad grade, I use all of the resources possible in order to understand the material as best as I possibly can. I go to the help sessions for chemistry, the teacher’s assistant office hours in biology, and read the textbooks over and over again until I can confidently say that I understand. After meeting a lot of new people at college, I realize that not many people are this motivated. So many students have blamed the professors for their suffering grade because they don’t feel like putting in any effort.