Maybe it’s a brain problem.
Years ago, Susan Skulsky, a college English professor who worked with me to improve to a B from a dismal D in my first year General Literature survey course, told me that my ideas were good, but my grammar was terrible.
I’m sure I confessed to her of having dropped out of school after 8th grade.
I did drop back in for my senior year at the urging of a friend who asked me if I had no better ambitions than to be a store clerk, or a server, all my life. I thankfully decided more education was better. However, I missed a lot of critical grammar work that made my English Language and Literature major hard won.
I should have chosen music or theater, but both subjects intimidated me too much, and my college advisor did not see that I was in the wrong major.
I took an introductory theater class, philosophy, and delved into geology, and oceanography, all of which were fascinating and gratifying, but I still longed to be a writer, and perhaps teacher, so I stayed with English.
I remember another English major describe herself as ‘highly trainable’ several years after we graduated and she was working as an insurance underwriter.
But I was going to write something worth reading, perhaps something worth remembering me for…
I never found ‘my thing’ back then, and I’m not sure I ever have.
Did all of my education go to waste? The experiences certainly didn’t.
I learned more about social strata than I likely would have otherwise, which may have been more valuable in some ways than the academics.
The woman whose daddy was giving her a ‘Jag’ upon graduating. The several women who had never done their own laundry. The ones only there to find a good husband, or because that was their social track.
My dirt poor existence could not have prepared me for the realities of the moneyed world.
The day I got my paper back with that big red D, and its accompanying “make an appointment to see me,” scribbled next to it, I sat in silent shock, while a girl sitting with some classmates at a table behind me was in tears over an A- she received.
What would she have thought had she known there was someone who got a D sitting so near her?
Life moved on, as it does. I survived, and am still standing, even if my dreams did not become reality. I try not to justify my failures as ‘all for the best’. I simply failed.
Maybe it was a brain problem.
My dear friend told me about her daughter’s boss who said something like “Oh, you’re a scholar,” when my friend spoke of her interests and her life. She said it was a freeing statement to hear. She is a scholar.
Perhaps, I am a scholar too.
© seekingsearchingmeaning (aka Hermionejh), Making A Way Blog, 2010 – current