Grandpa Going to College?

John Little

I was given my placement test results, by a lady with dark, shoulder length hair, glasses and kind eyes. She was a little older than me and reminded me of the librarian from my high school days.

 

“Take this to the front office and make an appointment to visit with an advisor.”

 

I stepped out into a hallway with hard speckled floors, white walls with gold borders up to the ceiling, classrooms and offices on both sides. On the walk from the library, to the office, I examined the paper that was given to me. It had three numbers on it, that I wasn’t sure what they meant. When I arrived at the main entrance hall, I looked at the office where I was to make my appointment. It was all glass with glass double doors that were propped open. I also looked at the exit, with the sun shining outside and for a second, thought about just leaving and forgetting the whole thing. I walked through the glass doors to where the receptionist was sitting.

 

“May I help you?” asked the young lady sitting behind the desk. Actually, it was more like a desk wall, with three separate desks on the other side. She was sitting in a low chair that bothered me. For some reason I am uncomfortable talking down to people, maybe because I am short and used to looking up at people. I explained that I need to meet with an advisor and had just finished my placement test. She asked me to have a seat and would have an advisor talk with me.

 

I sat in a hard-plastic chair with a wire metal frame, outside of the glass wall, facing the bookstore. I noticed the gray t-shirts first, with the college name, in yellow or gold on the front. There was a poster talking about student aide and another with the sports schedule. Inside, there were students looking for supplies, milling around resembling shoppers at a grocery store. Some looked like they had no idea what they were doing and some sure of themselves. One young man appeared to have a face full of pimples, at least I think it was pimples, could have been freckles or birth marks. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be. Some had backpacks, others book bags and every one of them young enough to be my child.

 

I could either hear nothing, or I just didn’t notice any sounds, other than my breathing and the paper crinkling in my hand. I was acutely aware of my heart beating. It didn’t seem to be beating any faster, but it seemed to be thumping my chest harder than usual. So many thoughts started to swirl in my head. Am I too old for this? Will I be able to pass any classes? Will the other students give me shit for being a “middle aged man” in their class? I decided to google the numbers on the results sheet, of my placement test. What? This can’t be right. These scores were actually pretty good, and how did I do better on the math? It was then that I noticed the scale at the bottom of the sheet, showing average scores. I felt like an idiot not noticing it before.

 

I watched a young lady, who worked out at the same gym as I did, walk in the building. She gave me a shocked sounding “Hi” before hurrying off to where she needed to be. She is around five feet ten inches tall and thin, but athletic. I think she is, or was, a volleyball player.

 

The advisor came out to get me and introduced herself. I instantly forgot her name. I had so many thoughts going through my head. What kind of questions is she going to ask? Will I need my high school diploma or DD214? Maybe my W-2? How much is this going to cost? It was like a reel to reel projector, at the end of the tape going flip, flip, flip. I followed to her office and sat in one of the chairs facing her desk. This chair was cushioned with a wooden frame and much more comfortable. Her desk had papers scattered across it in some sort of organized chaos.

 

“What can I do for you?”

 

“I’m not sure. What would you suggest for old people going back to school?”

 

She chuckled and said, “It can be difficult for nontraditional students like us, going back to school. What were you thinking?”

 

 “I didn’t know what to expect when I came in but, I guess an associates of science.”

           

“Okay. Are you planning on transferring your credits?”

 

 “I was looking at the online physical therapy assistant at Southeast.” In my mind, this made sense to me. I am a wrestling coach and like to work out. Seemed like a natural connection.

 

“Well let’s just see what that requires.” She did some mouse clicking and turned the screen for me to see. “These are the courses that are required.”

 

Suddenly my head felt like it was full of cement. “I will be in a nursing home before I can finish all those classes.”

 

She chuckled again and said, “No, no, you have to complete one English, algebra, speech, two science and a psychology class. Then you can apply for the physical therapy assistant course. This just lists the classes that will qualify you. You don’t have to take every class on the list.”

 

 Hearing that was a relief, but I still had a headache. “What is available?”

 

 “Classes started last week, but there are some that have a late start.”  She did some more mouse clicking and one by one, we went through all the classes that I needed. She answered all my questions and listened to all my stupid comments, with the patience of a special needs teacher. She didn’t seem to be annoyed or impatient with me, but if were in her place, that’s what I would have been feeling. One by one we ruled out classes. This one is full. This one started last week and the Professor doesn’t like late starts. I was beginning to think I would have to wait for the next term. Finally, we found an English Comp class and an intermediate algebra class. The algebra class started last week, but only had one class, so she emailed the professor to see if I could get in. The English class didn’t start for another week and a half, so I was good there.

 

“How hard are these classes? Remember, I haven’t been in school for three decades. I have taken an online class here and there but haven’t been in an actual classroom for a long time.”

 

“We have many resources to help our students succeed. Each class will have resources as well and we also have tutoring available. After you start, if you feel like you are not going to pass, you have until April 23^rd to drop classes.”  She checked her computer and told me that the algebra professor emailed her back and would allow me to join the class.

 

This did not boost my confidence at all. I began to wonder if “traditional” students went through some of the same feelings that I was having. “Okay. I will sign up for the English and algebra class, but I have some concerns and questions. I am a veteran and want to know if there are any benefits. I also need to know how to apply for assistance.”

 

“I will get you with our financial aid advisor, but for now, let’s get you enrolled in those classes.” She gave me some pamphlets and filled out some paperwork.

 

She had me sign the paperwork, set up a meeting with the algebra professor and financial aid. “I think you will do great. Just be sure to utilize the resources that you need and don’t hesitate to ask for help.”

 

I took the paperwork and left the building with an equal feeling of anxiety and excitement. The sunlight was deceptive. It was much colder than it looked with a wind that cuts right through my clothes. On to the next adventure in my confusing life.

 

 

 

Miss “Ignorant” America

Autumn Sandoval

     I could hear the brakes squeal as the car came to a halt. I took one last sip from my juice box and crushed it in my hand like the way buff guys do in the movies after chugging their canned beers. My hand was too delicate and doll-like to do some real damage but in my head I thought I was the toughest chick in the 3^rd grade. I could see the fog on the windshield. The rosary dangled from the rear view mirror along with a wooden cross key chain I made last year in art class. The low-rider oldies played softly in the background. My belly was full and I felt confident about killing my math test later. I grabbed my Hello Kitty backpack and scooted to reach for the cold metal door handle.

“Okay mija, have a good day! Love you,” my Cita said as she looked back at me. 

She still had her apron on that filled the car with the aroma of bacon and eggs. Her cheeks were rosy from the cooking, cleaning and traffic she had conquered all within a matter of 20 minutes. Her time management skills were impeccable. Now that I think about it, that’s probably why she got her eyebrows tattooed, so she can save time in the morning to do other activities like drown the house in Fabuloso at 5am or mow the lawn way before the sun could even wake up. I idolized that lady for the super powers and wisdom she had. Cita always taught me to be brave and speak up for myself. “Listen to your gut and do what you feel is right” were her famous words. Little did I know, my shoulder devil and angel were plotting to make an appearance to put me to the ultimate test that day.  

    

Tap! Tap! It was the unpleasant sound of keys drumming on the window from the outside. I gasped. Nerves filled my body as me and this person played seconds of tug of war with the door handle. Cita tends to forget to unlock the door sometimes. Whoops. 

I’m forced to take a deep breath of thick smog and gas fumes as the door swung right open. Countless numbers of cars and buses drive through that same spot every day to drop off hundreds of kids at school. Oh the joys of living in a well populated and polluted city.

All white Reeboks greeted me as I stepped out. Ah yes, it was Ms. Rapstein. I always admired her for maintaining her makeup and fresh floral scent throughout the day. I mean, have you ever met a P.E teacher who manages to spend her time in a smelly gym all day in the Texas heat with zero air conditioning and still look like they were just crowned Miss America in 1986? I doubt it! But yeah, that was Ms. Rapstein. The amount of Aquanet she used every morning to tame her teased blonde hair is probably why global warming is at an all-time high now. She had that poster Colgate smile you see on billboards that dentists love to advertise. She was the type of female that refused to leave the house without eyeliner and red lips painted on her face, even just to check mail. She reminded me of one of the backups from a Jane Fonda workout tape the way her body was perfectly proportioned and sculpted. 

However, on this particular day, I wasn’t fortunate enough to receive a heartfelt greeting nor a pageant smile from her as I had hoped. I exited the car as she proceeded to slam the door behind me. That was Cita’s cue to take off. I took a glance at Ms. Rapstein and thought I saw Aileen Wuornos for a moment. Something felt off though. Is it because it was Monday? My spidey senses tingled as I could feel some sort of negativity in the air. Whatever. I was probably just over thinking like I always do. Kids my age have a habit of forgetting to brush their teeth in the morning while I have the tendency to over jumble my head with thoughts and wanting to please people all the time. It's annoying.

“Is that your grandmother who just dropped you off?” Ms. Rapstein asked, her country accent peering out a bit.

“Yes ma’am it is.” I answered.

“She must be ignorant huh?” she insinuated with ease as she smacked her gum. “Don’t answer that. I know an ignorant person when I see one.”

My heart immediately dropped to my gut. I could feel the apple juice begging to come up as I tried to fight the enormous boulder in my throat. I stood there at attention and stared at her the same way I watched the two Twin Towers crumble on 9/11 through my TV screen. I could choke any moment now. Eyes gleaming, I suffered to keep in the waterworks from bursting out of my eye sockets. Did I hear that correctly? Did she just call my grandmother ignorant like that? Out of nowhere? Who the hell does she think she is?

“Go on now. Get to class.” 

I turned around and all I could see were blurry doors with kids running inside of them. Everything appeared to me as if I were underwater. I replayed her comment in my head over and over again like if I had to memorize it for a test. I haven’t felt this uncomfortable in a long time. Maybe I wasn’t as tough as I thought I was. I just let this bully get away with insulting my Cita’s intelligence.

Oh no. Suddenly I started to think about what Cita would do if she found out what Ms. Rapstein said about her. Wait, how would I tell her? I began to panic. What is she going to think when I tell her I just stood there like an idiot and didn’t defend her? Ugh why didn’t I say something right then and there when I had the chance? Is it too late to go back and cuss up a storm? No Autumn. Don’t be stupid. Keep it classy. Nah F that. She’s not going to disrespect my family like that! Just wait until I get home.

A barrage of scenarios crowded my brain as I slowly crept to class. I was enraged and my blood was boiling ferociously that I could possibly get away with having a severe fever if I wanted to. OMG yes that’s perfect! I’ll go to the nurse so I can be sent home and not have to deal with the devil during P.E today! But damn that means I’ll ruin my perfect attendance streak that I worked hard all year for. AND I’ll miss so much during labs today that I’ll fall far behind and severely struggle that will most likely cause me to get a B in Mr. Sanders’ class! Heck I refuse to get A-B honor roll!! Although, even if I were to stay, I still wouldn’t be able to concentrate because I can’t stop over thinking to save my life! Why do I have to make these stupid sacrifices? Why do kids have to be put in the middle of grown up problems all the time!! All of this could’ve been avoided if adults actually practiced what they preached with the famous “if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all” speech. 

Now I have to face my fears of telling my Cita who will without a doubt come to the school and burn this place down until she gets an apology. I can already picture her cussing and making threats in Spanish to anyone who looked her way. One fun fact about my grandma is that she was raised in the most ghetto streets of San Antonio. You mess with her and within seconds she’ll have her 8 cholo brothers knocking on your front door demanding you to come outside to “talk.” She doesn’t play. Just ask our pesky neighbor who decided it was okay to steal from her yard. Do you think he even glances at her green grass anymore? Nope.

I bent over to take a sip at the drinking fountain. Cold water touched my lips that sent a quiver down my spine. I had a brief glimpse of reality strike me. Goosebumps elevated from my arms. Is this what it’s going to feel like when I feel Cita’s wrath come out to play?