I have made friends in my class. I guess this is sort of unusual. Our class is small, so to me, it doesn't seem unusual for a class of this size. My Somalian friend tells me she has an English class of 40 students. The class is scheduled at night. She tells me everyone is so anxious to get out of class and bolt that there is no lingering over a cup of coffee after class or organizing of study groups. She tells me next semester will be different. "Wait till I have lecture classes of 150+ students." I can see how that might be difficult for someone like me to make friends in a setting like that. But we aren't there to make friends are we? I might be, at least that's part of it...just saying.
My friends in my Spanish class are all very young. Next to my Somalian friend, whom is a whopping 26 years old, and the Profesora, I am the oldest. I find it interesting that these kids not only like me, they listen and laugh at the things I have to say. I'm not the class clown or anything, but I do make comments here and there that poke fun at myself. I had one classmate today, (btw: a boy) wrongly assume that just because I am timid and slow to contribute to the classroom discussions in Spanish, that I don't know what I'm doing. He actually told me that there was a difference in how the verbs are conjugated depending on who is doing the action of the verb...uh duh...really? I had no problem with a comeback and getting a laugh from the others for my retort.
One of my classmates is a petite, athletic, beautiful, young lesbian. This last piece she told us on the first day of class. She always comes in with a story of her adventures on the lightrail that day. She told me the other day I remind her of her girlfriend. I'm going to take that as a compliment. Today, she told me I was her Valentine. I am flattered a girl that young has a crush on me. I really like her, but she's not my type; the main reason being she is way too young for me. And of course, a lesbian. But she's smart, she's sweet, she likes me and I like her.
Between class and lab, a group of us walk together and they ask me about my latest adventures in dating. I tell them today, that before 8 am I had four "Happy Valentine" wishes from my many admirers...they giggle and are appropriately impressed. I think they've watched way too many episodes of "Sex in the City," because to them, I am Samantha. I'll take it, because what they don't realize, is how very boring my life really is on a day to day basis. Let them believe otherwise, these kids need someone to look up to.
I figured out I represent the "cool" mom to these kids. I'm okay with that role. They validate me as their peer in a very weird sense of the word "peer." I feel accepted by them and I get excited when I realize, we are in the same "place" when it comes to our education. We all have different plans for our futures, but we all are there for the same reason...we want to learn. Age differences aside, we meet on the same plane of taking Spanish 101; well... except for the beautiful Hispanic girl that already speaks Spanish. (I've still got my eye out for any mistake she might make so I can exploit and expose her.)
I find that I relate to these classmates of mine on different
levels. And maybe that is what makes college life at this age such a
rich experience for me today. Had I gone to college at 18, would I
care whether I made the "Dean's
List" every semester? I'm a serious student, but I am able to take
in the fun that can be had and enjoyed at whatever level I am allowed
into these kid's lives. I have no illusions of what it means to be their
friend at this age. I'm not going to be going to college fraternity
parties, or pulling all-nighters because I need to cram before the exam.
(Okay, I might do that if I need to, but not very often!) And they
aren't going to be asking me to go out on a Friday night with them, but
I'm grateful that they find me enough of an oddity of clever humor, that
they want to be my friend during my time in Spanish class.
I love the conversations I have with my Somalian friend. I love the passion she has and her desire to make a difference in this world. I listen to her tell me about what she sees happening in her life. She wants what I already have done, but she wants her education and career first. She is very family and faith oriented. She wants a husband and family someday, but she wants someone who shares the same faith and values, as it will be an area of commonality that isn't questioned but accepted. She wants an educated man who understands her need to give back to her culture and community of family and friends. It is to be admired. I understand her desire for her education, her goals for her future and her longing for someone who "gets" her and what is important to her. I understand it, because I remember feeling that way. I understand it now because I want it too... well most of it, minus the marriage part. I am realistic though; I know a huge career in translation isn't going to be in my cards at the ripe age of 54 when I graduate. But maybe I can make a difference somewhere, teaching English or translating Spanish in a Third World country somewhere. And the most exciting part of it all, is the knowledge that before I was immobilized by my fear to try, and now... I'm not. I can and so...why not do?
I have those same feelings of passion for myself when I talk to my Somalian
friend. I am excited for her as if I was going to do those same things
she will be doing in her future. I see her passion as a hope for future generations. I encourage her and tell her how much I admire her. I want her to stay excited and live out her dreams. I want the exuberance of her youth to last...before life jades her; as it is sad and unfortunate that the innocence of youth can only be appreciated later, after you become cautious and careful, as only age can do that to you. I used to envy that type of passion because I had made different choices for my life. But I find now, that I no longer have those longing feelings of envy for what I thought I missed out on, but instead, an excitement for what lies ahead. I am lucky I have this second chance to live out my dreams.
Someone asked me today if I had a bucket list. Other than my degree and my goal to live in Spain for my third year of study, I don't. I'm living out this third of my life doing the things I want to do. I don't think about diving out of airplanes because if I really wanted to do that, I would. Because I can. I find that although many situations such as college, are foreign and difficult to get used to, I still forge forward, learning as I go. Diving sometimes head first, thinking about what I'm doing only after the fact. I am feeling rather fearless these days.
Every day I have class is a day I look forward to. I struggle in Spanish. It's hard, but everything I ever did that was worth it, was hard. I walked into that classroom six weeks ago, scared and knowing no one. Today, I am a Spanglish speaking student with friends who are younger than my kid's ages. I am popular for the first time ever. Tomorrow I may be living in Madrid, teaching English, pretending to be Samantha and juggling all of my Latin lovers....or...diving out of airplanes.
Going to college at 50? It's different now and, I think, possibly better. I didn't miss out, I just waited longer to appreciate the experience. And the best part? I'm there.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
The Dog Ate My Tarea...
I had the first semester to get used to having a more disciplined schedule. Sort of. One credit doesn't really equate to a massive schedule. I thought adding a four credit hour class wouldn't be that big a deal, and in comparison to my other classmates' schedules, it's not. It's just that it's a foreign language and it seems more difficult than if I was taking say, an English class. (Insert sarcasm here)
I used to be really good at time management. I had to be. I was juggling a full-time job, raising four kids, getting them to all of their activities and managing a household. These days, I'm managing myself and although I'm doing quite nicely in most areas, time management is an area I'm struggling with nowadays. I've created a life full of social activity balanced with working out, a part-time job and taking care of a dog. Now I have to fit school and study time in all the time I've learned to waste trying to stay busy. Seems a bit of an oxymoron.
Going to college in 2012 is so much more technical than it was in 1980 or even, 1997. Everything, including homework, is done online, even if you attend class in a classroom. It's great and it's terrible. It's efficient yet can be a huge pain in the ass if your "University Blackboard" crashes and you have assignments due.
Last semester, I had one online class and about three hours of homework a week. This semester is two classroom days and about 8-10 hours of study and homework time. La Profesora assigns approximately 15-25 assignments due every week. The first week into the semester I had a friend in from out of town. I thought I had until Tuesday's class time to turn in the online homework. Thursday was class; I worked on Friday, turned in seven assignments Friday night, played on Saturday and entertained on Sunday and Monday. Monday evening I went to turn in the rest of the homework and found to my surprise it was...too late. I couldn't turn it in anymore. The time had elapsed and it had disappeared...POOF!
WAIT! I didn't know....this is new! I couldn't believe it. I didn't believe it. I kept trying to turn it in. Hoping, praying that I really was computer illiterate as I have always suspected, or, was this a giant error in the system? I don't not do my homework...not me. I'm a good student. I care. I'm 50. I'm paying out-of-state tuition for this damn Spanish class for pete's sake. Please... let this be a mistake.
Oh, it was a mistake alright. My mistake. Eight missing homework assignments mistake. I couldn't figure out what had happened until I, Whoa!...looked at the course syllabus, where it clearly states that homework is due online every Sunday before midnight. I was so upset. I couldn't sleep and I beat myself up for two days. What the heck was wrong with me? Where were my priorities? What was I thinking having a friend in town stay with me? And far worse was knowing that I was missing a day of class that week to go skiing in Idaho. Where were my priorities? I was already struggling in this class and how could I possibly afford to have eight missing homework assignments AND miss a day of school to ski? I couldn't. Oh, but I did.
First thing Tuesday I went straight to La Profesora and asked her about the Sunday deadline. "Yes, she replied, every Sunday." What could I do? Make up an excuse? The dog ate my tarea? It was online homework...unless Bob had swallowed my computer, I knew that wasn't going to work. I was 50...there is no excuse. I'm not in high school. I'm in college. My mom can't write me a note. I can't write my own note. Hard lesson, but I still went skiing.
I came back with a new resolve. I would try harder, study longer, and manage my time better. My first exam was coming up and I needed to get an "A." I was having huge struggles with things that seemed silly, like figuring out how to say the time of day correctly in Spanish. One night I spent 40 minutes trying to say it was 9:55 pm. Time is different in Spanish. Just like they say "I have 50 años," (years) NOT "I am 50 years old." If I forget the accent marks and I said anos instead of años, I would be saying, "I have 50 assholes." It makes a difference, obviously.
Then there is this masculine/feminine thing. I'm pretty upset over that too. I never realized Spanish was so sexist. For example: If I'm in a room full of my girlfriends and no men, I would say "¡Hola Amigas!" If there were 15 women in the room and only one man it would be "¡Hola Amigos!" The man gets the greeting. Something is very wrong with this picture. I would like to file a formal complaint, but where do I send it? Mexico? Brazil? Spain???? I'm upset, for real.
I don't think I went into this foreign language thing with a sense of reality. I thought if I watched a few Spanish Nouvellas, listened to Spanish Musica, worked in a Spanish speaking work environment, it would rub off on me and I would learn Spanish by osmosis. I live in a Spanish speaking community, my housekeeper is Hispanic...How? How could I fail? This is all by design!
My long term goal is to move to Spain in three years for a year of study abroad. Now, I'm so discouraged by my lack of being instantly bilingual, that I ask myself if I will be able to communicate other than asking "¿Cuando es baño? and ¿Cuantos? For the bottle of tequila I'm going to require to drown myself in? I wonder...am I putting too much pressure on myself? (Again...sarcasm)
On top of all my stress over this class, I am still trying to figure out how to shut down the Hispanic girl, who still claims she doesn't speak Spanish. She's becoming a problem. My friend, the Somali woman, is irritated by her too. She thinks la Profesora is rolling her eyes at her. I haven't seen that yet, but I can believe it. We sometimes play Spanish games in lab to help us remember definite and indefinite articles, verb forms etc. Miss Mexico always wins. I don't care if it is Chutes and Ladders in Spanish, she's gotta go. I don't even have a chance against her skill set. Perra!
One thing is for sure, I'm getting an education. Every day I learn something new. Yesterday, I was so excited, I actually GOT how adjectives work in Spanish. I totally forgot how they work today, but yesterday I had it. They say that if you study a foreign language after the age of 40, you can keep Alzheimers at bay. I'm banking on it. My only concern is the struggles I have with memory now and trying to retain the information I've learned, or thought I learned or....what was I saying?
Tomorrow I'm off to class again. I keep hoping that eventually, some of this stuff comes a little easier and I start remembering things a little quicker. I'm hoping that just as I sometimes break out in dance, that it happens with Spanish... someone will be speaking to me in Spanish and I automatically answer in Spanish without thinking, and when I realize what I've done, I will gasp and cover my mouth horrified...and then break into a huge grin. Then next maybe I will start dreaming in Spanish...now there's a thought.
I used to be really good at time management. I had to be. I was juggling a full-time job, raising four kids, getting them to all of their activities and managing a household. These days, I'm managing myself and although I'm doing quite nicely in most areas, time management is an area I'm struggling with nowadays. I've created a life full of social activity balanced with working out, a part-time job and taking care of a dog. Now I have to fit school and study time in all the time I've learned to waste trying to stay busy. Seems a bit of an oxymoron.
Going to college in 2012 is so much more technical than it was in 1980 or even, 1997. Everything, including homework, is done online, even if you attend class in a classroom. It's great and it's terrible. It's efficient yet can be a huge pain in the ass if your "University Blackboard" crashes and you have assignments due.
Last semester, I had one online class and about three hours of homework a week. This semester is two classroom days and about 8-10 hours of study and homework time. La Profesora assigns approximately 15-25 assignments due every week. The first week into the semester I had a friend in from out of town. I thought I had until Tuesday's class time to turn in the online homework. Thursday was class; I worked on Friday, turned in seven assignments Friday night, played on Saturday and entertained on Sunday and Monday. Monday evening I went to turn in the rest of the homework and found to my surprise it was...too late. I couldn't turn it in anymore. The time had elapsed and it had disappeared...POOF!
WAIT! I didn't know....this is new! I couldn't believe it. I didn't believe it. I kept trying to turn it in. Hoping, praying that I really was computer illiterate as I have always suspected, or, was this a giant error in the system? I don't not do my homework...not me. I'm a good student. I care. I'm 50. I'm paying out-of-state tuition for this damn Spanish class for pete's sake. Please... let this be a mistake.
Oh, it was a mistake alright. My mistake. Eight missing homework assignments mistake. I couldn't figure out what had happened until I, Whoa!...looked at the course syllabus, where it clearly states that homework is due online every Sunday before midnight. I was so upset. I couldn't sleep and I beat myself up for two days. What the heck was wrong with me? Where were my priorities? What was I thinking having a friend in town stay with me? And far worse was knowing that I was missing a day of class that week to go skiing in Idaho. Where were my priorities? I was already struggling in this class and how could I possibly afford to have eight missing homework assignments AND miss a day of school to ski? I couldn't. Oh, but I did.
First thing Tuesday I went straight to La Profesora and asked her about the Sunday deadline. "Yes, she replied, every Sunday." What could I do? Make up an excuse? The dog ate my tarea? It was online homework...unless Bob had swallowed my computer, I knew that wasn't going to work. I was 50...there is no excuse. I'm not in high school. I'm in college. My mom can't write me a note. I can't write my own note. Hard lesson, but I still went skiing.
I came back with a new resolve. I would try harder, study longer, and manage my time better. My first exam was coming up and I needed to get an "A." I was having huge struggles with things that seemed silly, like figuring out how to say the time of day correctly in Spanish. One night I spent 40 minutes trying to say it was 9:55 pm. Time is different in Spanish. Just like they say "I have 50 años," (years) NOT "I am 50 years old." If I forget the accent marks and I said anos instead of años, I would be saying, "I have 50 assholes." It makes a difference, obviously.
Then there is this masculine/feminine thing. I'm pretty upset over that too. I never realized Spanish was so sexist. For example: If I'm in a room full of my girlfriends and no men, I would say "¡Hola Amigas!" If there were 15 women in the room and only one man it would be "¡Hola Amigos!" The man gets the greeting. Something is very wrong with this picture. I would like to file a formal complaint, but where do I send it? Mexico? Brazil? Spain???? I'm upset, for real.
I don't think I went into this foreign language thing with a sense of reality. I thought if I watched a few Spanish Nouvellas, listened to Spanish Musica, worked in a Spanish speaking work environment, it would rub off on me and I would learn Spanish by osmosis. I live in a Spanish speaking community, my housekeeper is Hispanic...How? How could I fail? This is all by design!
My long term goal is to move to Spain in three years for a year of study abroad. Now, I'm so discouraged by my lack of being instantly bilingual, that I ask myself if I will be able to communicate other than asking "¿Cuando es baño? and ¿Cuantos? For the bottle of tequila I'm going to require to drown myself in? I wonder...am I putting too much pressure on myself? (Again...sarcasm)
On top of all my stress over this class, I am still trying to figure out how to shut down the Hispanic girl, who still claims she doesn't speak Spanish. She's becoming a problem. My friend, the Somali woman, is irritated by her too. She thinks la Profesora is rolling her eyes at her. I haven't seen that yet, but I can believe it. We sometimes play Spanish games in lab to help us remember definite and indefinite articles, verb forms etc. Miss Mexico always wins. I don't care if it is Chutes and Ladders in Spanish, she's gotta go. I don't even have a chance against her skill set. Perra!
One thing is for sure, I'm getting an education. Every day I learn something new. Yesterday, I was so excited, I actually GOT how adjectives work in Spanish. I totally forgot how they work today, but yesterday I had it. They say that if you study a foreign language after the age of 40, you can keep Alzheimers at bay. I'm banking on it. My only concern is the struggles I have with memory now and trying to retain the information I've learned, or thought I learned or....what was I saying?
Tomorrow I'm off to class again. I keep hoping that eventually, some of this stuff comes a little easier and I start remembering things a little quicker. I'm hoping that just as I sometimes break out in dance, that it happens with Spanish... someone will be speaking to me in Spanish and I automatically answer in Spanish without thinking, and when I realize what I've done, I will gasp and cover my mouth horrified...and then break into a huge grin. Then next maybe I will start dreaming in Spanish...now there's a thought.
Monday, February 6, 2012
Freshman at 50...What was I thinking?
My actual status is a transfer student. I was lucky they took the few credits I had and applied most of them. The other ones, the useless ones? They got me into school with a grade point I never realized would be important when I was going to beauty school at a community college.
I started off slow, mostly because of residential status and tuition costs, but I'm a believer that all things happen for a reason. I wasn't quite ready for the commitment that was/is required. I started with a one credit grammar class. I had no idea just how useful that was going to be THIS semester. It was once a week, online. I thought it was hard. I bitched about it constantly, my one credit grammar class. I passed with a 92% and I was pissed it wasn't higher. Geez, I was a straight "A" beauty student, what the heck? How could I forget all these rules in Grammar? I was an English speaker. Turns out I was an over punctuator, I was using words incorrectly and I almost always used the wrong verb form when it came to singular and plural nouns. I almost gave up writing completely. It kind of ruined my flow to write by the rules.
I got over it. However, my divorce not being over with by the time the second semester rolled around and my residential status still not verified, I couldn't afford full-time status...again. At this rate I was going to be a Freshman at 90. I was enrolled in Spanish 101. Two days a week, four credit hours. Piece of cake right? I'm a good student, I like school. Spanish was going to be fun.
My advisor was on the Tempe campus, my class was on the downtown campus. I took my pink bike on the light rail and rode to the other campus to speak with my advisor. As I wound my way through the throng of students on their way to classes, I couldn't help but feel excitement. I was here. I was a college student at last! I looked around at the other students. I wanted to fit in but I didn't know what a 50 year old college student looked like. I appeared to be the only one on campus this old that wasn't a faculty member. I didn't even know what kind of school supplies to buy. Can they tell I'm the old one? Am I pathetic? Being a fairly confident person, I feel insecure in this new environment. It's not in my DNA to be highly organized, so I arrived on campus with no clue where I was going, as figuring that out ahead of time would indicate organization.
After searching every directory for the building, I rushed inside and ran smack dab into another student. My papers went flying. I made them hold the elevator only to realize the car was going down and I needed to go up. Great start. I should have just wore a sign on my back that said, "I have no idea what I'm doing and yes, I'm uncool. I'm 50."
The following day I go to the bookstore to buy the required materials. There are protocols when buying books at a college bookstore. Is there anything easy about this process? I stood in front of the Spanish section, hoping and praying these were the right books, as I couldn't see my professor's name any where on the signs that say what each class requires. I forgot a pen and pencil. I wander around the bookstore looking for those. What the hell? They don't sell pens? I give up and ask the cashier after standing in line for 20 minutes. She looks at me like I'm an idiot, and at this point, this is exactly how I feel. She points to a wall behind me. It's filled with pens. Hundreds of them. There are impatient students behind me and picking out a pen with that many choices is not going to be an easy decision. I give up my place in line while I go and try and figure out what kind of pen I might require. Now I'm going to be late my first day of class. Perfect. And I'm sweaty.
I note that nearly every student is carrying a backpack. I make a mental note, I need one of those. I am the last to arrive in class and I take a seat in the back. I want to be the teacher's pet and sit in the front so she can see how dedicated I'm going to be, but I'm late and someone else had the same idea I guess. I try to get settled in my seat silently but of course, that isn't going to happen. My cell phone goes off. Some teacher's pet.
My professor is 32 years old. She has her doctorate in Spanish. She is no nonsense and takes roll. I take a moment to look around. Yep, I'm the oldest. No surprise here. She begins immediately with handing out and going through the class syllabus. I'm not worried. I'm a good student. I like school. Spanish is going to be fun. She makes it very clear that if you've had Spanish before in high school or if you speak Spanish already, this is not your class. I feel pretty confident, this IS my class. I peek around again. There are at least six, maybe seven Spanish looking kids. Hmmmm....I am suspicious, with good reason.
Because it is the first day of school, we are let out early with no lab. We will get started on Thursday. I'm not worried. I'm a good student. Spanish is going to be fun.
Immediately after school I drive to Sports Authority to find a backpack. I am attracted to the pink ones. Thank God, it's the one time I decide to go against my girlish instincts and go with basic black, as I could only imagine with my current nerd status how that would have looked being a 50-year-old freshman. Sometimes I allow logic to rule. I then drive to Staples to purchase notebooks, sticky notes, pens, pencils, notecards and a binder. I am ready. I can't wait for Thursday's class. I know what to expect now and I'm going to wear jeans and my Tom's. I will fit in. No one will notice my age. I'm blending now.
Thursday arrives and I'm ready. I've been practicing my Spanish accent and counting to 30. As soon as class begins, I sense I may be over my head. This non-Spanish speaking class with six or seven suspicious looking Hispanics are already farther along than I am. La Profesora is speaking in Spanish and asking questions in Spanish. Que? ...Uh Profesora, Hola? I'm the NON Spanish speaking student, apparently the ONLY one in the class! We were paired up the first week and had to ask how old each other was. Listen, I've only learned to count up to treinta and I wasn't going to say the number 50 out loud to anyone, so when it was my turn I used my best Spanish accent and replied, "Nonya..."
I have made friends with a sweet Somalian girl who feels sorry for me and has decided to mentor me.
I'm quite impressed with her maturity. Her story, her parent's story, are remarkable and it's easy to admire her dedication to improving her life and her passion for human rights. We now have a routine at our break between our class and lab. We walk to the Starbucks and get a coffee together. I know how old she is, she knows my age and yet somehow, there doesn't seem to be a gap of several generations. We are just classmates complaining about how hard Spanish is and between us, we are solving global issues to bring about world peace.
But back to my Spanish class. There's this girl. She's young, she's beautiful, she looks Hispanic. Uh huh...She's a fake. She knows Spanish and she's working the "A." I'm almost 100% certain her parents speak fluent Spanish, because A) She's Hispanic! If this class is graded on a curve, I'm screwed. She and her other so-called, "I don't know Spanish" friends have ruined my curve. She knows the answers, speaks with a perfect accent and isn't afraid to be called on. I, on the other hand am praying La Profesora doesn't notice I haven't contributed in class today. But this girl, she is young and needs to shut the pie hole. Because of her, la Profesora thinks we are all that advanced. I'm plotting her demise. If I could just find out her weakness....
I have found that Spanish is causing me a great deal of anxiety every class period. I'm so terrified of being called upon to speak a complete sentence that I leave the class every week with a stomach ache. I had my first exam last week and was certain I was going to bomb it. I studied so hard and finally had an "aha" moment when I figured out how to use the correct tense of the verb forms we've learned so far. It takes me ten minutes to formulate a simple sentence on paper and I can't possibly conjure it in my head to speak it. My entire house is covered in Post-it notes as I learn the nouns for simple household items. I would do well in Mexico if I could just point and say a noun. Unfortunately, there seems to be a lot more to it than knowing the correct word for "toaster" and "coffee maker." I love school, Spanish is fun!
I found out last week that we are on the shortened semester. Perfect. No wonder we are moving so fast. I'm trying to get my groove back, but can we just cut it back a notch? I went in to the tutoring center and the Spanish tutor was sick. I went for online tutoring and had to ask the tutor to quit speaking so fast and write out what she was saying. I have to figure this out soon. It's not just a matter of reading some material in English and memorizing or God forbid, absorbing it and remembering it. At 50, it feels like my brain has been suspended in a barometric chamber and I'm just now defrosting it to use again. Taking Spanish is calling upon every slice of gray matter in my head as I must learn to hear it and translate it, read it with comprehension, speak it with the proper accent, have others able to understand me, AND construct a composition using the proper grammar and verb conjugation with the correct masculine or feminine forms that also agree in plural or singular. I should have started with Math, and if you knew me well, you would realize what a punch line that is. This is definitely challenging my opinion of how smart I thought I was.
This is my first entry. I hope all who read it enjoy the journey. Maybe you can identify with the struggles and be encouraged that you are never too old. I've decided, 50 is the new 18...freshman that is. I appear to be the only one at that campus right now, but I'm sure I won't be the last. I don't know what I was thinking, but I'm enjoying the challenge, despite the difficulties I'm having, it is fun to speak with an accent, even as I make up words and mix up my masculine and feminine. I have a lot of Spanish speaking friends, they are helping...a little. My mantra every day: I love school, I'm a good student, Spanish is fun! Aiyiyi...
I started off slow, mostly because of residential status and tuition costs, but I'm a believer that all things happen for a reason. I wasn't quite ready for the commitment that was/is required. I started with a one credit grammar class. I had no idea just how useful that was going to be THIS semester. It was once a week, online. I thought it was hard. I bitched about it constantly, my one credit grammar class. I passed with a 92% and I was pissed it wasn't higher. Geez, I was a straight "A" beauty student, what the heck? How could I forget all these rules in Grammar? I was an English speaker. Turns out I was an over punctuator, I was using words incorrectly and I almost always used the wrong verb form when it came to singular and plural nouns. I almost gave up writing completely. It kind of ruined my flow to write by the rules.
I got over it. However, my divorce not being over with by the time the second semester rolled around and my residential status still not verified, I couldn't afford full-time status...again. At this rate I was going to be a Freshman at 90. I was enrolled in Spanish 101. Two days a week, four credit hours. Piece of cake right? I'm a good student, I like school. Spanish was going to be fun.
My advisor was on the Tempe campus, my class was on the downtown campus. I took my pink bike on the light rail and rode to the other campus to speak with my advisor. As I wound my way through the throng of students on their way to classes, I couldn't help but feel excitement. I was here. I was a college student at last! I looked around at the other students. I wanted to fit in but I didn't know what a 50 year old college student looked like. I appeared to be the only one on campus this old that wasn't a faculty member. I didn't even know what kind of school supplies to buy. Can they tell I'm the old one? Am I pathetic? Being a fairly confident person, I feel insecure in this new environment. It's not in my DNA to be highly organized, so I arrived on campus with no clue where I was going, as figuring that out ahead of time would indicate organization.
After searching every directory for the building, I rushed inside and ran smack dab into another student. My papers went flying. I made them hold the elevator only to realize the car was going down and I needed to go up. Great start. I should have just wore a sign on my back that said, "I have no idea what I'm doing and yes, I'm uncool. I'm 50."
The following day I go to the bookstore to buy the required materials. There are protocols when buying books at a college bookstore. Is there anything easy about this process? I stood in front of the Spanish section, hoping and praying these were the right books, as I couldn't see my professor's name any where on the signs that say what each class requires. I forgot a pen and pencil. I wander around the bookstore looking for those. What the hell? They don't sell pens? I give up and ask the cashier after standing in line for 20 minutes. She looks at me like I'm an idiot, and at this point, this is exactly how I feel. She points to a wall behind me. It's filled with pens. Hundreds of them. There are impatient students behind me and picking out a pen with that many choices is not going to be an easy decision. I give up my place in line while I go and try and figure out what kind of pen I might require. Now I'm going to be late my first day of class. Perfect. And I'm sweaty.
I note that nearly every student is carrying a backpack. I make a mental note, I need one of those. I am the last to arrive in class and I take a seat in the back. I want to be the teacher's pet and sit in the front so she can see how dedicated I'm going to be, but I'm late and someone else had the same idea I guess. I try to get settled in my seat silently but of course, that isn't going to happen. My cell phone goes off. Some teacher's pet.
My professor is 32 years old. She has her doctorate in Spanish. She is no nonsense and takes roll. I take a moment to look around. Yep, I'm the oldest. No surprise here. She begins immediately with handing out and going through the class syllabus. I'm not worried. I'm a good student. I like school. Spanish is going to be fun. She makes it very clear that if you've had Spanish before in high school or if you speak Spanish already, this is not your class. I feel pretty confident, this IS my class. I peek around again. There are at least six, maybe seven Spanish looking kids. Hmmmm....I am suspicious, with good reason.
Because it is the first day of school, we are let out early with no lab. We will get started on Thursday. I'm not worried. I'm a good student. Spanish is going to be fun.
Immediately after school I drive to Sports Authority to find a backpack. I am attracted to the pink ones. Thank God, it's the one time I decide to go against my girlish instincts and go with basic black, as I could only imagine with my current nerd status how that would have looked being a 50-year-old freshman. Sometimes I allow logic to rule. I then drive to Staples to purchase notebooks, sticky notes, pens, pencils, notecards and a binder. I am ready. I can't wait for Thursday's class. I know what to expect now and I'm going to wear jeans and my Tom's. I will fit in. No one will notice my age. I'm blending now.
Thursday arrives and I'm ready. I've been practicing my Spanish accent and counting to 30. As soon as class begins, I sense I may be over my head. This non-Spanish speaking class with six or seven suspicious looking Hispanics are already farther along than I am. La Profesora is speaking in Spanish and asking questions in Spanish. Que? ...Uh Profesora, Hola? I'm the NON Spanish speaking student, apparently the ONLY one in the class! We were paired up the first week and had to ask how old each other was. Listen, I've only learned to count up to treinta and I wasn't going to say the number 50 out loud to anyone, so when it was my turn I used my best Spanish accent and replied, "Nonya..."
I have made friends with a sweet Somalian girl who feels sorry for me and has decided to mentor me.
I'm quite impressed with her maturity. Her story, her parent's story, are remarkable and it's easy to admire her dedication to improving her life and her passion for human rights. We now have a routine at our break between our class and lab. We walk to the Starbucks and get a coffee together. I know how old she is, she knows my age and yet somehow, there doesn't seem to be a gap of several generations. We are just classmates complaining about how hard Spanish is and between us, we are solving global issues to bring about world peace.
But back to my Spanish class. There's this girl. She's young, she's beautiful, she looks Hispanic. Uh huh...She's a fake. She knows Spanish and she's working the "A." I'm almost 100% certain her parents speak fluent Spanish, because A) She's Hispanic! If this class is graded on a curve, I'm screwed. She and her other so-called, "I don't know Spanish" friends have ruined my curve. She knows the answers, speaks with a perfect accent and isn't afraid to be called on. I, on the other hand am praying La Profesora doesn't notice I haven't contributed in class today. But this girl, she is young and needs to shut the pie hole. Because of her, la Profesora thinks we are all that advanced. I'm plotting her demise. If I could just find out her weakness....
I have found that Spanish is causing me a great deal of anxiety every class period. I'm so terrified of being called upon to speak a complete sentence that I leave the class every week with a stomach ache. I had my first exam last week and was certain I was going to bomb it. I studied so hard and finally had an "aha" moment when I figured out how to use the correct tense of the verb forms we've learned so far. It takes me ten minutes to formulate a simple sentence on paper and I can't possibly conjure it in my head to speak it. My entire house is covered in Post-it notes as I learn the nouns for simple household items. I would do well in Mexico if I could just point and say a noun. Unfortunately, there seems to be a lot more to it than knowing the correct word for "toaster" and "coffee maker." I love school, Spanish is fun!
I found out last week that we are on the shortened semester. Perfect. No wonder we are moving so fast. I'm trying to get my groove back, but can we just cut it back a notch? I went in to the tutoring center and the Spanish tutor was sick. I went for online tutoring and had to ask the tutor to quit speaking so fast and write out what she was saying. I have to figure this out soon. It's not just a matter of reading some material in English and memorizing or God forbid, absorbing it and remembering it. At 50, it feels like my brain has been suspended in a barometric chamber and I'm just now defrosting it to use again. Taking Spanish is calling upon every slice of gray matter in my head as I must learn to hear it and translate it, read it with comprehension, speak it with the proper accent, have others able to understand me, AND construct a composition using the proper grammar and verb conjugation with the correct masculine or feminine forms that also agree in plural or singular. I should have started with Math, and if you knew me well, you would realize what a punch line that is. This is definitely challenging my opinion of how smart I thought I was.
This is my first entry. I hope all who read it enjoy the journey. Maybe you can identify with the struggles and be encouraged that you are never too old. I've decided, 50 is the new 18...freshman that is. I appear to be the only one at that campus right now, but I'm sure I won't be the last. I don't know what I was thinking, but I'm enjoying the challenge, despite the difficulties I'm having, it is fun to speak with an accent, even as I make up words and mix up my masculine and feminine. I have a lot of Spanish speaking friends, they are helping...a little. My mantra every day: I love school, I'm a good student, Spanish is fun! Aiyiyi...
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