B.S. = back to school for this nontraditional student Spring 2013 semester. Little has changed. I’m six months older, but so are the students. I’m the only senior person in my classes—old enough to be their great grandmother with spare years to be the professor’s grandmother. So, does this bother me?
A little, even in my second semester on campus. It bothers the students more. It’s not that they think I’m smarter (too soon for that assumption). It’s more like they’re afraid to sit next to me or allow me in their workshop group because my age might rub off on them. Or perhaps fear they might be propelled into a different year—like Henry DeTamble, the librarian in the Time Traveler’s Wife. There he is in the Newberry library, then poof–he’s whisked into a different age with the blink of an eye.
The library. I didn’t see Henry there last semester when I took two short courses. You’d think in all his travels he could have shown up once on the West Coast during the freezing Chicago winter. I wish he could be here now. He would understand the two blank GPA spaces in those Pass/Fail courses where the dual A’s should be.