Serenity

Main Reading Room

Thompson Library OSU

Interesting how our definitions and understandings change with age.  People talk about the hustle and bustle of a college campus, how enervating and exhausting it can be to race from one class to another, lug backpacks around, hurry to a lecture, then on to a lab, then grab a bite of lunch and rush to yet another classroom.  Sounds impossible to keep up with.  Here's one of the interesting, and gratifying things about a return to campus at late (late) middle age.  I find it instead of enervating, really energizing.  Immersed in the atmosphere of campus, I'm renewed every time.  Part of it is knowing the other side; being driven by the necessity of work, career, debt, cash flow, family responsibility, employer demands--that's enervating.  Being responsible to the intellectual demands of the campus energizes and gratifies.  And knowing there are havens, such as the main library's reading room, shown above, is deeply satisfying to the soul and body.  Also, the 'other side' lays claim to such gratifications as truth & practicality versus uncertainty & theory.  Since returning to college, I've found renewed solace in the theoretical, the uncertain, the demand for further investigation.

(Winged Victory of Samothrace, the statue depicted above was sculpted to celebrate a naval victory.  Its outward thrust has been compared to the bowsprit of a ship, arching forward into the elements.  Kind of like an older student charging forward into the unknown)  

Higher Education

Orton Hall & Chimes OSU Main Campus

(Posting from the memoir--Old Man On Campus Ch.2) 

 

As for more personal reasons for my return to college, not long after I returned to campus, I had one of those mind-stretching revelations that can only happen in the atmosphere of academia.  The realization, painful as it was, nearly blinded me in its clarity.  Simply put, I harbored a deep resentment for my parents.

    That’s not terribly intuitive, so I’ll explain.  My folks, God rest them, were likely the hardest working, most conscientious, most caring parents who ever tended a flock of kids.  And we were a flock, there’s no other term for us.  Ten kids, in a raucous, energetic, persistently hungry family of church-going Irish Roman Catholics.  We were the Kennedys without the money or PR staff.  The revelation came to me as I sauntered past the lake that marks the southwestern perimeter of campus, into which body of water students make a traditional November sojourn prior to ‘The Big Game’.  Just as I left the quiet grotto of the lake, climbing a small hill toward the library, I heard the somber sound of the campus chimes.  The pealing of those bells across the verdant acres of academe, their tolling announcement of another hour’s passage froze me in my tracks, chilling me with a realization of how fortunate I was to be there, at that moment, on that campus, where the pursuit of education isn’t a luxury, or a fanciful hobby, but a sacred obligation.  And then, immediately after the tolling ceased, the pain arrived: My family placed no value on this.  Despite all exposure, all momentary and credulous nods toward its proximity in our lives, and its understood power to lift us above our raucous, lower-middle-class expectations, this campus was nothing more to them than a venue for the vaunted football team that passed for local sports mania.  That is, the school’s anti-intellectual identification was our only connection to it growing up, and hearing those chimes, with their mellifluous enticement to gentler, more cerebral things, tolled, in addition to the hours’ passing, the contrast between the world I’d known, and the one I now aspired to.  Hearing the bells, unable to stop myself from counting their measure, an ache erupted in my chest.  Tears swarmed, and I looked around, fearful that I’d be seen and discovered in my humiliation at displaying such emotion over the simple ringing of a bell.  I was afraid a young student would see me, and wonder what I’d lost, or who?

    But the tolling was deeply affective, because I had lost something.  And someone.  I realized in that instant, the last echo of the final toll wafting away, that what had also drifted away was the time I’d lost out of simple neglect for that part of myself.  I’d dismissed the possibility offered by the lure of those chimes, in pursuit of just such commercial and anti-intellectual arrangements as my parents had.  So why blame them?  That’s the truly painful part, and its teaching came hard on the heels of the first twinge of recognition.  It wasn’t their doing; it was mine.  I’d settled for the same path as they had, even perpetuating the terrain with my own child.  I realized that, as my daughter grew up, I’d never really stressed education to her, never truly expected her to do anything more than find a position, make herself employable, become self-sufficient.  The possibilities for an education in life are never ending.  Until the bells chime their final bit, there’s always time for one more insight.       

I need your help

 

Thompson Library Stacks OSU Main Campus, Columbus

There are literally millions of stories in the main stacks at the Thompson Library.  I'm in the middle of a story of my own, an attempt to resurrect my pursuit of a college degree, after 38 years away from campus.  I need your help.  Since the story will be  memoir, I need to know what readers would like to find inside the pages of such a thing.  What stories can I add to the book--a work in progress--that will be enticing, engaging, funny, heartening and even educating for anyone stumbling upon this unlikely tale as I piece it together?  I intend to someday find it in the main stacks in one of these pictures, and I need your help making that happen.  What would you like to hear about?  Thanks.

 

PS  Parts of the book will be serialized here--keep checking back.

Health Care

 Dome of the U.S. Capitol

As I write this, our elected representatives in Washington are engaged in a monumental struggle to alter the nature of our economy.  It's called a health care debate, but since the so-called health care industry in America is a sixth of the overall economy, this debate is assuredly about the allocation of billions of dollars first and foremost.  But it's something else as well.  The contention is also about the way this, the richest, most powerful nation in history observes ancient understandings of civility and compassion.  Do we regard our fellow citizens as equal in their struggle to attain whatever position they may reach, or not?  For as long as there have been social groups, there has been a shared exposure to debilitating illness and injury.  It has long been acknowledged that we share some, albeit limited, responsibility for our neighbors.  We've understood forever that one person's debility affects us all.  Good health being a requisite for contribution by members of the social group, we all have a stake in the outcome of this debate.  Members have a responsibility as well, and that includes at least an attempt to preserve one's health as much as possible.  If nothing else, this debate will bring focus to a national priority that has languished far too long.  Stay tuned.

This rocks!

 This shot was taken in late October, on the eleventh floor of Thompson Library.  I think it's really cool that the powers that be here at OSU decided to put rocking chairs in this room.  It may have been a mindless decision; it may not mean anything.  But I choose to think it was mindful of not only the subliminal quality of metronomic motion, and that motion's psychological power to assist comprehension, but of the presence of students who understand the symbolism of a rocking chair.  If brains don't work better when we rock, I'll miss my guess.  This is the anti-techno-media assault spot.  Have a seat.

Gramps

So I'm starting Winter Quarter 2010, class schedule English 202, and History 387, when I get a phone call from my daughter in Austin.  "It's time, dad.  Better get down here."  I've waited for this call, this moment for a while, the signal that I'm about to be Gramps!  What a weird, wonderful, mind-boggling concept--me, a grandfather!  So, of course, I get on-line, check with SWA.com, arrange a flight to Austin, and as the flight information spits out on the computer screen the realization begins to seep into my addled brain.  When I shuffle off the airplane in Texas, I will likely have ahead of me the prospect of holding my grandson in my arms, marveling at his fresh little face, the pink newness of him, the promise he contains.  And of course I'll be transported back 31 + years to the night I held his mother in my arms for the first time, swaddled against me, marveling at the promise she contained, one of which has just revealed itself: She held the promise of making me a grandfather.
    The printer spits out my itinerary.  My mind is filled with memories, concerns, joy, surely, and the understanding that, as a grandfather, just as with fatherhood, it will be a seat of the pants affair.  Then to more practical things: How long will I be in Austin, what if she doesn't deliver right away, etc. etc.?    Among the myriad considerations is what to do about school?  And here's the fun part.  I'm looking forward to approaching teachers with the news, asking them for a bit of forbearance.  I'll need to miss classes.  And I wonder how many of them have had to make accommodations for a student/grandfather?  Not many, I'm guessing.  It will be interesting to go through this process, and to see the reaction from various people when the OMOC takes off for one of life's premier events.  Also, I wonder what they'll think when I share pictures of the grandbaby?  Stay tuned.

Choices

Mirror Lake OSU Campus 12/09/09  7:15 am

Choices are in front of us every day, regardless of who we are, what we do or where we go.  Everything we do is a choice.  Even those things that happen to us contain an element of choice in what we do with that interaction. The photo above was taken the morning of December 9th, the day I took my first final exam in over 38 years.  Looking at the beauty, simplicity and utter serenity this shot provides may seem unconnected with choice.  But because I chose to put aside a life of leisurely retirement and return to school, I've been exposed to such vistas.  It sometimes seems that the harder we strive for ease and comfort the tougher life is, and the more we give in to a restless pursuit of more understanding the broader our choices are.  Thirty-eight years ago I failed to choose that pursuit.  The result was a series of life-altering events that took me places, and taught me things I never imagined. 

Now I'm back, chasing my education.  It is a choice, more than ever before.  And the harshest of all truths is this: By NOT choosing, we're sometimes making the most profound choice of all.

Finals week

It sounds so, well, so final.  Finals week.  Could we maybe just call it assessment week, or metric-scale week, or how about this--wrap week?  Someone asked Laurence Taylor years ago, as he prepared for the Super Bowl, how he felt being part of the greatest spectacle in sports, and he asked, "aren't they having it again next year?"  Just so, no test is ever final; no assessment lasts all that long; and, at my age especially, memory competes with an egg timer, so are we not having 'finals' again next quarter? 
On a more fanciful note, it is good to be off for a time, to catch up with a few movies, and to experience the odd sensation of reading a book I will not be tested on.  Then, come January 4, it will be back on campus, digging in, getting through another Winter Q at OSU, a quarter during which one actually looks forward to finals.  I sure hope the heat's been fixed in Denney Hall.

Campus Chapter MEUSA

In the next few months I will be recruiting on campus for volunteers for marriage equality.  I intend to start an OSU chapter of Marriage Equality USA, with the end result being a group of fired up, energetic, capable young people who will help in the coming years as Ohio begins to accept the entirely reasonable and necessary concept of civil marriage equality for all.  I recall being young and energetic, and looking for a cause to get involved with.  In my case it was a very similar issue, civil rights.  When I was the age of my fellow students, the civil rights struggle captivated me in such a way that I never quite got over the enthusiasm and dedication that flowed from involvement in it.  It was a magnetic, compelling issue and a powerfully attractive cause.
Marriage Equality is, too.  I'll be turning students on to the idea of educating their peers, writing letters, petitioning for change, and taking the message of civil marriage equality home to Medina, Mansfield, Canton and Cleveland, Parma and Perrysburg. 
Stay tuned.

Old Man On Campus

Welcome back.  That's how it feels, too.  After 38 years away, I'm back on a college campus.  I was drafted, whipped into the Army, had a real life, and decided to pick up where I left off--a degree left hanging, waiting for real life to educate me, I've returned to Ohio State to finish things up.  My intention is to get my diploma and start Social Security the same day.  But the degree is important to me, so I'm back.  Why?  Why not, that's the question.  On this blog I'll post my ongoing impressions, anecdotes, observations, 'teaching moments', and much more about my new status as the Old Man On Campus.  For you other non-traditional students out there, welcome, and I'd love to hear your feedback.
A book in the works?   Why, yes, there is.  The title is, of course, Old Man On Campus--Senioritis and What To Do About It.  Memoir, in progress, and a new kind of literary endeavor: I intend to have the book write itself, with as Ringo Starr said, "A little help from my friends."
Thanks for reading.  Stay tuned.  I'll be signing off for a few days starting today.  It's finals week, and I gotta hit the books.

Here We Go Again