A Rude Awakening Pt. 1: a^2+b^2=kiss my butt

I had moved into my tiny dorm room with Nick at Hubble Hall a week before.  Now my first college classes were starting.  Over the summer we met with academic advisors who helped us pick our classes and schedule.  Whoever mine was did me no favors.  I mean, I do take responsibility because ultimately the choices were mine, but sound advice from an experienced sage was lacking.  Math had not been a solid subject for me since like the 3^rd grade.  Introducing fractions and letters made no sense.  You can’t add ¼ to 2/3, it just shouldn’t be done.  If a+b=c, why do I care what a equals?  College algebra for me was scheduled three days a week at seven am.  I don’t know why I agreed to that, but I did.  Not a good idea.

Math was bad enough for me but having that class before 9AM when I’m living away from home for the first time was a terrible idea.  Midway through the semester I did okay.  I probably made about a B- at that point.  For me in that class it was a victory.  I only had two absences that semester, but each one certainly signified a point on a line chart where my grades took a nose dive.   After a night at of partying at Paul’s  I was too messed up to go to class and skipped.  I started making D’s.  This probably brought my average down to a C.  Okay okay. Passing is passing. 

I kept plugging away a few weeks.  Toward the end of the semester I skipped again.  I just didn’t feel like getting up.  It was too chilly outside or something.  When it’s that early in the morning it’s hard to stay motivated.  I went to class the next time and had a test.  A terrible terrible test.  I scored something like a 42 out of 100.  I wouldn’t get much better.  Getting a 60 on a quiz was now considered a win for me.  I struggled and studied.  I was never ever the type to get a tutor.  Or ask for help.  This was a mistake because what good does studying do you if you don’t even understand the language it’s in?  Outside the Pythagorean Theorem I was lost.  Quadratic Equation?  Nonsense!  I genuinely tried but it was a lost cause.  It was like I was wearing rain boots in quick sand.  My feet were dry, but I was sinking.  I was stubborn.  I was stuck in my ways.  But it was no use.  What worked in high school would not work here.

At the end of the semester when the grades were published I swallowed deep and looked.  Was there any way I could pass?  Could my “Strong” B’s and C’s in the first half of the semester be able to pass me?  I knew it would be close. 

                MATH 131           MWF     7A-8A    D

I passed!  This class was not part of my major.  “D” was good enough! No way in Hell was I going to retake that class.  It would be tempting fate I believed.  In high school a “D” would have failed.  We didn’t even have “D”’s.  Anything less than a “C” was an “F”.  I was relieved that I passed.  I wasn’t proud, but I would move on.  I would never schedule another 7am class again.  In fact, I only scheduled one 8am class the rest of my college days.  (It would be Voice and Phonetics, required for my major and only offered at 8am).  I had work to do.  Other than a little hiccup I had always been a dependable A or A and B student.  My first semester in college netted me a “D” and, in History, a “C”.  It was time to wake up.