Before the official start date, it was necessary to attend college orientation, and my Dad was so excited that he allowed me to drive a Corvette for the three-hour trip. Ever since I first saw one, I thought a Vette was the most beautiful car in his dealership showroom.
I should mention that Dad earned his GED after spending what would have been his later high school years in the Navy (he lied about his age to enlist along with his two older brothers) and became one of the youngest owners of a GM dealership in the U.S. Needless to say, the achievement of his only daughter going to college was a big deal to him.
I worked part-time at his dealership for over two years and put more than half of my inflated salary in a savings account to help with college books and tuition fees.
Let’s just say that my Dad put the money in the account for me so I wouldn’t be tempted to buy a new outfit, an album, or the latest and greatest something or other on the way to the bank.
On my eighteenth birthday, my stepmother presented me with a steamer trunk and a suitcase. There was a suggestion!
It was perfect, though. For most of my childhood, especially since my freshman year in high school, I counted the days till I was “legal” and could officially leave home. We had moved across the state when I was fourteen, and the new house and town never once felt like home to me. It was just a place where my stuff was. I was more than ready to move it elsewhere and find a real home for myself as soon as I could.
My teenage and younger years had not always been kind or gentle. I never felt free to be myself, make my own decisions, or identify a smooth path to adulthood. There were a lot of rules in our house, but not necessarily reasons given for the restrictions.
Admittedly, when I was given a tiny bit of rope, a quick glimpse at freedom, I didn’t always make the best choices. But then again, I was only a kid without much experience outside of a small town and even fewer examples of how to behave independently.
College, to me, was more of a means to that end, to find my way to freedom.
In addition, when attending college became part of my future goals, my Dad and I became closer, so that was a bonus.
Actually, the idea of attending college was pretty much automatic back in 1976 in my small town of 5000.
When and if you graduated high school, your subsequent choices were:
1) Go to college immediately after graduation
2) Enlist in the military
3) Get married
4) Take a higher-paying job at the Texaco Refinery or work for your father
(limited to male graduates only)
5) Or skip town and become a distant memory (Whatever happened to so and
so?)
I had no idea what to major in in college or what lay ahead. All I knew was that I would finally be on my own. I could stay out as late as I wanted. Eat what I wanted. Wear what I wanted. I could experience life in a larger town. I could just experience life. All of it. Period.
I would figure it all out as I went along.
So, I showed up at my dorm with my steamer trunk full of worldly possessions, my heart full of anticipation for what joy each day would bring.
It all started out ok.
I found my classes. Made some new friends. Discovered bars on the strip. Drank beer and listened to Little Feat and Bob Marley for the first time while smoking a joint. The school nurses were offering birth control pills for a buck a month outside the dorm rooms on a folding table with a white tablecloth. I met Jimmy Carter, who gave a speech on campus while he was running for president. All of it was new and exciting to me.
I found freedom. I had zero direction, zero restraints, and a loaded checking account. All of that previously earned money saved for books, college expenses, etc., was given to me in a lump sum in a joint checking account with my Dad, and he was pretty distracted back then.
An awful lot falls under the “miscellaneous expenses” category when you are on your own for the very first time.
The classes held in ample theatre-style seating were unexpected and quite intimidating to someone who was used to classroom sizes of less than twenty and constant interaction with the teacher. These sessions offered little to no communication unless you were brave enough to ask a potentially ridiculous question in front of a few hundred or so of your peers. Talking with your row mates wasn’t allowed either. Everyone was busy scribbling notes of their interpretation of the professor’s words. We must be fully prepared for the test at the end of the week. Staring at a distant professor at a podium on a small stage was not advantageous to my learning, especially when I felt slightly hungover from the night before. Sometimes, there were color slides, but even that wasn’t all that beneficial to my interest in the material.
I had one class that had fewer students and a bit more interaction, but I still often felt out of place. I did receive some good grades on my writing. I was awarded a B+ on my book report on “I’m OK, You’re OK.” I had only read the back cover and skimmed a few chapters; after all, I had a busy social life. That was an ironic book title, though.
You may wonder where my parents, other relatives, friends, or guidance counselors were when I was wandering lost around the school of higher learning. My Dad was going through a divorce, his choice, and my stepmother was happy to have one less hormonal human to worry about.
My grandmother had recently moved to the town I just left and ran two different businesses.
In everyone’s defense, I was overly enthusiastic and purposely cheerful whenever I talked to anyone. Not a care in the world. Just happy to be on my own. And I was. I just didn’t have a clue what I was doing in college or what I was supposed to do next. That’s what I related to the guidance counselor. But I was enthusiastic through it all.
I am sure you can see all the warning signs now. Anyone could, in hindsight. I was left to my own devices and had no roadmap in which to navigate.
Perhaps the problem was the college I chose. I was an average B student throughout school with little effort, so the issue wasn’t an inability to learn but being interested in what I was learning. I could have sought a college with smaller class sizes and a more exciting curriculum that felt worth my time and money to complete all the preliminary courses. But I wasn’t curious enough to pursue it.
What I knew for sure was that I was definitely blowing through a lot of money. And I knew I didn’t have much to show for it. All I was sure of was that I never wanted to go back and live in that small town again. I needed to be independent.
The one place where I felt self-assured and had a sense of accomplishment was at work. I’d been working for years. I loved the process. Even in my last two years in high school, I was in a unique business program where I could go to school for half a day and work the other half. I enjoyed the opportunities to learn new things. Later, I looked forward to the opportunities for advancement.
As an eight-year-old kid, my brother and I (with heavy gloves) picked up empty glass beer bottles from my Dad’s bar business, which were thrown downstairs, “in the dungeon,” through a metal shoot. We placed them back in their cases to be recycled. Later, we would pick up bottles along the road for pocket change. I was a babysitter for years before I started working at my Dad’s dealership and learned bookkeeping from the sweetest, kindest lady named Bessie. She taught me a lot.
I was very aware of debits, credits, and cash flow when I dropped out of college.
I took a job at a local dealership in the same town as the college as a cashier in their parts department. I rented my first home. I got a German shepherd puppy and named him “Free.”
And life went on.
Over the years, I’ve made decent money but have mostly been limited to starting positions requiring only a high school diploma. Still, I have rarely interviewed for a job where I didn’t walk out without employment, and when I did, the reason was never my education. I began with entry-level jobs and worked my way up to management.
I could fill several pages with lists of what I have learned and how I have grown as a person working those jobs. There wasn’t one that I didn’t grow and learn from. I am proud of what I have accomplished.
Still, after all these years, I feel shame when I have to fill out a questionnaire asking what college level I have completed. My cheeks sometimes flush when a new acquaintance asks where I attended school.
I’ve always felt that I had to try a little harder and be a little smarter than my peers so they wouldn’t know that I didn’t have formal education beyond high school (other than courses of interest here and there.) I’ve worked on my vocabulary. I’ve worked on business etiquette. I taught myself how to use technology. I’ve taught myself how to do a lot of different things. All of it was interesting to me. All of it was my choice. Not just a means to an end.
Not being a college graduate has made me a much better student in life.
Still, sometimes I feel “less than” without that piece of paper in a black frame. It was another thing I started and didn’t complete.
A friend recently reminded me of all the things that I actually have completed. Yes, in actuality, there have been several.
Looking back over my life, was that degree all that necessary in the scheme of things? If I could go back today, after all of my experiences, I am not sure even now what degree I would want to obtain. I still feel anxiety when thinking about algebra or calculus. I can only choose one or two majors. Really?
What if I spent a few years learning and discovered that particular career path wasn’t for me? That would be ok if I were working. I could move on to another field and continue to be paid. But in college, I would have spent a few thousand dollars for that knowledge and not be any further along than when I started. Well, except that I learned what I didn’t want.
One career path off the list. Check.
I suppose this is why it is so crucial for me to have a published book, a profitable side business, something to be “known for,” to once and for all prove that, for me, that degree wasn’t necessary to be successful. Like it wasn’t for my Dad, I suppose.
Or maybe I’ll be remembered as a steadfast seeker? That’s not such a bad thing.
In writing this post, I know in my bones that I have had an incredibly wonderful, successful life, even without any further accomplishments. However, I still have every intention of completing my goals. Even so, old insecurities sometimes sneak out, directly or indirectly.
This Holiday season, I will give myself the gift of being okay with this realization. I am okay with who I have become and how I will continue to evolve and learn.
Please know that I genuinely admire and commend anyone who has set out on the path to obtain their degree (s) and knows where they are headed with their career and educational path. I know that many graduates worked one or more jobs to afford their degrees, and many others are paying off their student loans. For others, their degrees were a sacrifice; others were the very first in their families to obtain higher education. For still others, their dream of going to college is elusive.
I’m sure it sounds to some that I was a privileged, undisciplined, spoiled child who squandered a golden opportunity for further education. Even so, I hope some of you can relate to my story and appreciate the times, circumstances, and decisions I made.
A college education was never at the end of my yellow brick road.
I have finally accepted that after nearly fifty years.
Thank you for reading!
I wish you all a particularly memorable and happy Holiday season!
Keep Smiling!
xx
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