It was a field trip that changed my mind about science.
I hated almost all science in high school. That would include all of Biology, most of Earth Science, and the great bulk of Physics. I just could not muster any enthusiasm for an activity that was simultaneously both difficult and pointless. One or the other? Tolerable. Both? Repugnant. Using that flawless logic I quit Chemistry after two weeks of class and enrolled in an independent study of Psychology. Perfect.
Fast forward to college. Actually; wasting four years in high school and then finding myself a freshman in college was anything but fast. And, though there was a net forward kind of progress to it all, it was not particularly linear. Have you ever seen a map that depicts the exodus of the Israelites from Eygpt? My path to college was kind of like that. Make what analogies you will.
In 1985 I enrolled at the Grand Rapids Baptist College. There was no freshman on that campus more enthused than me. Though I didn't know it at the time, I couldn't spell Wednesday, abbreviate etcetera, or cite a source outside of my own head. That I needed to gain a high school education, concurrently with my collegiate pursuits, was evidenced routinely with many embarrassing proofs. What I lacked in preparation, I made up for in zeal. With an undeclared major, I was there to study smart people, and make every attempt to become one myself.
I was willing, no, eager, to study anything and everything. To learn it all, and then, pick an area in which to be an expert. Planning my first semester, I went through the GRBC course catalog at age 25 as I had the Christmas Sears and Roebuck at age 10. Hand written on a sheet of notebook paper, I had a list of every course that I knew I would have to take regardless of my eventual major. I had ordered them according to perceived value, and intended to take them in that order. On my assigned registration day, I met with my advisor who commended my forethought, placing me in contrast to the freshman he had dealt with all day, he signed off on my choices and sent me to the registrar. Each of my chosen courses were full. Back to my advisor, we agreed on a solid set of secondary selections and I returned to the registrar. These too were full. As noted, it was 1985. The most advanced piece of equipment in the process was a typewriter. The registration procedures were nuts. Nuts. Part of some camouflaged hazing practice or maybe a grad student's psychology thesis. I've not described the lines that I stood in outside of the registrar's and advisor's offices. I've not mentioned the negogiating I did with instructors in order to convince them that my addition to their full class would be to their advantage. Gaining sometimes none, and never more than one course with each trip to the registrars office, I worked my way down my list. Near the end of the day, and very possibly the last person to fill a schedule, I needed one more class. Quite literally, the last word at the bottom of the notebook barrel was; Biology.
You're smarter now than I was then, if you've detected a flaw in my claim that I wanted to learn it all. I definitely had classified some knowledge as nonvital. I knew that I would have to study biology to be a liberally educated man. I accepted that. I'd find room for it eventually. The plan was to take that freshman class later, after I had learned important things. But, desperation is the mother of all concession, and I needed one more class. Of course the course had room for me.
I hated almost all science in high school. That would include all of Biology, most of Earth Science, and the great bulk of Physics. I just could not muster any enthusiasm for an activity that was simultaneously both difficult and pointless. One or the other? Tolerable. Both? Repugnant. Using that flawless logic I quit Chemistry after two weeks of class and enrolled in an independent study of Psychology. Perfect.
Fast forward to college. Actually; wasting four years in high school and then finding myself a freshman in college was anything but fast. And, though there was a net forward kind of progress to it all, it was not particularly linear. Have you ever seen a map that depicts the exodus of the Israelites from Eygpt? My path to college was kind of like that. Make what analogies you will.
In 1985 I enrolled at the Grand Rapids Baptist College. There was no freshman on that campus more enthused than me. Though I didn't know it at the time, I couldn't spell Wednesday, abbreviate etcetera, or cite a source outside of my own head. That I needed to gain a high school education, concurrently with my collegiate pursuits, was evidenced routinely with many embarrassing proofs. What I lacked in preparation, I made up for in zeal. With an undeclared major, I was there to study smart people, and make every attempt to become one myself.
I was willing, no, eager, to study anything and everything. To learn it all, and then, pick an area in which to be an expert. Planning my first semester, I went through the GRBC course catalog at age 25 as I had the Christmas Sears and Roebuck at age 10. Hand written on a sheet of notebook paper, I had a list of every course that I knew I would have to take regardless of my eventual major. I had ordered them according to perceived value, and intended to take them in that order. On my assigned registration day, I met with my advisor who commended my forethought, placing me in contrast to the freshman he had dealt with all day, he signed off on my choices and sent me to the registrar. Each of my chosen courses were full. Back to my advisor, we agreed on a solid set of secondary selections and I returned to the registrar. These too were full. As noted, it was 1985. The most advanced piece of equipment in the process was a typewriter. The registration procedures were nuts. Nuts. Part of some camouflaged hazing practice or maybe a grad student's psychology thesis. I've not described the lines that I stood in outside of the registrar's and advisor's offices. I've not mentioned the negogiating I did with instructors in order to convince them that my addition to their full class would be to their advantage. Gaining sometimes none, and never more than one course with each trip to the registrars office, I worked my way down my list. Near the end of the day, and very possibly the last person to fill a schedule, I needed one more class. Quite literally, the last word at the bottom of the notebook barrel was; Biology.
You're smarter now than I was then, if you've detected a flaw in my claim that I wanted to learn it all. I definitely had classified some knowledge as nonvital. I knew that I would have to study biology to be a liberally educated man. I accepted that. I'd find room for it eventually. The plan was to take that freshman class later, after I had learned important things. But, desperation is the mother of all concession, and I needed one more class. Of course the course had room for me.