Long boring stories about me: More college stuff
There were a number of little hoops I had to jump through, in order to go to college. My favorite was having to go to both the teacher and the department head for every class I took and having them sign a stupid little form before I could register. This was annoying on a lot of levels. First of all, it was kind of insulting, I had to go up to these teachers and say, "Hi, my name is That Girl, I'm (12-15) and I'd love to take your class, please sign this stupid little form" now if that was all I had to do, it wouldn't have been so bad, but no, they all wanted to talk to me. They wanted to know how I was doing, was the stress of being a college student at such a young age wearing on me, (no, but the stress of having to listen to all these people ask the same questions in the same patronizing tone was) and they all wanted me to know they'd be there for me if I needed someone to talk to. There were variations on this theme, of course, all the teachers in the social science department covertly tried to get good gossip on my Daddy, and for some reason or another the guy who was the head of the mathematics department the first year I was there refused to see me at all, luckily his secretary liked me.
Now the first term this wasn't so bad, but as I started taking more and more credits, this process became more and more annoying. You see, I had to have back up plans, in case I was unable to get my first schedule choice, and I had to get these things signed before I could try to register for the classes, one term I think I had 30 or so of them to fill out, and I had to get this done the week before finals week, when I had too much crap to do anyways. Grrrrrr... At least the teachers were usually easy enough to find, the department heads, on the other hand, I had to make an appointment to see, an appointment that they almost invariably broke, rescheduled, broke again, and then eventually signed the darned forms when I tracked them down in the cafeteria.
Then there were the actual classes, having skipped middle and high school, I had a lot of catching up to do in a number of different areas. I took a lot of really basic classes, learning how to type, writing skills, (all of which I've either forgotten, or choose to ignore) and computer science. (basic computer science is possibly the least useful class ever, I actually had to learn to count in binary and hexadecimal, skills that have yet to prove themselves useful) I also took all the social science classes I could get my hands on, Psychology, Sociology, History, Neural Linguistics Programming. I stayed away from the "real" sciences, Daddy was afraid I wouldn't do well, since I didn't have any science background to speak of.
I wanted to take "fun" classes so bad, but Daddy said that would be "a waste of an opportunity" so I was allowed to take piano, and music fundamentals, (this was the kind of compromise my Daddy was famous for, you see, I didn't want to take either of these) but no singing, acting, art or (god forbid) dance classes. Basically Daddy wanted to ensure that I kept my 4.0 GPA, and he wasn't confident that I would excel in the arts.
I know everybody feels like they were under oodles of pressure as a teenager, and while my story isn't exactly normal, that part definitely is. I still went through the typical gambit of teenage emotions, the desire to please and impress your parents, coupled with the fierce determination to be your own person, and all of the intriguing identity crisis that go along with it. Good enough was never good enough for Daddy, nor was he a "just do your best, honey" kind of guy, he was more of a "my way or the highway" (a quote he was always quick to interject) sort, and his way was perfect. I grew up hearing encouraging words like "if you can't do it right, don't do it at all." One experience sort of symbolizes my relationship with him during those last couple of years I lived with him; I had just found out what my final percentage in math 111 was, and I was very excited to report that I had finished the class with a 104% average, (I had done a few extra credit assignments, and had gotten all of the bonus questions on the tests correct) now I should have known better, but I was expecting an excited "good job" or something of the sort, but instead he calmly replied, why didn't you get 106%? You see, Daddy believed that I would rise to his expectations, and rise I did, right up until I didn't.
Another great lesson I learned during that time frame: Nobody likes a smart girl. My darling father, with the best of intentions, I'm sure, sat me down one day, and said "sweetie, the day is going to come when you start being interested in boys, and I just want you to know, they're going to be intimidated by you, if you don't tone down your intelligence" he went on to tell me that I should let them win, if we played games, be careful not to use words they wouldn't understand, and never, ever, under any circumstances let them know that I was going to college. Now the truth of the matter is, sadly, this isn't bad advice. I can't tell you how many guys quit calling after the first time we played Scrabble. (Scrabble is my favorite board game, but it's a tricky one, cause not only do you get to kick their ass, but you also get to show them you have a good vocabulary) And until very, very recently when people asked me where I went to high school, I still responded "I didn't" or (my favorite) "I didn't go to high school around here" without elaborating further.
Now the first term this wasn't so bad, but as I started taking more and more credits, this process became more and more annoying. You see, I had to have back up plans, in case I was unable to get my first schedule choice, and I had to get these things signed before I could try to register for the classes, one term I think I had 30 or so of them to fill out, and I had to get this done the week before finals week, when I had too much crap to do anyways. Grrrrrr... At least the teachers were usually easy enough to find, the department heads, on the other hand, I had to make an appointment to see, an appointment that they almost invariably broke, rescheduled, broke again, and then eventually signed the darned forms when I tracked them down in the cafeteria.
Then there were the actual classes, having skipped middle and high school, I had a lot of catching up to do in a number of different areas. I took a lot of really basic classes, learning how to type, writing skills, (all of which I've either forgotten, or choose to ignore) and computer science. (basic computer science is possibly the least useful class ever, I actually had to learn to count in binary and hexadecimal, skills that have yet to prove themselves useful) I also took all the social science classes I could get my hands on, Psychology, Sociology, History, Neural Linguistics Programming. I stayed away from the "real" sciences, Daddy was afraid I wouldn't do well, since I didn't have any science background to speak of.
I wanted to take "fun" classes so bad, but Daddy said that would be "a waste of an opportunity" so I was allowed to take piano, and music fundamentals, (this was the kind of compromise my Daddy was famous for, you see, I didn't want to take either of these) but no singing, acting, art or (god forbid) dance classes. Basically Daddy wanted to ensure that I kept my 4.0 GPA, and he wasn't confident that I would excel in the arts.
I know everybody feels like they were under oodles of pressure as a teenager, and while my story isn't exactly normal, that part definitely is. I still went through the typical gambit of teenage emotions, the desire to please and impress your parents, coupled with the fierce determination to be your own person, and all of the intriguing identity crisis that go along with it. Good enough was never good enough for Daddy, nor was he a "just do your best, honey" kind of guy, he was more of a "my way or the highway" (a quote he was always quick to interject) sort, and his way was perfect. I grew up hearing encouraging words like "if you can't do it right, don't do it at all." One experience sort of symbolizes my relationship with him during those last couple of years I lived with him; I had just found out what my final percentage in math 111 was, and I was very excited to report that I had finished the class with a 104% average, (I had done a few extra credit assignments, and had gotten all of the bonus questions on the tests correct) now I should have known better, but I was expecting an excited "good job" or something of the sort, but instead he calmly replied, why didn't you get 106%? You see, Daddy believed that I would rise to his expectations, and rise I did, right up until I didn't.
Another great lesson I learned during that time frame: Nobody likes a smart girl. My darling father, with the best of intentions, I'm sure, sat me down one day, and said "sweetie, the day is going to come when you start being interested in boys, and I just want you to know, they're going to be intimidated by you, if you don't tone down your intelligence" he went on to tell me that I should let them win, if we played games, be careful not to use words they wouldn't understand, and never, ever, under any circumstances let them know that I was going to college. Now the truth of the matter is, sadly, this isn't bad advice. I can't tell you how many guys quit calling after the first time we played Scrabble. (Scrabble is my favorite board game, but it's a tricky one, cause not only do you get to kick their ass, but you also get to show them you have a good vocabulary) And until very, very recently when people asked me where I went to high school, I still responded "I didn't" or (my favorite) "I didn't go to high school around here" without elaborating further.