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As almost any homeschooler can tell you, they had grown up with people who loved them and thought highly of the kind of education they received. There was much less to be said about the woman behind the admissions desk, looking at me like she’d had an awful day already, and it was barely noon. I gulped and accepted the fact that this just was not homeschooling anymore, and I’d have to get through it somehow.
“I need what?” I asked her with a quizzical look, my stomach dropping.
“A signature on this form from a faculty member to say that you’ve taken Human Anatomy and Physiology in high school, otherwise, you can’t get into this class.” she said without any enthusiasm. Actually, she appeared to be enjoying the fact that I’d have to do something else.
“But I have taken it! Twice!” I exclaimed. Ouch. That didn’t sound as good as I had hoped. Twice to me meant I really learned it well. Twice to them probably meant I had failed it once and had to retake it. To make matters worse, my previous advisor had told me straight to my face that she was retiring and would no longer be my advisor. That was the only faculty member I knew and who knew me that could sign off on this.
“Well, my advisor retired.” I stated, hoping for lenience.
“No she hasn’t.” the woman said.
“She told me she was going to. She told me I’d have to find someone else.”
The woman was clearly getting irked that I wasn’t accepting what she was saying. “Go up to the Science Department and have her sign this. She’s still working here.”
So, there I was, huffing and puffing up the stairs to the dreaded Science Department, for something that really, if the community college I was attending cared even at all for me, should be doing instead of me. Honestly, it felt like everyone on the staff felt as if all the students were a burden and a nuisance. Never mind the fact that we were the ones paying their salary... But, there was one bright spot: If I could get into this ‘BIO’ (In college speak, this could mean a number of things. For me, Human Anatomy & Physiology) class, I’d be well on my way to earning the last few credits towards being able to enroll in dental hygiene school at yet another community college. Through the next few compounded events, I learned I had to bring in my transcripts, set up an appointment during the day, which would have been impossible with my full-time work schedule, and just generally gravel at their feet to let me in. And, get this, after ALL that, I was in the Science Department one day, trying to get in to see my elusive advisor, when a random faculty member stepped up to the counter and the receptionist pointed out that I needed a signature. He asked why. I told him. He asked if I’d ever done dissecting. I listed off all the animals and organs I’d dissected, and without so much as a blink of the eye, he took up a pen on the counter, scribbled his name, and was out the door. You could have blown me over with a feather. I barely had time to shout my thanks after him out into the hallway. After all that! What a pain! And here it was, so simple. Talk to a human being, have them sign something, and I was in. I was in!
Oh dear, I was in. Here I was, sitting in a large amphitheater-like classroom, surrounded by students of all ages, and the professor standing in the front of the class was dressed in a t-shirt, shorts, and sneakers (my mother always wore a jumper). He was lecturing us all on how hard the class was going to be, and that we probably wouldn’t make it. It was truly inspiring. He even brought up a few of last year’s students to terrorize us a bit with their 500-page bound notebook pages, filled with lecture notes, and tabbed for reference. I sank a little lower in my chair, not so giddy anymore about my suddenly seemingly insignificant amount of knowledge regarding what digit the thumb was, or how the blood was pumped through the aorta. Never mind my new and exciting folders, highlighter, or colored pencils, bought especially for this occasion. I was in for one major awakening.
And really, public college is truly that: An awakening. Coming from a homeschooled background, I couldn’t ask the professor to slow down if I hadn’t caught something. You couldn’t get something from the kitchen for practical imagery or experimentation. And you certainly couldn’t shush the annoying students, because none of them were your siblings. The sad fact was, practically half of my fellow students didn’t know how to spell correctly. They partied the night before class, waving away the thought of homework with a shrug. Parties were obviously so much more important when you were 18, 21, or even 40. There was cheating, whispering, swearing, crude remarks, and a guy who wore a kilt the majority of the time. I still never found out the reason, as he’d sometimes show up in jeans, too.
Thankfully, despite his extremely relaxed appearance and addiction to mountaineering, my professor knew more about human anatomy and physiology than most doctors are supposed to know, or probably do. To my dismay, everyone in the class but me called him Larry. He was a fascinating teacher, and even though he had his days (or sometimes, entire weeks), I marveled at his extensive knowledge and willingness to explain even the minute details of how a vein or your inner ear worked, simply because you had asked. I’ve never learned so much on one subject in all my life, and certainly came away with a renewed appreciation for how the human body works and how everything is dependent on something else working correctly.
Unfortunately, in college, you cannot pass just by simply loving the material and finding it interesting. This, too, is something I found differed from homeschooling. My mother never really gave me and my sisters any grades. We simply got it right, or had to do it again. You can imagine my surprise when I got to college. You cannot hand in your test, get a bad grade, and then sit right back down and go over it again after reading through the material again. They don’t do that. It’s a one shot chance. You either make it, or you don’t. This was a little unnerving, as I was required to get a certain grade in order to be able to apply to the program I wanted to get into. I suddenly found out why more college students these days have high blood pressure, stress related illness, and even depression. There were many days where I wondered why I was even in the class, and my blood pressure shot through the roof for a few months. After one particularly stressful exam, I remember joking with my fellow lab partners that I wouldn’t be surprised if a few of the past students hadn’t tried committing suicide. They laughed. I was semi-serious.
Suffice it to say, I obviously survived Human Anatomy & Physiology, and this is without even mentioning the cadaver, the smell of formaldehyde, and my poor parents who had to listen to me several times a week on the phone, crying. Overall, of course, as I look back, I view it as a much easier class than I remember. I made some great friends, learned a tremendous amount of information in a short amount of time, and took away life lessons that I’ll never forget. But best of all: I passed. Not with flying colors, not with all A’s, but I came away feeling accomplished and thankful that I’d stuck with it. Yes, I felt out of place, being only the second previously homeschooled student in the entire class. Yes, it was a rude awakening to public school admission counselors and their seemingly disinterest in my education. And sure, I learned a few things I wish I could forget, from my lovely carousing fellow students, but as I handed in that last exam sheet and walked out into the parking lot, feeling free, I also felt content and satisfied. I had conquered a system that ran on a completely different level than what I’d known existed and had even feared just a little, but very much enjoyed the trip down the highway of college education along the way and I look forward to continuing down that road.
