Once upon a time I was a lowly college freshman having the time of my life in the dorms. Being the naive nineteen year-old that I was (…alright, I was still eighteen for the first 3 months but I was going for a little alliteration.) Anyway, being the naive nineteen year old that I was, I signed up for the worst class of my life. It was literally the bane of my college existence. Even worse than when I took statistics 2 years later (but most likely that was because this came first and was much more shocking.)
So yes, I signed up for accounting 200. That wonderful class, as my brother described it, “as the one that you only have to go to 8 times in a semester”. And we were going to take it together. How fun. But the problem was four fold:
1. We were also taking another class together that overlapped with the eight times/semester that we were supposed to go to Accounting, so therefore we missed the first half of the class on those days. Or at least those days that we remembered that we actually had to go to class.
2. That I was a freshman enjoying all the freedom that comes from living away from home for the first time and really didn’t have time for nonsense like watching 2-hour DVD lectures when I could be staying up to go bowling at fat cats at 11 pm. Or watching movies on someone’s laptop outside. Or ice blocking at Rock Canyon Park. Or having dance parties in the basement. Or obsessing over dumb boys.
3. I was never very good at forcing myself to do unpleasant things anyway. And I quickly found Account 200 VERY unpleasant.
4. My brother didn’t seem to be having a hard time with it. Nor did he cry and moan about it like I was wont to do-so I figured it couldn’t end that badly.
Needless to say, it did end badly. After I skipped out on watching the lectures for oh, 2 months, or so, I got a little worried when the second test came around. I hadn’t done particularly well on the first test when I had actually tried to listen to the professor (albeit on the fastest speed possible.) And after doing poorly on the second test I really felt like all hope was lost. There was no way I would ever catch up. And I only tried half-heartedly on the third test. I can remember going to a five-hour review session one Saturday morning at 8 am. (8 Am!? On a Saturday?!!? That was unheard of around where I lived.) I’d gone to Preference the night before and stayed up until about 3 am. My brain was all fuddled and I only got more desperate and hopeless as the session went on and on. And on. I can remember going outside during the break and calling my mom. “I just don’t understand! I’m just so tired…” I cried. And the last thing I wanted to hear was to go to the teacher for extra help. I was too embarrassed for that. Admit that I needed help? Never. I was just a freshman and that was far too embarrassing. I think I left the review early and went to take a nap. A nap always makes my problems go away.
I think I must have felt renewed or something because by the time the final came around I decided I was going to give it one last-ditch effort. I really had no other choice in my opinion. So I got myself to the library and there I sat for 14 hours straight, watching the lectures I’d missed, going over hand-outs, and telling myself “you can do this.” I felt like I had gotten to the point where I could at least sit down at the testing center and not cry…and hopefully feel like I had made some sort of effort. And I actually thought that I understood what I was trying shovel into my head. I even felt proud that I stayed in the library that long. That I focused that hard. Don’t get me wrong- I did study quite a bit and very regularly for my other classes that semester. But they were ones that I mostly enjoyed and they came more naturally to me. I could have studies American Heritage for hours! The saddest part of it all was that in the end I still didn’t do too hot on the final. What did you expect? What about Clayton you ask? They turned the lights out on him when the testing center was closing- he filled in the last ten bubbles in the dark- and still scored higher than me.
So what is the point of this story? Well. I’m not exactly sure, I guess. I’ve just been thinking about it this week. And it was a while before I felt like I could talk about that experience. I still cringe just a little when I hear people talking about balance sheets and debit and credits and all that. In fact, Regan is learning accounting type stuff for one of his classes and that is partially what brought the haunting memories back.
I was remembering how I spent all those hours at the library and how at the time I thought it was the craziest thing ever. Then I realized the other day that Regan does that all the time. Like most days of the week. I don’t know how he does it. But, I am glad that he does. Even if it means I have to entertain myself most nights, I am happy to do it because I really do appreciate his diligence and discipline.
I was also thinking that in the end, the class was over and I went home for Christmas break and mostly forgot about it. After four months of stressing and crying and having that dreaded nagging feeling… it ended. It was not the best ending but my life went on. So, I guess I want to make a toast to Regan’s finals. Being over. And I know for sure that they are going to go better than mine did my freshman year.
