|Research time at the library|
Everyone says that they don’t go to college to make them; they come away with a lifetime connection to them.
I didn’t expect any; I am re-entering school at 52 years old and I am the odd duck, the one everyone mistakes for a teacher until I sit down next to them.
The first friend I made was Amia, who is a young mother, separated from her nine-month old baby for the purpose of finishing her degree. She re-entered an honor student, just like me. The first day we were in class she showed me a picture of her gorgeous baby; I showed her a picture of my gorgeous granddaughter, the same age. That is my reality.
I started noticing Eugene and Justin mainly because I admired their minds, young men who obviously processed things faster and sharper than most people. Later, I noticed when they weren't in class, when they didn’t feel well. Justin once was white-faced and confessed he left his term paper at home. I felt his pain.
Matthew answers too many questions in class(just like me) and always has incredibly insightful things to say. It’s like he can’t keep them inside and they come flying out. I definitely can relate.
My classmates in American literature told me about an app called tinder (an online meeting place) and I listened (rather than gasped, grabbed my throat in horror and told them to run for their lives). Afterward they smiled at me as I absorbed the information.
My teachers (some of them younger than me) are friends, too. My history professor is brilliant beyond belief, and he actually talks to me like I know as much as he does. My political science professor is the kind of person that won’t rest until we are haunted about an issue she raised; she can tell I love her for that. My writing instructor came to school sick, saying there was too much to cover… I chided him like a proper Jewish mother. In 1981 I didn’t have the right to do that.
Friends. I didn’t come to school to make them, but they’re nice to find.