Pride on Paper
Jan. 10th, 2007 12:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
morrigirlThe other day while I was ruminating on giving, and taking opportunities and what not, I digressed and started thinking about what things I'd done in my life that I was proud of. I immediately jumped to the extraordinarily incorrect conclusion that I hadn't done anything pride enducing since I made the Dean's List Fall term 2000. I quickly reminded myself that subsequent to that I'd also maintained a 3.5 GPA for the entire school year, gotten cast in a mainstage theater production, graduated from college, secured a job in the "real world," become financially independent, and on and on. Amidst all these reminders I came across a moment of pride I'd all but forgotten. It hit me as a full on sense memory, sending all the visuals, physical feelings, and emotions of the moment surging through my body. It was just a tiny moment, not something most people would care much about, but obviously it was a big thing for me since it made such a sensationally complete mark upon my brain. So, I'm going to recount it here so I don't forget it again.
Winter term of 2001 I enrolled in Lance Factor's class on the Philosophy of Religion. It was a 200 level course and I signed up for it having never taken any introductory or 100 level philosophy classes. From day one I knew I was in over my head. The class was big by Knox standards, somewhere between 30 and 40 people in the class. It was made up mostly of boys, and not just any boys, but really smart and articulate boys like Clark, Jake Wright,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
skoriaan, Josh Ferchau, and Ben Anderson. Most of the people in the class had taken other philosophy courses and were already familiar with the language and terms of the trade. I was not. And since it was a 200 level class Factor taught it with the assumption that everyone in the room already knew what he was talking about. Factor, now HE was the loudest and most articulate of all the men in the room. He knew his shit and I found him incredibly intimidating for it. Well, for that and the fact that he liked to randomly call on students in class. Because of that I lived in a perpetual state of junior high fear that he would call on me and I wouldn't have the answer. That actually happened a couple of times, and I embarrassed myself in front of the whole class. I had a vested interest in making a good impression during class since all three of the guys I messed around most heavily with first year (Moses, Clark, Wes R.) were in the class, and though things were very finished and had ended badly in almost every case, I still wanted them to think I was cool and smart and worth knowing. Silly college girl shit. As the term went on I felt more and more intellectually inferior to the Clarks and the Jakes of the class. When they spoke up they said smart stuff. When I was called on, I sat silent. Add to all this the fact that I missed the entire second week of class thanks to the cyst that suddenly developed one morning under my left breast, and it was plain to see I was cruising toward a very shitty grade that was going to kill my 3.7 GPA. I got a C on my first short paper, I never spoke up in class, I didn't understand the terms, everyone in the class intimidated me, I was fucked on a stick.
And then midterms rolled around. I studied my ass off for that philosophy midterm. I remember sitting in my suite the night before going over my notes, writing down definitions, and underlining important passages in the texts. I went over the material what felt like a gazillion times before praying for a miracle and collapsing into bed. The next day, I took the test, which consisted of several short answer questions and a couple of essays. I was one of the last people out of the room, something I later learned was a good thing since the people who spent the longest on the tests usually got the best grades, but I didn't know that at the time.
The following week, Factor handed them back. I clearly remember Clark and Jake Wright talking before class and having a good natured argument over which of them would recieve the higher grade. It was cheerful and competitive, the sort of conversation only entered into by people who are entirely certain of their own competence. It made me feel stupid. I knew I wasn't at their level, not when it came to philosophy.
Then Factor came in and started handing the little blue books back to us. He laid the covers face down in front of each student. Jake was one of the first to get his test back. I don't know what grade he got but it was good enough to wave in Clark's face. Then Clark got his back, and as he showed his competitor the cover, Jake let out an indignant sigh and sarcastically spat "OF COURSE CLARK got an A!" I surveyed the other faces in the room. There were some muted, but happy smiles, there were sighs of defeat, and stone faces that only glanced at the grade before stuffing the booklet deep into their bags. The students sitting next to me had gotten a B and a C. I hoped that I had somehow managed to pull a C even though I thought it was way more likely there was a gigantic D in my future.
Finally, Factor reached over my head and placed my blue booklet face down in front of me. I stared at it for a moment, hesitant to flip it over. When I did, I lifted it slowly, revealing only a few small inches of the cover at a time, and saw a little red "A" written at the top. I'd scored 95% out of 100% because I'd flubbed one of the short answers. I'd scored perfectly on everything else. I was stunned, elated, relieved. All I wanted to do was stand up and scream "I DID IT! I AM as smart as the rest of you!" But, I didn't. I just smiled to myself, stuck the test in my bag, and thought "I can't wait to tell Gayle."
Winter term of 2001 I enrolled in Lance Factor's class on the Philosophy of Religion. It was a 200 level course and I signed up for it having never taken any introductory or 100 level philosophy classes. From day one I knew I was in over my head. The class was big by Knox standards, somewhere between 30 and 40 people in the class. It was made up mostly of boys, and not just any boys, but really smart and articulate boys like Clark, Jake Wright,
skoriaan, Josh Ferchau, and Ben Anderson. Most of the people in the class had taken other philosophy courses and were already familiar with the language and terms of the trade. I was not. And since it was a 200 level class Factor taught it with the assumption that everyone in the room already knew what he was talking about. Factor, now HE was the loudest and most articulate of all the men in the room. He knew his shit and I found him incredibly intimidating for it. Well, for that and the fact that he liked to randomly call on students in class. Because of that I lived in a perpetual state of junior high fear that he would call on me and I wouldn't have the answer. That actually happened a couple of times, and I embarrassed myself in front of the whole class. I had a vested interest in making a good impression during class since all three of the guys I messed around most heavily with first year (Moses, Clark, Wes R.) were in the class, and though things were very finished and had ended badly in almost every case, I still wanted them to think I was cool and smart and worth knowing. Silly college girl shit. As the term went on I felt more and more intellectually inferior to the Clarks and the Jakes of the class. When they spoke up they said smart stuff. When I was called on, I sat silent. Add to all this the fact that I missed the entire second week of class thanks to the cyst that suddenly developed one morning under my left breast, and it was plain to see I was cruising toward a very shitty grade that was going to kill my 3.7 GPA. I got a C on my first short paper, I never spoke up in class, I didn't understand the terms, everyone in the class intimidated me, I was fucked on a stick.And then midterms rolled around. I studied my ass off for that philosophy midterm. I remember sitting in my suite the night before going over my notes, writing down definitions, and underlining important passages in the texts. I went over the material what felt like a gazillion times before praying for a miracle and collapsing into bed. The next day, I took the test, which consisted of several short answer questions and a couple of essays. I was one of the last people out of the room, something I later learned was a good thing since the people who spent the longest on the tests usually got the best grades, but I didn't know that at the time.
The following week, Factor handed them back. I clearly remember Clark and Jake Wright talking before class and having a good natured argument over which of them would recieve the higher grade. It was cheerful and competitive, the sort of conversation only entered into by people who are entirely certain of their own competence. It made me feel stupid. I knew I wasn't at their level, not when it came to philosophy.
Then Factor came in and started handing the little blue books back to us. He laid the covers face down in front of each student. Jake was one of the first to get his test back. I don't know what grade he got but it was good enough to wave in Clark's face. Then Clark got his back, and as he showed his competitor the cover, Jake let out an indignant sigh and sarcastically spat "OF COURSE CLARK got an A!" I surveyed the other faces in the room. There were some muted, but happy smiles, there were sighs of defeat, and stone faces that only glanced at the grade before stuffing the booklet deep into their bags. The students sitting next to me had gotten a B and a C. I hoped that I had somehow managed to pull a C even though I thought it was way more likely there was a gigantic D in my future.
Finally, Factor reached over my head and placed my blue booklet face down in front of me. I stared at it for a moment, hesitant to flip it over. When I did, I lifted it slowly, revealing only a few small inches of the cover at a time, and saw a little red "A" written at the top. I'd scored 95% out of 100% because I'd flubbed one of the short answers. I'd scored perfectly on everything else. I was stunned, elated, relieved. All I wanted to do was stand up and scream "I DID IT! I AM as smart as the rest of you!" But, I didn't. I just smiled to myself, stuck the test in my bag, and thought "I can't wait to tell Gayle."
