In 1991, before most of you students were born, I graduated from high school right here in good ol’ Wayne, America. I quickly enrolled at WSC as a music education major. Quickly after the fall semester began,
I discovered Jose Cuervo, and a delightful strand of lettuce, and dropped out of school and joined a rock and roll band. Twenty six years, two stints in rehab, an ex wife, two dead cats, a piano, an online Russian hooker, a current wife and a 13-month old child later, and I’m back in school.

In 26 years, not much has changed. I still weigh right around 140 pounds. The 140 pounds is distributed a little differently through my body than it was when I was 18 though. Most of it now is centered right around my waistline, so I sort of resemble an ostrich, which is fine, I guess. I’m married to a hottie, so I’m really not concerned with my appearance anymore. I caught the fish, now I get to eat it, or mount it on my wall (I’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight).

I still get nervous on the first day of class, but the source of my nervousness has changed. When I was 18, I was nervous I would pass gas in front of a pretty girl, or cough up a booger on the back of anyone’s hand. Now, I am scared I’m not smart enough to be in class, or that I’m some weird, old pervert. I don’t joke with anyone, I don’t look anyone in the eye, and I hate group activities. I can barely work a computer. I know nothing of Power Points. I am older than most of my professors (thank God for Dr. Butler). My 68-year-old mother had to help me with my math homework last week.

I can sense the weird looks. I would love to be a part of all your innocent conversations about who got drunk last week, who slept with who, who cheated, who had a breakdown, but I, frankly, don’t care. I am still trying to determine who is responsible for more poop/vomit on the jacket I am wearing: my 13-month-old daughter, or me.