Twenty years ago, one of my community college students wrote an essay about a day so busy that she forgot to pick up her seven-year-old daughter at school.
All tagged college
Twenty years ago, one of my community college students wrote an essay about a day so busy that she forgot to pick up her seven-year-old daughter at school.
Whoosh! The iridescent flame ascended the sleeve of my navy Nautica sweater quickly, and I realized too late that I had brushed the hot Bunsen burner.
I’m in my final year of high school and recently announced plans to go to art school, a life-long dream.
You find me in a pile of katanas and kimonos, browsing the sake cups we’ll toast your 21st birthday with.
At age 56 Mom went for her college degree and I admired that. But algebra eluded her, so I offered tutelage.
Mom and I trudge up the hill through the warm Kansas rain, lugging my possessions up two flights into my college suite. Dad sits in our van with the Colorado plates, eerily silent after a lifetime of telling me I’d be the one to make it to college.
"Hurry up in the shower!" I yell, as my son's bathing quickly drains all the hot water from the tank. This was never a problem in the school years, when there was a natural order to things and school started early in the morning.
I'm giving this girl a ride back to college and on the New Jersey Turnpike she says, "Try? THC laced with acid." In my crowd, the studiers, we just smoke grass. Here is my chance to be cool.
When his novel “Catch-22” was all the rage, Joseph Heller visited my college. I was obsessed, too awed to speak up.