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Feature Story | Tell us your story! |
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 BackI Think I Made Him Proud My father was a very intelligent man. He got his college degree in mathematics and physics, meaning he had a very cognitive reasoning sense. He was very logical. Dad belonged to Mensa, the organization comprised of the people with the highest IQs in the world. I can remember as a child some of the questions that dad would pose to my brothers and me that came from assorted Mensa tests. I entered college in 1971, at the University of Kentucky. I attended in part due to a music scholarship, but pissed it away by not applying myself. I’m sure that dad was the most upset of anyone that I didn’t finish school. I was too young to realize what a college degree could bring me. I transferred to a college close to home for my second year, but … it was no use. As the years went by, Dad didn’t hesitate to remind me that I was never too old to go back to college. I never listened to him. I was married, had a young child, and was busy living my own life. Finally, in the spring of 1986, when I had just turned 33, and dad was a few months short of 53, I decided to go back to college. I really don’t know what it was that made me finally decide to go back. Maybe it was driving a truck for a living, maybe it was having a daughter just starting school herself … and maybe it was dad’s constant reminders. Whatever it was, I decided to go back. I sent off for my transcripts and started the process of enrolling in West Virginia State College. On reflection I wish I hadn’t used my previous grades; I’ll tell you why shortly. During the enrollment process, my transcripts were scrutinized by the dean of admissions. Funny, I should remember this man’s name, but I don’t, because what he said to me that day probably started me on my road to success in school. He told me, upon reviewing my transcripts, that I didn’t show the "mental aptitude" to attend West Virginia State. I explained to him that, at that time, I was a young, immature man, wasting my parent’s money. Now I was an adult, and spending my own money, and I had every intention to do as well as possible. Still, he was doubtful, and told me that the "board" would have to meet to discuss whether or not I was WVSC material. I left in a huff, and not as polite as I should have been. By the time I got home, the board had apparently met, because I had a message to call this gentleman back. When I did, he told me that my enrollment was accepted under the provision that I would be under academic probation. That was fine with me. All academic probation meant was that I couldn’t take more than 12 hours per semester. Hey, I had a full time job; I didn’t want to take more than 12 hours each semester. So, I enrolled in a summer class … Algebra 101. I struggled with it at first; probably because it had been so long since I’d had to use my mind in such mathematical logic. Three weeks after I enrolled in college, my dad died. He was 52. Three weeks after that, his father died. When my father died, my grandfather gave up on life. It would have been easy to quit. My dad was probably the main reason that I went back to college. But, of course, I didn’t quit. This wouldn’t be much of a story if I had. I got an A in my first Algebra class. In the fall, I took three classes, ten hours, mostly in basic classes, the required stuff. I got As in all three classes. Before the spring semester of 1987 started, I got a letter from the Department of Admissions reminding me that I was still on academic probation. How sweet of them to remind me. That spring I took three more classes, eleven hours this time. Got As in all three of those, too. And the obligatory letter from the admissions department reminding me that I was still inferior. That fall, I took three 4 hour classes … 12 hours, the most I could take. When I got my report card, I found I got As in those three classes as well … and then, a few days later, that all-too-familiar letter from the admissions department. Only this time, a few days after that, I got something else in the mail. A letter from WVSC, congratulating me on making the Honor’s List for that semester. How about that? I got one letter telling me I’m a dunce, followed my another telling me I’m smart. I went to college for three more years. Each semester I would get my report card showing nothing but As, followed by the letter from admissions, followed thereafter by the Honors letter. I graduated from WVSC with the spring class of 1990. Imagine my surprise when I found out that I wouldn’t be graduating with honors. Here’s where my transcripts come in. Because I had used two classes from my first two years in college towards my degree from State, ALL of my credits from both years were figured into my GPA towards graduation. So, after making the honor’s list each and every semester, I found that I wouldn’t graduate with honors. But, you know what? Big deal. I graduated. I did it. I finished. My dad was right. After dad died, all of my other family members kept telling me "your dad would have been proud of you," just to keep me going. That didn’t mean a hill of beans to me while I was attending. Dad was gone, and I figured he’d never know. But, every time I came up on a hard one, every question on every test that made me think, I thought of Dad, and how I wanted to do this for him. I graduated. I did it, dad. ©2002 Jim Spence. |
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Jim Spence West Virginia State College Graduate |
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