Later that day, I got to thinking about something profound that he did say amidst the rambling. He talked about the transition we go through in life, specifically from youth to adulthood. At some given age, we’re all automatically transitioned from youth to manhood/womanhood. The shift there is simply in gaining the ability to procreate. The next change is from manhood/womanhood to adulthood. The speaker defined that time as when we transition from takers into givers. And that’s what I found particularly meaningful.

In youth, we are singularly needy. My wife and I provide for every need our son has. He depends on us shelter him from the elements, to provide comfort and a place to sleep. We provide health care and arrange for his imunizations. Not only can he not dress or undress himself (though he’s getting there), he has no capacity to acquire and maintain clean clothes on his own. He’s not able to go to the bathroom by himself, though he’s learning that, too. He drinks and eats only what we give him, at the time we give it to him. It’s only been in the last year that he’s even able to feed himself with utensils, and then only if we cut his food up for him. I brush his teeth for him. He depends on us for nourishment, not only in the body, but in mind and spirit as well. We’ve taught him to eat. We’ve taught him language, colors, numbers, the alphabet, animals, right from left, etc, etc. We’ve taught him how to pray. He is, by nature, a creature that must be given everything. (And I do all these things joyfully.)

As he gets older, basic needs will be replaced by more complex ones. He’ll be able to feed himself, clothe himself, and bathe himself. Of course, he’ll need us to keep providing him with the food, the clothes, the water and everything else that he consumes. He will need school supplies, and rides to and from activities - not to mention the indirect need for the money to pay for preschool and extra activities. As he grows older, he will require much more support along the way. Obviously, the real currency exchanged between the family is love.

At some point though, he’ll begin to give. It’ll be small at first, probably in the form of chores. He’ll grow in responsibility until he has taken on complete ownership of one or more tasks. (I’m thinking lawnmowing.) As he grows older, he’ll undoubtedly find other ways to give, whether it’s through church, organized community service, or just simply volunteering in his own circle of influence.

Possibly one of the biggest reasons that his arrival in my life was so profound is that he truly turned me into a giver. Sure, I’ve been employed in a career field for over 20 years. I’ve earned a living, owned houses and been a “contriubting member of society” as it were. However, while I’ve taken care of myself for a very long time, and even helped friends and neighbors on occasion (which, because of my beliefs, you’ll rarely if ever hear me speak of), I was still just living for myself. I was foremost a consumer. While I earned the money, I still took for myself. It’s pretty easy to be self-involved, with no concern given to providing for another, with perhaps a few convenient charitable acts. Even my service award within a historical society doesn’t compare with the selflessness of giving full time. The care of children is an obvious path to being a giver, but there are certainly many other paths for those without children.

I won’t say that I’m perfect - far from it. In his letter to the Romans, Paul said, “I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable to God, which is your reasonable service.” So what is a “living sacrifice”? When you are forgotten, neglected, or purposely set at naught, and you don’t sting or hurt with the oversight, that is sacrifice. When your good is evil spoken of, when your wishes are crossed, your advice disregarded, your opinion ridiculed, and you refuse to let anger rise in your heart or even defend yourself, but take it all in patient, loving silence - that is sacrifice. When you are content with any food, and offering, any raiment, any climate, any society, any solitude, any interruption by the will of God - that is giving. When you never care to refer to yourself in conversation or record your own good works or itch after commendation, you understand what it means to serve.

How often do we see examples of the opposite? I know I see it all around me, within and without. The trick is to learn to take less and give more, and to offer to God a sacrifice of thanksgiving.

(Hey, I had a quarter-mile to spare. I’m aggressive, not irresponsible.)

And lastly, this pleases me, even if the closest location will be in Charlotte:

Wow.  This feels good.

Amidst all of this, I’m coming to a great closure.  This month, I’m finally graduating from college.  If only I had the discipline to do this when I was 17, I would have had it much easier.  (And cheaper!)  I’m achieving this goal within my self-imposed time limit, so that feels pretty good, too.  It’s tough having a full-time job, a baby/toddler, a house and still take classes.  I started off taking one class per quarter, but it didn’t take long to realize that if I ever wanted to finish, I had to double up.  Some quarters have been easier than others.  One quarter, I actually thought I was going to have to withdraw from one class, but with the help of a tutor and an apparently wicked bell curve, I pulled out a “B”.  (Hey, it makes my GPA more believable.)  Yesterday I got my “name card” which I’ll hand to someone as I cross the stage at another university’s coliseum.  There’s closure in that, too.  I should have walked across that stage at 21, bearing a degree from that very university, as opposed to my university renting the venue for a day.  Either way, it will happen.  I can say that with greater certainty as time goes by.  I’m fairly cynical, so I’m not able to trust easily.  For instance, I don’t think of a class as being complete until I see the grade posted on the student server.  I didn’t really think I’d be attending commencement (though I’d done my own evaluation) until I received the e-mail from the University.  I ordered, and have received my cap, gown and stole.  I’ve received both my honors medallions and my honor cord (honor cord? whatever).  I did my own calculations, though I didn’t believe the result until the name card I got in the mail yesterday actually had printed on it “Summa Cum Laude“.  For the record, I’ll wait to see how many others have this distinction, and how many others are wearing the same bling as I have before I decide whether it’s special.

Of course, I’m not really done.  I have one week left in two classes for this quarter (two final exams, and one class project not even started), and technically one class outstanding.  (I’m imagining Peter Gibbons saying, “I wouldn’t say it’s outstanding, Kevin.”)  I say technically because it’s a class that I’ve no business taking.  I’m finishing the advanced version of the class this quarter (hooray for prerequisite waivers) and I currently have a 99.61% average.  I submitted a portfolio petition for life credit for the remaining class earlier this month, so it’s not unlikely that I won’t have to take it at all.  The petition approach has already worked for me for another class, and if this one succeeds as well, it’ll save me 12 weeks and $1,500.  It won’t be until I get credit for that outstanding class - and 10-12 weeks afterwards - that I get my actual diploma.  Let’s hope they don’t mail it in a soft bubble package like my Alpha Sigma Lambda certifcate.

After my commencement party, the next day I plan on starting my “normal” life again - whatever that means.  I’m envisioning more socializing, more visits to the gym, and more activities involvement.

For the next few days, though, I have schoolwork to do.

What I want to talk about today is Providence.

No, I don’t mean the city in Rhode Island where I bought my first motorcycle - I mean the loving will of God.  I firmly believe that God manifests Himself in different ways to different people.  If we are lucky, at times we can see the hand of God at work through faith with thanksgiving.  Certainly, the birth of our son has God’s work written all over it.  Those who are close to us know the extreme circumstances that had to be in place to arrive at our current situation.  (Former relationships, timing, etc.)  These are the things that I think about when someone asks me how I know God is there.

In December, I was told by my employer, “We can’t find a new contract for you, and you’re too expensive to keep around.”  Therefore, they laid me off.  It was good in that I didn’t owe them anything for the tuition they’d paid for since they were the ones to terminate - not that I’d asked them for money for school in a long time.  What was bad was obvious - I was a sole provider looking for work right before Christmas in a town that practically shuts down for the holidays.  I posted my resume on a couple of job sites, and within 48 hours, I had received over a dozen e-mails/phone calls.  I had five interviews set up during my final week of employment.  I was excruciatingly honest in my interviews.  I wanted a secure job in my field, and I needed to find work by the first week in January.  I was not looking for fame or fortune.  I would have settled for a small pay cut, but I asked for a lateral move with each interview; I wanted to keep my salary.  Getting into the interview with my current employer was not easy.  The recruiter had not properly registered me to get past the front gate, and I waited for 20 minutes to get in before I finally had to give up.  My contact was not at her desk, and the security guards would not let me in.  I was prepared to write off the company.  On my way back to my office, I stopped for gas a few miles away and received a phone call from the recruiter, apologizing profusely.  I turned around, came back for my interview (45 minutes late), and had a good experience.  Of the program managers I met, the last one was inspired seize me.  As I was checking out with the recruiter, he walked in behind me and said he wanted to extend a firm offer of employment.  The start date was to be January 2nd (though a series of errors botched that up), and he was offering me a $10K raise to entice me to accept.  Compared to my long-suffering summer of 2002 through spring of 2003 unemployment - and it was long-suffering to both me and my friends who had to put up with me - this was cake.  Obviously, I prayed fiercely to find something quickly, and God did not let me down.  (I have theories on why He took so long to answer my prayers in 2002/2003.)

The new employer has a wealth of employee benefits.  Among them is an incentive to join a weight management program (WMP).  Although a close friend told me this weekend that I am “7-foot-14″, I am not at an optimum weight.  This program has me thinking more seriously about exercise, even more than the discussions with my doctor before Tommy was born.  I have considered joining a fitness club, but the cost was never something I could justify before.  My first week here, I even asked a coworker here about a local facility, since she works there part time.  She didn’t have a lot to offer, but told me to mention her if I ever visit to see if that gets me a better deal.

My office building has a modest gym on the first floor, and I have been using the treadmills there a few times a week.  The weight management folks are pleased about this, and have pointed me at their web site for programs to use to increase my cardiovascular fitness.  The treadmills downstairs are not particularly well maintained, and the one small TV in the room looks to be older than my wife.  Exactly one machine there is large enough for my stride and height, and is in view of the TV.  The WMP web site designed a routine for me that is crazy with the heart rate targets for certain intervals, so much so that I was nervous about actually being able to keep track.  To make matters worse, the one machine downstairs that I like has a “heart rate” display, but no sensors to grab.  After some looking around, I noticed that the console of the treadmill said, “Polar Heart Monitor Ready”.  Meaning, you have to buy your own to track it.

Now I had heard that you have to hit a certain heart rate for a certain amount of time to get in a good workout.  At the community center, I have used the treadmills that have the hand sensors and checked the little chart to be sure I was in the “Fat Burning Zone”.  (”There’s the signpost up ahead…”)  It is not an exact science, but I could at least know I was in the ballpark.  Getting my own heart rate monitor was looking like a better idea all the time.  After searching various reviews, I thought I might like to get a Polar F11 since it would let me track my heart rate over the course of an exercise, and it had programs to set up, and assessments and all kinds of cool stuff.  However, the prices were outside my comfort area.  I thought instead about getting something simple and making do, but not without actually seeing it in person first.

On Saturday, the family went out of town for an SCA event.  We drove three hours to our friends’ house on Friday night.  While the women were gearing up for a day filled with medieval crafts, our male host asked me if I, too was excited about the event itself.  The arts are really more the purview of my wife, and I had volunteered to be on boy duty for the day.  Quite frankly, it didn’t really matter where I chased after him.  He and I decided, instead, to just bum around on our own – three boys with no particular goals in mind.  On a trip out for lunch, we hit a local mall to wander around a bit.  Among the things we found was a little coin-operated children’s ride area.

Tommy does not like coin-operated sidewalk rides.  He was happy to climb into each of them until I inserted my 75(!) cents.  Then, he desperately wanted to get out.  “I don’t like quarters!”

We walked into a Dick’s Sporting Goods, and I searched for heart rate monitors.  “What’re you looking for?” my friend asked.  I told him I wanted something by Polar (because I had read the brand on the treadmill), though I did not tell him a particular model.  I knew what I liked from my research, but I also knew I was not going to buy that model.  We found a paltry selection, none of which really caught my eye.  I could get out of there for about $50-$60 and “make do”, but I wasn’t thrilled by the prospect.  Just then, my friend said, “hang on – don’t buy anything.”  He went on to tell me that he had gotten a heart rate monitor for Christmas from his wife two years ago that he wouldn’t ever use since having something on his wrist drove him crazy.  (I don’t wear jewelry either, but I will make an exception here.)  He couldn’t remember what he had gotten, but “Polar” rang a bell with him.  Happy to not have to make a decision, I agreed to check out this free monitor back at the house.

When we got back from our rounds, he found the box.  It was a Polar F11.

I thought it was oddly coincidental, but given that it was a good model, I was not too surprised that that was what he had been given.  (I still feel guilty for taking it, so he amended the “gift” to a “loan until I ask for it back”.)  My wife thought the match was too coincidental, and she was the one who suggested Divine intervention.  (Which draws a parallel between my friend/his wife and angels, but I am completely comfortable with that.)

This morning, I ran the self-assessment test with it, and sure enough, my cardiovascular fitness is not good.  At all.  Seeing my VO₂max number right in front of me galvanized my resolve to change.  I did my workout this morning, even though I wasn’t sure that I was doing enough, or doing it the right way.  (Certainly better this morning, though.  The monitor chirped at me when my heart rate was too low or too high and allowed me to adjust speeds to keep in the zone.)  The gym downstairs is free, and it’s right here in my building so I can shower and go right to my desk.  If I am sent to a customer site long-term, I don’t know what my options will be.

Last month, my company added a benefit where we can get discounted gym memberships through the International Fitness Club Network (IFCN).  You would think that would have been a nudge for me to actually check out the fitness club that’s in town, about three miles from the house.  I had been there once on a guest pass, and it is really nice.  They have racquetball courts, a swimming pool, an indoor track, a huge workout room and a nice place for the kids to play while the parents exercise.  IFCN benefit or not, I wasn’t listening at the time.

After my workout this morning, I got to my desk to find an e-mail from my coworker – the one I had spoken with two months ago.  She wrote to me on Saturday (if the timestamp on the message is near the time when my friend gave me the heart rate monitor, I’m going to freak out) saying that she can get me an employee referral that will give me more flexible options, no initiation fee, etc, etc.  Now, I’m listening.  I am going to take my company badge, the form she will give me tomorrow and head over to the club to check it out for real.  It is apparently not the cheapest deal in town, but I need to do something, and I need to make it a priority.  I’m listening, God.

Now, to find some good tunes to load onto my cell phone (I don’t own an iPod) so I can listen to my own music while I exercise.

You’d think that there would be higher priorities in the process of raising a 22-month-old little boy at Christmas time, but all of these things happen in their due course.

Beginning last year, with his very first Christmas, Jessica and I took Tommy to the store to “pick out” a gift for someone less fortunate. Last year, it was easy: we decided to get something that would make Tommy happy, both because it would be easy to choose and because it’s not hard to imagine parallel-universe Tommy and how we’d like to provide for that child. Work with me here. So I say last year was easy because we’d show him various toys and see which ones interested him. This year, we wound up getting Sesame Street bath time toys just like ones we bought during the weekend of Rich and Genie’s wedding. We made this choice not only because it was age-specific, but also because Tommy wouldn’t necessarily grab for them and want to open them since he had his own. When we go down toy aisles at the store, Tommy always wants the cars and the Sesame Street stuff. At this age, asking him to choose something he doesn’t already have is risking a toddler meltdown when he can’t have it. So, at least for the gift choice, we did well.

Last week, he and I went to Toys ‘R Us to drop off the gift in the Toys for Tots bin. (Yes, I do see the irony in bringing a toy to a toy store, but we buy toys at Target.) As the Marines require toys to be new and unwrapped, it’s not like I could hide it from him during the walk inside. I explained to him that we were giving this toy to some other little boy who didn’t have toys. After our conversation, the sound bites he picked up were, “sometimes no toys” or “anybody no toys” and of course, “little boy sad”. What I hadn’t counted on was how much this would trouble him.

Walking across the parking lot, he would repeat, “sometimes no toys – little boy sad”. I would try to reassure him, “But Tommy helps! Tommy gives toys so the little boy is happy!” with a cheerful voice. Since we didn’t actually see this sad boy, and actually give him the toy, I don’t know that Tommy could draw the parallel. Days afterward, he still talks about how some kids have no toys.

He doesn’t play with a lot of toys per se, he has his constant favorites – the toy cars, toy animals, stuffed animals, puzzles and of course, books. In our living room he has a large basket filled with an embarrassment of riches. The lion’s share of these toys is hand-me-downs from older friends, and they don’t see the light of day – depending on his current interest, of course. I wish the Marines could accept used toys, but in reality we’ll probably save them for the next little boy to use them or possibly donate them to a different charity.

For Christmas, we bought him exactly two presents – two sets of Disney Cars since that’s what he loves best right now. I’m not fretting over his lack of toys in the least; he has two sets of grandparents who will undoubtedly spoil him. After this week, we will definitely need to clear out the basket, I’m sure.

I’m also fairly certain he’ll remember that sad boy while opening new toys. I don’t want to ignore the problem, and we want to keep encouraging him to give to those less fortunate as he grows. I just don’t know how to console him when his mood shifts to the underprivileged – to make him feel better when I know personally that one toy from one toddler doesn’t “make it all better”. It’s especially tough when I see news reports of toy shortages for children. I realize that we’re in a recession, but it is times like these when charity matters most.

This Christmas, I’m thankful that Tommy has a good heart, and thankful that I’ve had the right example in my youth to pass on to my son. I just wish he were growing up in a more perfect world.

Sure, as a kid, I dressed up in costume and went trick-or-treating.  I grew up in a nice suburban neighborhood where my family knew all of the other families with children.  I had two best friends on my street, and two others within easy walking distance.  There were always older kids around who were the rotating babysitters, and it was like having older siblings at times.  But enough of that - it was a good childhood, and Halloween was part of it.

I don’t recall when I stopped dressing up and going door-to-door, but it was probably around the time I left that neighborhood, or a little earlier - about 10 I would say.  My costumes were usually superheroes or cowboys or the like.  Wait - I just found a repressed memory.  I remember going to a Halloween party when I was a freshman in high school at Stephanie/Taffy’s house.  (Writing out the name is more for my benefit than yours.)  She was a sophomore, and I was so completely into her.  And she was completely out of my league.  I think my best friend John was into her, too, but he wound up going out with her hot older friend who was a junior.  Anyway, I recall dressing up as a vampire with white face paint, black highlights and a rented black cape from Masters Tuxedo.  John dressed up as a vampire, too, but he had fake blood on his mouth.  My costume was good, but I felt more like an outcast wearing it.  I think that night might have been the first time I drank beer, come to think of it.  Anyway, it was weird and awkward and I’ve not done the macabre costume thing again.  It was my one-night excursion into the world of the teenage goth losers, I guess.  Goth wasn’t even a teenage style in my high school in the early 80’s.

(I never did go out with Taffy, but I saw her many years later at an HFStival in DC.  She was still cute, but I was long over her.)

Halloween, right.  So I think that my issues with Halloween stem from my teenage years.  I’ve only ever gone to one horror movie (Visiting Hours), again with John and his mother (it was rated “R”).  I didn’t especially like it, and for some reason I watched other slasher flicks in high school with friends.  I’ve seen a bunch of the Friday the 13th movies, and didn’t like those, either.  I seem to recall being at a girl’s house in her basement watching, too.  I can’t for the life of me remember who she was, though.  I know, I’m getting sidetracked.

Anyway, Halloween as an adult has seemed to revolve around this evil, gory, unholy subculture and I just don’t like it.  October has become the month of mute/channel change when the horror movie trailers come on.  (Even more especially if Tommy happens to be in the room.)  I don’t appreciate shrieking ghosts in stores, or haunted graveyards in front lawns.

Trick-or-treating on the homeowner side isn’t as fun as I thought it would be growing up, either.  I love the little kids dressed as clowns, and superheroes, and cartoons, etc.  I think it’s sweet how they say “thank you” when you give them something (and hope that their parents are rationing out the candy at home).

There’s another thing.  This country is plagued by childhood obesity.  Do we really need to feed the nation’s sweet tooth so zealously?  Don’t even get me started about the razor blade/needle/poison scare we had when I was younger.  That made trick-or-treating suspect from then on.

As much as I like little kids in adorable costumes, I hate ungrateful teenagers dressed as “obnoxious high school student” who do the grab and dash.  Can we put a “no taller than Adolescent Hooliganism Panda’s shoulder” cardboard guard at the end of the driveway?  For a few years, I actually did the sit-in-the-house-with-the-lights-off thing because I didn’t want to face the teenage jackasses.  In our current house, we do the candy thing because we like our neighbors, and we want to be good sports.  And I am a good sport, even when we get kids dressed in scary, undead costumes.  To me, that just seems to ruin their God-given innocence.  [sigh]  I even read a comment on Baby Center (because I am a “mom”, after all - different rant, different day) where one lady was dressing her toddler up as a “dead fireman”.  WTF?  I think dressing up as an actual deceased personality - whether generic like a fireman or coal miner, or celebrity like the Crocodile Hunter - is just sick.

But clearly, I’m not going to escape it unless we go to Italy every Halloween. (Hmmm.)  When we were there for Halloween in 2004, there were very few decorations, no one in costumes and it was a generic bar night, like St. Paddy’s day here.  So, what to do?  Well, there’s already the channel change for horror movie trailers.  That’s no different than all the political calls we get at the house at the end of October.  (Though I’m investigating ways to end that.)  I don’t mind if Tommy wants to dress up and play make-believe on Halloween.  Of course, he doesn’t understand any of this.  He just points out all the pumpkins and bats and spiders he sees.  As he grows older, he’s free to dress up in “nice” costumes, and I’ll even take him trick-or-treating when he’s old enough.  We’re going to tightly ration the candy, though.

The other way to embrace the season is with Fall Festivals, like the one we did at a large farm on Sunday.  Tommy saw pigs and cows, and went on his very first hay ride.  Sure, there were “spooky” things on it, but they were cheesy and goofy.  And again, he didn’t understand it.  He got to munch on a few pieces of kettle corn, and ride down a huge slide on the side of a hill.  (Seriously, the slide was probably 30 feet long and was completely solo-toddler safe.)  He had so much fun on the slide (having two friends his age with him was all the better), I’m considering taking him again tomorrow during the day, before the festival closes for the year and when weekday prices are cheaper.

I still like jack o’ lanterns made from pumpkins, and I enjoy carving them.  Last year, I started a tradition where I carve a pumpkin in Tommy’s likeness.  It’s gotten to the point when I really look forward to commemorating his growth this way.  Once a year is plenty, though - I finished this year’s around 11 pm last night, and my hands were tired.

So, by all means, enjoy Halloween how you like.  Diversity is the spice of life, and some holidays are more important to each of us than others.  Just don’t be surprised if I’m not there with you.

I don’t need to wait until January 1 to make changes. I want to renew my commitment to getting in better shape. Sure, a six-and-a-half foot frame can carry a lot of weight, I’m still carrying too much of it. I need to work on a goal that means something to me. I’m thankfully wearing the same waist size I got down to when I worked for FedEx, but it’s not a guaranteed clothes fit like it was then. The actual number of pounds I weigh means nothing to me. If I had the same volume and more muscle, I’d weigh more. Perhaps it should be a fitness measurement, like BMI. That sounds good, if I determine a good way to check on it by myself. I’ll have to think on that.

Thanks to Bernie Ebbers, my finances still aren’t where I’d like them to be. Sure, I’ve mostly recovered from the layoff five years ago, but things could always be better. Unexpected bills (like our HVAC system not long ago), tuition and the like take a bite out of the best laid plans. This month, I’m refinancing the house, consolidating debts, closing accounts and knocking 10 years off my mortgage. That should improve cash flow a little bit, and put me closer to an actual savings target.

The house needs some work. The weather is going to be getting cooler, and I need to clear a lot of brush from a tree we had taken down last year. I need to pull out the 32-foot ladder and clean the gutters and trim some branches that are on the roof. The front hall still needs to be painted, and the basement project has stalled. I should look into that basement remodeling class that the county offered last fall; I wonder if they’re doing it again?

With my luck, it’ll be during another committed time. I wanted to take a digital photography class from Nikon, but it turned out that it’s the same weekend as an IEEE workshop for which I’m already registered. Figures.

I’m generally content with my career. I am able to support my family, and we have a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs and food on the table. I thank God that we’re so fortunate. Some folks measure their career worth in terms of salary × age. (I actually got that philosophy from community college.) Basically, they’re satisfied with a benchmark of two-times-age, or three-times-age, etc. I’m satisfied with my own benchmark, with years to spare.

School continues, as of this month. I have the last of my business management classes. As I should have expected, it looks to be a lot of reading. I hate to read. That’s the topic for a completely different entry. I’m struggling with getting all my requirements in, because the university has changed curriculum on me, and now one of the last classes I need isn’t offered anymore. The replacement class comes with a prerequisite that I don’t have. I am fighting the prospect of paying for two classes for the one I agreed to. (My advisor is reasonable so far, but additional advice is welcome.) With any luck, I’ll have this behind me by next summer.

Oh, and thank you very much to those who commented on my last entry about college - both here and attached to the comments section of LiveJournal. (I’m not aware of anyone else reading this through a different RSS feed.) I read, and re-read all of them and discussed your comments with others. (So thanks to those people who chatted with me about the topic; I reserve the right to involve more people in the discussion.)

The Indian is running fine, it just needs a few things looked at like getting a new belt (the current one squeaks) and I need to defog the speedometer. I also need to get around to attaching some of the bolt-on parts I have sitting in the garage. Of course, I’ve got other projects waiting in the garage, too. I need more time to ride.

My marriage and family are on the right path, thanks for asking.

(The idea of a “classmate” is humourous to me, because since I began this process in 2004, I can count on one hand the number of fellow students with whom I’ve genuinely interacted.  Once the class is over, I’m lucky if I can even remember their names.)

Anyway, we still haven’t received our grades for the last assignment, the last group “discussion” (see humor note above), or the extra credit assignment.  For the assignment I did very little, but I did it on time.  I punched my proverbial tickets for the group discussion, so I should get full credit for that.  The extra credit assignment I did was completely bogus, and made me smile with my thinly veiled inappropriateness.  Even if I get zero points for that, it was worth the entertainment.  All I’d need is at least a 15% on the last assignment, and I’d have my “A” in the bag.  I had already secured my “A” in Political Science by last Monday morning when I got a perfect score on the final test.

Here’s my dilemma.  I feel like I’ve been putting in a less-than-stellar effort into my “education”.  (You got the quotes that time because of my inherent disdain for the Internet - as I have experienced - as an educational technology.  Instructional, sure.  There’s a big difference.)  So far, I’ve completed 18 classes at this institution, and of those, I feel like I actually worked during… seven of them.  That’s less than half!  The rest of them, I feel like I got through with general bullshit.  (With a slight exception of my recently finished Political Science class, where I worked like crazy on my research paper, but bs’ed my way through the rest of it.)  Isn’t this a problem?  Sure, the learned will tell you that you only get out of education what you put into it.  Supposedly, I’m only hurting myself.  The fact of the matter is that I’m more interested in checking off a curriculum sheet than I am in acquiring the knowledge behind the courses.  By and large, I don’t read.  After the second week, I didn’t listen to a single lecture or read the material in my Political Science class this quarter, and I never did any reading for my marketing class.

So how do I consistently get “A”s?  It’s a simple mix of strategies.  For some, it’s a matter of the coursework just not being challenging so I don’t struggle with it.  In some cases, it’s lazy or inept instructors (or perhaps they have their benchmarks for excellence set really low).  I get through a bunch of quizzes/tests by the sheer fact that English is my native language.  I can look up answers in a textbook with amazing speed.  In other cases, I’ve outwitted the on-line software.  (For instance, any test designated as unlimited time allotment / unlimited retries automatically means a perfect score for me.  That’s why I went ahead and finished my Political Science class as soon as the last test became available.)  As I mentioned above, some of the “A”s are hard won.  (My only “B” - in Descriptive Statistics - was very hard won, and I don’t know that I deserved it.)

I’m concerned that when I do finish all this, that I won’t really feel like I’ve accomplished much more than spending a lot of time and an equal amount of money.  Does this mean that this university isn’t high quality?  Have others bs’ed their way through degrees (at any school)?  I am reluctant to think that I’m just some sort of super-genius who can coast through a college education.  If that were the case, I’d have done this the first time when I was 17.  (Though the method worked well enough in high school.)

Dear Lord, I hope Tommy doesn’t inherit my study habits.