I remember my first finals week as a freshman. I looked at everyone around me and thought, “wow. It’s just like in the movies.”
People have a bit more purpose and a lot less patience. Kids who last week were care free, lounging or partying away the evenings, sleeping through late mornings, now carry around note cards and large stacks of books with no pictures.
Last week it was Facebook, now its all Word and PowerPoint. As I walk past the kids this week I peek over their shoulders and see screens with graphs, charts, and footnotes. No one cares that I’m there, they are focused on other things.
I don’t have any tests, just papers and presentations. 40 pages total from last Wednesday till this one upcoming. It’s a test of my ability to write. Not this sort of writing, the sort where I just make things up, but the kind where you have to cite people smarter than yourself, get rid of pretty words and add an official tone. I don’t have an official tone, I have a baritone, and really bad jokes, which come from writing too much. Writing too much also fosters run on sentences.
Which is why I continue to take pictures.
I get asked all the time, mostly by my mother, if I actually study or if I just take pictures. I do both. My degree will be in higher education, I’m studying college.
In this class, the one I present on this blog, I’m the professor. I’m qualified by default. The syllabus is known only by me and I can change the due dates as I please. I could determine what photos are trad or preppy and break down which is which. You could all argue with me, but I can delete your comments. You can stop following but I will still write.
But out there, I’m just the old guy in class. I don’t write the syllabus or call the shots, but I do have to ask the kids how to get my computer to send to the printer in the lab. It all evens out. It will only be a week. We will all relax in a week.