If you can read this . . .

I spent my freshman year of college at the prestigious Ivy Tech, a community college based out of Indianapolis, Indiana. It's a magical establishment where dreams go to die. During orientation, the 50 or so people in the in-coming freshman class were all herded into a large room by a defeated looking woman in a green Ivy Tech polo. Let me give you a brief break down of the demographics. The students all varied in age from fresh out of high school to those who had obviously been run through the mill, and one man who may have actually died during the orientation. I'm fairly certain I was the only one there without tattoos; all the women had tramp-stamps and the men had various women's names on their exposed biceps. At least half of the women were pregnant, and I counted at least 9 exposed weapons . . . I can only imagine how many were concealed.


They were a motley crew, but they were my classmates. I spent the next year interacting with some of the most interesting personalities I could never imagine. They were caricatures of themselves. One instance stands out brightly in my memory. I was in my American History class which covered Jamestown to the Industrial Revolution. It was taught by Mr. Lawson, an ex-drill instructor who treated his students thusly. One day, as he was lecturing on the presidency of Thomas Jefferson, he said, "... and many people believe the president had several illegitimate children with his slave, Sally Hemings." I didn't think much of the statement, having read about it before, but one student, an African-American girl sitting in the second row, seemed unhappy with what had just been said. Her hand shot up, but she didn't wait to be called on. "Hold up," she interrupted, "Professor, are you saying just because they black, they can't read?"


This was just one story in a collection of philistine tales, each varying in absurdity, and, though I am thankful to who have moved on from that institute, it's those moments that I look back on. People work their whole lives for the "better", a better car, a better house, a better job, but they remember the "worse". It's those episodes that give life character. That awful paisley wallpaper if your first apartment. The way you had to pour hot water on your car door to get it open in the winter. That summer you worked as a dancing slice of pizza at the state fair. Those are the things you remember, the things you tell stories about. People need to stop trying to legitimize their lives with perfection. It's the imperfections that make life truly literate.




p.s. I tried to make this one a podcast. If it ends up working, I'll continue doing so every now and again. If it doesn't work, I'll go back and delete this post script and you'll be none the wiser.


To listen to or to download the audio, go here:
http://www.box.net/shared/337uph1tki