Reflections on a Dream

A Nontraditional Student

by Gary R. Dobson

Even though my 45th birthday was celebrated in December of 1997, I didn’t consider myself to be in the late August of my years. After all, I still listened to fairly youth-oriented music and played computer games whenever possible. To my way of thinking, enjoyment of these pastimes indicated that I was not a traditional middle-aged person. However, as I soon discovered, many others regarded me as old - quite old in fact. That's why it might surprise you to learn that I look back on that time with tremendous gratitude and warmth. It was a great learning experience.

While I’m a fairly good writer and speaker, the lack of an undergraduate degree had long been detrimental to my career. I fully believed that possessing a bachelor's degree would provide more revenue generating avenues for me. With this goal in mind, I made a decision to return to college as a full-time student.

On a January morning at 8 a.m., I drove to one of Chicago’s local colleges. After parking my car, I began walking, with attaché case in-hand, towards the main building. Along the way, I was struck by the fact that I was not only the oldest person in the immediate area, but the only one carrying a briefcase. Everywhere I looked, crowds of 19-20 year olds were trudging off to class. Each of the students had a backpack slung over their shoulder. I made a mental note to purchase a backpack as soon as possible.

Upon entering Room 153 (where I was to attend a Speech 100 lecture), I noticed that each of the students immediately sat upright in their chairs and smiled at me. Apparently they thought that I was the professor.

Within a moment, I settled into a chair, but not one that faced the students. Instantly I began hearing expressions of surprise such as, “Wow! Can you believe it! He’s a student!” and, “He looks older than my father!” Thankfully, my 45-year-old ears didn’t hear the word grandfather.

It was then that the real professor strode into the room. He bellowed, “Hi, everyone.” Then he turned to me. In a rather halting manner, he said, “Oh…ah, good morning.”

If he had said, “Good morning, sir,” I would have bolted from the room and returned home. Upon arrival, I would have reached for a shawl, a cup of tea, and a handful of Glenn Miller recordings.

After I was treated to an interesting two hour lecture, the class ended and students spilled from their seats and headed toward the door. I wondered if my 33-year-old professor and much younger classmates would collectively offer to help me rise from my chair? Sitting in a cramped seat for that period of time had caused my legs to stiffen and feel that they were on their last…well, legs. Apparently, however, “Caring for the Elderly” wasn’t a course that was offered by the college of my choice. Not one single person offered to help me stand up.

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