Saturday, September 18, 2004
Two ways to go
By The Erudite Redneck
That’s the best thing about hitting any bottom: You really have only two options then – head straight up or sideways.
After getting’ a less-than-satisfactory grade back on a test yesterday morning, I slid sideways for the rest of the day – until I hit the Slough of Self Pity last night. See report on previous post.
Wow. I haven’t made so low a grade on a test since college algebra, during Reagan’s second term. It was not for lack of studying. Bird was shocked, in fact, because, as she said, she knows no one who studies as hard as I do.
But, some things I’m not good at – and maybe I needed the reminder. And it absolutely gives me empathy for Bird as she struggles with one particular class at O-State.
What I’m good at is writing, synthesis, analysis of ideas and communication.
Cartography, it turns out, is not my strong suit. The test: a blank map of Europe. The assignment: Find 40-some-odd cities, rivers, borders and physical features, circa 1559. Holy Roman crap!
I have done worse. I made a D for one quarter of P.E. in eighth or ninth grade – because the sorry sumbuck who “taught” the “class” – noncom P.E.; incessant dodgeball – suggested that I and another young lad were foolin’ around in the locker room between games – in front of God, and the 60-something other boys in the “class.”
B.S. and I had just had it with dodgeball; R.B., who was the girl’s basketball coach – and who was known as a jerk to my family from back in the late ’60s when he himself was in high school and hauled hay for my dad – resented the fact that he had to baby sit a noncom P.E. “class,” and so just turned us all loose in the gym with a bunch of balls.
B.S. and I, foolishly, stayed in the locker room as the rest of the guys were lining up for the next game. We thought we wouldn’t be missed – the kind of junior high school thinkin’ that usually gets junior high school boys into tight spots. R.B. noticed we were missin’ and sent another boy in to get us. As we came out, R.B. said, with all the boys lined up and watchin’ and listenin’ -- “What were y’all doin’ in there? Holding hands?”
I never once went back to that period. Got an F for the quarter, and got a D for the semester. If I ever see R.B. lyin’ bleedin’ by the side of the road, I will wave as I pass by. I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire.
Usually I do know my academic limitations.
A young ER considered electrical engineering – for about a week – early on back at Oklahoma State. Ha, ha and ha. This from a guy who eventually had to take three stabs at college algebra, and only slunk by with a “C” after takin’ the remedial algebra class first. And I had algebra I, algebra II and algebra III-trigonometry – plus fricking geometry – in high school!
ER considered a degree in economics – and settled for a minor only because of the econometrics, modeling and other hard-core math and statistics-related stuff that goes into it. Made low B’s in 18 hours of econ at OSU – by bombin’ on the charts, graphs, econometrics and stuff, and acing the narratives required to splain what it all meant.
Dang near pursued a job with the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, just barely out of high school. In fact, I think I was still a senior when I took some aptitude test that put me in the running to jine up as a civilian with the Corps. What were they – and I – thinkin’? The whole infrastructure of the Kerr-McClellen Arkansas River Navigational System would have been put in major jeopardy!
Sigh. So, some things this ol’ erudite redneck can do, and some he cain’t.
“Erudite,” by the way,” means “scholarly” or well-read, which I for damn sure am. It does not mean “intelligent,” necessarily, or even “bright,” although I suppose I might be both, at my best.
It means I study – and the fact is, even that doesn’t lead to success all the time.
That’s life. Them’s the breaks. Kay, sir! Ah! Sir, ah!
So, today: Straight up!
Straight from here to the kitchen table to hit the books and later, straight to work to get caught up, and later straight back and across town to watch a football game. Saturdays in the fall are Erudite Redneck High Holy Days: GO POKES! GO BRONCHOS!
END
That’s the best thing about hitting any bottom: You really have only two options then – head straight up or sideways.
After getting’ a less-than-satisfactory grade back on a test yesterday morning, I slid sideways for the rest of the day – until I hit the Slough of Self Pity last night. See report on previous post.
Wow. I haven’t made so low a grade on a test since college algebra, during Reagan’s second term. It was not for lack of studying. Bird was shocked, in fact, because, as she said, she knows no one who studies as hard as I do.
But, some things I’m not good at – and maybe I needed the reminder. And it absolutely gives me empathy for Bird as she struggles with one particular class at O-State.
What I’m good at is writing, synthesis, analysis of ideas and communication.
Cartography, it turns out, is not my strong suit. The test: a blank map of Europe. The assignment: Find 40-some-odd cities, rivers, borders and physical features, circa 1559. Holy Roman crap!
I have done worse. I made a D for one quarter of P.E. in eighth or ninth grade – because the sorry sumbuck who “taught” the “class” – noncom P.E.; incessant dodgeball – suggested that I and another young lad were foolin’ around in the locker room between games – in front of God, and the 60-something other boys in the “class.”
B.S. and I had just had it with dodgeball; R.B., who was the girl’s basketball coach – and who was known as a jerk to my family from back in the late ’60s when he himself was in high school and hauled hay for my dad – resented the fact that he had to baby sit a noncom P.E. “class,” and so just turned us all loose in the gym with a bunch of balls.
B.S. and I, foolishly, stayed in the locker room as the rest of the guys were lining up for the next game. We thought we wouldn’t be missed – the kind of junior high school thinkin’ that usually gets junior high school boys into tight spots. R.B. noticed we were missin’ and sent another boy in to get us. As we came out, R.B. said, with all the boys lined up and watchin’ and listenin’ -- “What were y’all doin’ in there? Holding hands?”
I never once went back to that period. Got an F for the quarter, and got a D for the semester. If I ever see R.B. lyin’ bleedin’ by the side of the road, I will wave as I pass by. I wouldn’t piss on him if he was on fire.
Usually I do know my academic limitations.
A young ER considered electrical engineering – for about a week – early on back at Oklahoma State. Ha, ha and ha. This from a guy who eventually had to take three stabs at college algebra, and only slunk by with a “C” after takin’ the remedial algebra class first. And I had algebra I, algebra II and algebra III-trigonometry – plus fricking geometry – in high school!
ER considered a degree in economics – and settled for a minor only because of the econometrics, modeling and other hard-core math and statistics-related stuff that goes into it. Made low B’s in 18 hours of econ at OSU – by bombin’ on the charts, graphs, econometrics and stuff, and acing the narratives required to splain what it all meant.
Dang near pursued a job with the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, just barely out of high school. In fact, I think I was still a senior when I took some aptitude test that put me in the running to jine up as a civilian with the Corps. What were they – and I – thinkin’? The whole infrastructure of the Kerr-McClellen Arkansas River Navigational System would have been put in major jeopardy!
Sigh. So, some things this ol’ erudite redneck can do, and some he cain’t.
“Erudite,” by the way,” means “scholarly” or well-read, which I for damn sure am. It does not mean “intelligent,” necessarily, or even “bright,” although I suppose I might be both, at my best.
It means I study – and the fact is, even that doesn’t lead to success all the time.
That’s life. Them’s the breaks. Kay, sir! Ah! Sir, ah!
So, today: Straight up!
Straight from here to the kitchen table to hit the books and later, straight to work to get caught up, and later straight back and across town to watch a football game. Saturdays in the fall are Erudite Redneck High Holy Days: GO POKES! GO BRONCHOS!
END
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You know what I have learned for sure in my life? The things you are not good at -- well, they don't matter a tinker's damn. After this semester you won't even remember that hellish test. It will not change one iota of your life. Not a person in the world would dare look at you with an ounce less respect than before.
It just doesn't matter!
I understand that drive that makes us not want to do poorly at anything. I remember junior high P.E. class. Miss H. was the best darn girls' gym teacher God ever put on earth. At that age, I could do a chin-up and hold it for two minutes when most of the girls were doing good to hold it the required 30 seconds. For me, that was a phenomenal achievement. I passed with flying colors when we had to learn to carry someone out of a burning building by carrying them on our backs and crawling out of the fire. I could hold a three-point headstand all day.
I know you will find this all amusing since you know me at this stage of my life and not as the strong girl-child of my early teens. Laugh if you want. I am tough enough to take it.
But also remember this: We were required to "play golf" as well. And it only took me 227 strokes to get from the tee to the first hole. All I can do is laugh about that now. And it doesn't matter any more than 1559 Roman Empire geography or dodge ball. Not one bit.
It just doesn't matter!
I understand that drive that makes us not want to do poorly at anything. I remember junior high P.E. class. Miss H. was the best darn girls' gym teacher God ever put on earth. At that age, I could do a chin-up and hold it for two minutes when most of the girls were doing good to hold it the required 30 seconds. For me, that was a phenomenal achievement. I passed with flying colors when we had to learn to carry someone out of a burning building by carrying them on our backs and crawling out of the fire. I could hold a three-point headstand all day.
I know you will find this all amusing since you know me at this stage of my life and not as the strong girl-child of my early teens. Laugh if you want. I am tough enough to take it.
But also remember this: We were required to "play golf" as well. And it only took me 227 strokes to get from the tee to the first hole. All I can do is laugh about that now. And it doesn't matter any more than 1559 Roman Empire geography or dodge ball. Not one bit.
Thanks fer yer empatheticality! ;-) Just a bummer. That's all it was. Just a dang bummer. On the good news front: the Pokes and Bronchos both won today -- unless some godawful thing happened in the last seconds of each game!
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