A ‘C’ student with ‘B’ potential says goodbye
By Brad Amoroso
When I first came here, it was the fall of 1992. I had just graduated from Monticello High School (‘C’ student) and was recruited by Marty Reynolds to play the alto-sax for the UAM Marching Band and the Jazz Band. I was a young hotshot without a worry in the world, and I didn’t realize it then, but I was part of the last few waves of a cultural revolution.
There was a Democrat in the White House for the first time since the 70’s, the memory of the most successful military campaign in U.S. history had peaked and started to decline, America’s un-funniest home video made Rodney King a household name, and the ensuing L.A. riots personified the attitude of a restless generation that was tired of taking a beating from the elite, only to be swept under the media rug and ignored. This change found its way into the entertainment industry when a new generation of movie makers explored a dimension of “bad guys” that hadn’t been explored outside of “mob movies.” And for the first time in a long time, popular music had a social conscience.
It was a brave new world. Like the Berlin Wall, cultural walls were falling left and right. The media quickly came up with new and catchy names for old things that weren’t deemed “label-worthy” before. Words and catch-phrases, like ultra-violence, grunge, alternative rock, gangsta rap, and generation X, all became vernacular staples. And I was a first-year freshman at UAM: oblivious, pre-occupied, indifferent.
By semester’s end, I had lost my scholarship (somewhere in between the Science Center and the Music Building), been kicked out of the nest, and faced the responsibilities of having to pay my own bills and make my own decisions. I didn’t have time to be scared, so I went with what I knew: oblivious, pre-occupied, indifferent.
After seven years of being stuck in neutral, I returned to UAM as a non-traditional student; a 25-year-old, 2nd semester freshman. I didn’t bother looking for my lost scholarship and decided to start anew as an English Major. I made it a point to get to know my new advisor, and it paid off; she gave me reassurance in a time of uncertainty and doubt. After stumbling through my first semester, I limped back to her office only to find someone else there. She was gone.
After meeting my new advisor, it was clear to me that she needed the same reassurance that I did. Before then, I had never seen an instructor in a state of uncertainty before, and it had a profound effect on me. A psychological wall had crumbled in my mind, and from that point on, I stopped being a student and started being myself; I stopped studying for tests and started studying for knowledge. I stopped being afraid of not knowing the answers and started to shout out, with pride and confidence, the most honest and beautiful answer a student or a professor can give: I don’t know.
That simple phrase let me see the difference between pride and ego; another psychological wall down. Looking at higher education through new eyes changed everything, except my grades (I’m still a ‘C’ student). But I know if I gained something from a class, and I don’t need a letter on a sheet of paper to confirm it. The knowledge I gained while at UAM far exceeds the sum of the courses I’ve taken.
Since I started back in 1999, I’ve seen good teachers come and go. I’ve had to change advisors three times. And when I leave, there will be a group of great teachers and professors that leave with me. Some of these teachers will never know how influential they were to me; teachers that were never afraid to say, “I don’t know.” UAM will suffer a huge loss when these people leave, but that’s another story.
I’ll leave here feeling very fortunate that in my five years at this school, I’ve not had one instructor who wasn’t passionate about teaching. All of my instructors have encouraged independent and critical thinking. They all embraced standing up for what is right and true, they have treated every one of their students with equal respect (even the students do not yet understand the concept of respect), and they all taught me the importance of self-confidence.
We are now in the grips of another great wave of social change that won’t be fully understood until it’s behind us, and I leave UAM filled with a different kind of uncertainty and doubt. I don’t know how well “I don’t know” works in the “real world.” In the “real world,” job markets lead people like me around the country with a dangling hope of happiness just out of arm’s reach, chasing a promise of security, stability, and success that was never promised to begin with. I’ve been around just long enough to see that the only thing certain in this world is uncertainty. And the notion of “job security” isn’t much more than a dyslexic way of saying “security job.” I hate to be a cynic, but I like having realistic expectations. I know I can’t change the world, but if I could, I’d have to be able to change myself first; and that isn’t an easy task; in fact, it seems to get harder with age.
Change is a fear of the stubborn and content, and I am a bit of both. Evolution is a slow and painful process, and it makes no promises. If I’m strong, I’ll survive. But survival is only the first step, and it’s the easiest step on which to become stagnant. The next step is to look beyond survival and take on the responsibility of having a social conscience. This cycle started for me at UAM, but it wasn’t completed. It wasn’t until this last semester that I took a peek past the basic student-survival skills, and I saw situations unfold right in front of me that rubbed against my moral grain; things much bigger than me. I felt a sense of purpose overwhelm me, and I wanted to fight the good fight for once, find the truth, and let my voice be heard. But it wasn’t meant to be, not by me at least.
Still, I’ll leave here with no regrets, but I don’t want to leave in my wake a trail of fear for those who will be in my position down the road, so I’ll leave this advice for all of the UAM students who still have the luxury of time: Time is not a luxury; don’t wait until your last semester to open your real eyes. Student eyes can’t see beyond grades, transcripts, audits, and resume fodder. If you can make a stand, make it, if you can see the hidden truth, unveil it. This is what higher education is all about: preparation for the brutish realities of adult life. No one ever achieved greatness without being controversial, or risking alienation and other negative consequences. In fact, it is a requisite.
So long, UAM; it’s been real. I’ll see you in “the real world.”
“And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.”
-the last lyric, of the last song, on the last Beatles’ album
I’d like to thank the following instructors for their patience and wisdom:
Dr. Betty Matthews: You’re much more than a professor to me. You’ve seen me at my worst, and you were there for me. Thanks for never breaking your promise that things will get better. Thank you for loving Keats so much and giving me the best advice ever given. I love you with all of my heart; thank you for everything. (Norman Conquest- 1066)
Dr. Kate Stewart: Thank you for teaching Critical Theory last summer. I’ve never been more comfortable and interested in a single class. Thank you for giving me new eyes to watch movies with, for I don’t even bother watching John Woo or Joel Schumacher movies anymore. Thank you for showing me the beauty of saying “I don’t know, but I’ll check on it and get back to you,” and thanks for changing the way I look at rainy days (Heart of Darkness).
Dr. Robert Moore: Although I never had you as an instructor, your advice and your willingness to be open and honest with me taught me the natural beauty of the ugly truth, and I thank you for it. You are the “poet of truth” in my book, and thank you most of all for reminding me to listen to my heart and to be honest with myself. Your kind words of wisdom will be with me forever. You are a class act, man. Thanks.
Charles Fleis: Thanks for being my “go-to guy” for things beyond French that I didn’t understand. You are one of the smartest and quickest guys I’ve ever met. Someone really dropped the ball for letting you leave. We’re from different layers of the same generation, from different parts of the same country, and I’m proud to call you a friend.
Chris Wright: You’re another one of the smartest guys I’ve had the pleasure of knowing. Just as Dr. Stewart changed the way I watch movies, you changed the way I watch the news.
Guy Nelson: Thank you for showing me how to use the weak side of my brain. You’re enthusiasm is contagious, and that makes you a great instructor.
Joe Geunter: Although we just met, thank you for having confidence in me even when I was hopelessly behind. I had forgotten how effective dry wit could be.
Diane Payne: I knew you were one-of-a-kind when I first saw your bumper sticker that read, “Why be normal?” For showing me the secrets of effective writing, I’m forever grateful. Thank you for busting me out whenever I’d take an easy-out on a story that wasn’t done, thank you for being a good advisor, and thank you for being a good friend and an open ear. (I know this is sentimental dribble, but it’s true.)
Patricia Roberts: I’ve known you for the least amount of time, but you’ve taught me more than I could ever imagine possible. You inspired me to be a better student, and that isn’t an easy task, especially for someone new to teaching. Thank you for showing me that I am a truth-seeker by nature who, somewhere along the line, succumbed to laziness. The guts and grit you showed this semester will stay with me forever as a reminder that the voice of the professional needs to be heard, no matter what. I cannot measure the amount of respect I have for you as a journalist, a teacher, and a friend. Thank you for believing in me. Your impact on me, as a writer and a person, will always be felt.