LOVING GRADUATE SCHOOL
Yes, I am.
I'm not sure my graduate school classmates are, but at the age of 66, I no longer am bothered by the popularity contest known as academia.
In the Autumn of 2020, with the morons still in charge of the Covid response, and under the pall their ineptitude cast over New York City, I applied and was accepted to receive an MFA (Master of Fine Arts) in Creative Writing from The City University of New York. Since the dopes that ran Gotham had cowed the citizenry into wiping down groceries with Lysol and turning in their neighbors for not wearing dishcloths over their mouth and nose, appeared disinterested in removing their onerous restrictions, Yours truly decided to take advantage of the stupidity.
I joined the ZOOM generation and started in the Spring Semester of 2021.
Am now closing in on the degree.
This is my last full-time semester (Fall '23). Next year this time, I will be taking a final workshop class and submitting my thesis.
Much has, of course, changed since my last class at Villanova University in 1979. There is an even deeper doom and gloom pervading the campus. Yes, more so than the Jimmy Carter "Malaise" years. Undergrads and grads walk around with scowls 24/7. They look at Whitey (That's me) and quickly avert their eyes. In class, I send shockwaves through my fellow students when I refuse to fold up like a circus tent when accused of various crimes against political correctness.
Twenty-somethings are, in general, sanctimonious know-it-alls. I was one. As such there is a self-inflicted tendency to let the various insults born of insecurity and lack of accomplishment slide. Not interested in always confronting the various douchebags in class, cocksure of their inexperienced POV on creative pieces.
One student, recently, criticized another's writing stating, "There is no way such a small force of cavalry would be able to rout a much larger standing opponent's army." Would have volunteered that he read Henry V, or even mention Agincourt, but why bother? He'll either figure it out, or spend his life in frustrated obscurity.
On another occasion, I was taken to task over a chapter or two in a memoir I'd written because I fat-shamed a few colleagues . . . 40 years ago. I think my classmate was more upset over my instant non-capitulation. Wasn't going to rewrite the chapter. Wasn't going to apologize. Wasn't interested in her POV on something she misunderstood.
At times, I will miss the structure of school. It's been great to escape the pandemic's dopiness, AND continue to learn. More so of late, am sick of the youthful arrogance and ignorance. Perhaps that's an age thing. Don't know. There is much older students can offer younger ones.
But only if they want to, and from what I see, they do not.