Young Lurve

I've gotten a request or two for a description of Mr. Nice Guy from my freshman year in college. So here goes nothing. He was tall and lanky with broad shoulders. He had short brown hair and brown eyes, and wore these cute little glasses with round lenses. One of the things I loved most about him was his smile. It lit up his whole face. He was a midwestern boy from Kansas and one of the nicest people I ever met. I think the fact that he was so nice is what made me fall hard for him. After we spent time together on my 19th birthday, I would sometimes hang out with him and his roommates in his dorm room. Whenever I saw him he always seemed very happy to see me and would greet me with a big hug. For those of you who don't know, I absolutely love hugs, so to get a hug from this tall, fine man would always make my day.

One of the not-so-great things is that Mr. Nice Guy had been in rehab back in Kansas at some point during his freshman year at University of Kansas. Apparently he ran with a crowd that was heavily into drugs. One night when I was hanging out with one of his roommates, he came in the room all upset. Apparently one of his buddies from his drug days in Kansas was using again. Mr. Nice Guy felt that his friend was in trouble and that maybe the guy's parents needed to be made aware so that they could step in. He was so afraid to make that phone call to his friend's parents, but like any good friend, he knew it had to be done. I sat on the floor beside him as he made that call, and I could hear the tears in his voice. Much later I thought to myself "I should've held his hand while he made that call", but I didn't. Instead, once he hung up the phone I asked him if he needed a hug. He said yes, and I hugged him tight. He thanked me and told me that I was a good friend. Soon after, I left and went to my room. Little did I know, that situation was a foreshadowing of things to come.

Freshman Year

As I settled into my new life in Boston, I of course also had to go to classes. A music college is like a foreign land as compared to your standard college. There were general education classes that were required, but for the first two years you focus on music theory and sight-reading music, which means you should be able to figure out a tune when given a sheet of music based purely on the key it's written in and the starting pitch. Because my singing experience was with choirs, those things didn't come very easily for me. I met a girl in my sight-reading class that ended up being a really good friend. We used to do our homework for that class together. She definitely helped me to make it through that stuff.

Because my school was about 80% male, I was friends with a lot of guys. Seeing as I grew up with two brothers and a host of male cousins, I was very comfortable hanging out with guys. I understood their sense of humor and I knew that if I was sarcastic with one of them, they wouldn't take it the wrong way. Some girls have a really hard time with sarcasm. Why that is, I have no idea. Both of the girls that I became good friends with lived on the same floor of the dorm so when I went to see them, I'd have an opportunity to meet some of the guys that lived on that floor, too. One guy in particular was so nice to me. We became fast friends. The thing that sealed our friendship is the fact that we hung out together on my 19th birthday. Initially I was going to hang out with one of my girls (the one who always felt the need to point out my accent), but she totally blew me off. On my way back from her room, I met up with Mr. Nice Guy. He was on his way to Boston Harbor and asked if I'd like to come along. At this point I hadn't done much exploring, so it was nice to be able to take a walk around with someone. We walked through the Public Garden and Boston Common as we made our way to the Harbor. It was a very companionable walk. I don't remember what we chatted about but I remember really enjoying being there with him. Once we got to the Harbor, we sat on the sea wall and dangled our feet over the edge. It was a beautiful fall night and it was starting to get dark. There were boats on the water and the city was starting to light up. I think that night is probably what inspired my love of being outside in the city once night fell. Also, looking back on it, I think that night is when I fell in love with him. He was a beautiful person inside and out and I was touched by the fact that he chose to spend his time with me when he could've been doing a host of other things. At the time, I had no idea that the seed of love had been planted, but over the next couple of years it would grow.

Boston Here I Come!

During the last installment of my life story you read about how I got rejected by one college, but accepted by another. Neither of these colleges was in Georgia so it was time for me to well and truly leave the nest. The trip that my parents and I took to Boston during the fall of 1994 was the first time any of us had flown on a plane. I had never set eyes on Boston and my biggest point of reference besides the Boston Tea Party was the fact that New Edition and New Kids on the Block were from there, hahaha!!! I had no fear about living in a place that I knew so little about.

When my parents and I arrived in Boston it was starting to get chilly. Fall weather had already arrived, while back in Georgia it still felt like summer. I remember our first full day in Boston included going to the sporting goods store across the street from Berklee's main building to buy me a jacket. The next day it rained, and the day after that the sun came out. That was my first experience with how changeable the weather is in New England.

Compared to most people from Georgia I've never had much of an accent, but of course to New England ears I do. Probably because I pronounce my Rs ;-). One of the first girls I met, who ended up being one of my best friends, would constantly ask me to say certain words. Whenever we'd meet someone new, the first words out of her mouth were "Listen to that accent!" It actually annoyed me a little bit because I wasn't the only person there with an accent. Berklee has a very large international population.

My roommate my freshman year was a junior and spent all of her time in her boyfriend's room since he had a single room. Because of that fact, it was like I had a single room, too. I never had to worry about anyone having a problem with my friends coming over to hang out. The downside was that I was away from my family and all alone. At first I didn't even have a phone in my room so I had to use the payphone in the hallway of the dorm. This was before everyone had cellphones so about a month into my first semester I had a phone put in my room.

Every person that goes straight from high school to college should experience at least one year of living in the dorms. It's like living in a community of people with common interests but different experiences. For people from small towns, college may be the first time that they've had any first-hand experience with someone of another race. If someone is an only child, they get to see what's it's like to have to share a room and a bathroom with one or two other people. The experience is even better when you can live in a college town like Boston.

Senior Year

Sorry to leave you hanging. Seems like I was in the 11th grade for an eternity, huh? When I left you I was contemplating college in Chicago. One of the requisite items for my application to DePaul University was an audition tape. There were two or three different types of songs I had to perform and I had to practice those songs after school with my chorus teacher. This is the man who threw the music folder and dented the poster. I was never too terribly fond of him, but my dislike of him grew when I didn't get into DePaul's music program. I feel that he didn't do enough to prep me to sing those songs. He was also working with another student on audition material, someone that I know for a fact that he liked better than me.

To say that I was devastated by being rejected for the music program was an understatement. I cried my eyes out. DePaul encouraged me to apply to another program, but I really wanted to be in their music program. I just happened to get something in the mail from Berklee College of Music in Boston the same week I got the rejection letter from DePaul. Berklee didn't require an audition until after admission, so I decided to go out on a limb and apply there. I didn't apply to any other colleges. I figured that if I didn't get in, I'd regroup and apply to other schools for the spring semester.

Well there was no need to regroup because Berklee accepted me. I had never, ever even been to Boston and only knew about it from what I had read in books. I was also a huge New Kids on the Block fan, and they're from Boston, hahaha!!! There I was, a black girl from the rural South who had only ever left the South to go to the Midwest. I had absolutely no clue what I was getting myself into, but I was lead by my curious nature and my adventurous spirit.

All Done with School

Last night I went to my final copyediting class. I'm happy to say that I'm done with school, for the time being. I will explain what I mean by that later, but first, let's talk about my last class. It had to do with proofreading and during most of the class period  we practiced proofreading articles so that we could make sure we knew how to mark the text. If any of the you know anything at all about professional proofreading, you know that this is one of the most boring things you can do as a class. We'd do the work in our workbooks and then the professor would project the marked up copy on a screen for us to compare ours to. In some instances she would ask people to come up and put their marks on the board. If anyone asked her about something, she'd dither until she gave a non-answer.

Luckily, two professors alternated teaching the classes because I don't know if I could've handled this woman more than once a week. She honestly seemed like she smoked a joint before class. That's how scatter-brained and dithery she was. There was one other Michelle in the copyediting program, and the professor always used the attendance sheet to call on people for answers to homework or practice quizzes. Unless she used the last name, we had no idea which Michelle she was talking to. Any time that she meant me, and I asked her if she did, she would assume I was trying to get out of answering the question. She did it again last night, and the girl beside me said, "We go through this every class!"

After we went over homework, she asked for volunteers to go to the board and mark some sentences she had put up. Because no one wanted to be there (last class syndrome), they were all looking around at each other. I figured since no one else was volunteering, I might as well get the ball rolling. That was also my way of showing the professor that I wasn't trying to avoid answering questions ;-). My volunteering had the desired effect. She didn't call on me for the rest of class, although when she would ask for suggested changes to what someone else had already done, I would chime in. Once the class finally ended we were all very relieved. Upon receiving my certificate, I will officially be certified as a copyeditor.

As for being done with school for the time being, I found out that one of the colleges in Cambridge offers an online Bachelor's in psychology. That's something else I plan to do within the next year or two. Those who know me well know that I like helping people. I think I could do really well as a counselor or a therapist. Also, I think the knowledge that I acquire could be put to good use when I become a Weight Watchers leader. Many of the reasons why a lot of people overeat are psychological. My quest for knowledge continues!