The Non-Traditional Student

As an undergrad, few things annoyed me more than sharing a class with a “non-traditional student.” I figured the term was a nice way of saying, “too old to be here,” which I supposed was kind, supposing non-traditional students were probably sensitive to other concerns, like their crows’ feet, trick knees, and impending deaths. Nontraditional students usually popped up in evening courses, and if you didn’t spot them by their old person smell, you could identify them by the way they inhabited the front row and kept their hands raised. They were obnoxious, annoying. They were those students who would ask an in-depth question five minutes before class would end. We traditional students would stare daggers into their gray little heads during the four extra minutes we were detained in class. The only reason we took once-a-week evening classes was to make the rest of our weeks easier, not to actually learn at night.

Fast forward ten years, and the predictable occurred. It began easily enough as I discussed my course of study with my grad school advisor. She said that my time in school wasn’t very long considering I was (wait for it…) a non-traditional student. Ho-leeeee crap. Me??? Until then, I convinced myself that I fit right in, that a 31-year-old full-time working professional blended right in with the 23-year-olds who have never written a resume and still live with Mom. Yet it became so horribly clear that I had “non-traditional student” written all over me: I’m an overeager student who sits towards the front of the class and who is no stranger to the end-of-class question.

I’ve since realized that the difference between traditional students and nontraditional students is largely a matter of math. While traditional students may deal with student loans, those are checks that magically appear with no concept of how hard one must work to repay them. We nontraditional students, however, have done our share of work and can do the math. I can name countless other ways I could spend the $20,000 I’m forking over for this degree. I’ve calculated that each night’s class costs approximately $90 and how much I have to work at a job I don’t enjoy in order to earn the privilege to attend each one. Younger students ask before class if I’ve finished the reading; you’re damn right I have. And if I have a question to ask at 9:14 p.m., you’re going to hear it.

I’ve begun to detest traditional students with the same ire that I once reserved for the nontraditional ones. They whine about having no time to write papers, but then say things like, “Oh my god, do you watch Rock of Love? I’m, like, obsessed with that show.” I haven’t had the time or opportunity to be, like, obsessed with any show during the past few years. I don’t know what Rock of Love is, who’s in it, or what channel it’s on. Young students bemoan all-nighters and how they, “seriously, have NO time at all,” but then discuss Grey’s Anatomy with more insight than they use to discuss assigned books in class.

And I know I sound like someone’s grumpy old Depression-era grandparent, bemoaning the cost of bread and decrying the state of kids today. But perhaps we’ve judged those cantankerous old souls too quickly. For if I’ve learned anything over the past two years, it’s that those whom we judge might very well be those whom we become. Ten years from now, I just might be standing on my front step, hoisting a rake and yelling at kids to get off my lawn. Ten years after that, I’ll likely have a drawer full of wrapping paper I’ve carefully saved after each holiday. Because if I can become an ornery old non-traditional student, anything is possible.

Passport? Check. Money for outrageous airfares? No check.

Another video. Another realization that I need to get my butt to more places.