Afer complenting my first two years of college in a tiny junior college in Kentucky, I enrolled in Illinois State University, confident that I would well, because I haad sone well in the past. The size of the place was a bit daunting. The first challenge was finding a parking space. Where before I had parked ion a tree-lined street and walked the short distance to the main calssroom building at Bthel junior College, now I was confronted with acres of parking spaces which seemed miles from the classroom buildings. Classes were not just up one hall or down the next, as I had grown increasingly oneous. Unike Southerners who greet everyone, including strangers, with "Hey!" people rarely spoke. On a campus of over 10,000 students, I felt completel
During my very first class at Illinois, I walked into a classroom and took a desk among thirty other students. After the instructor, a thin, balding male, called roll, he looked up adn asked, "Is there anyone whose name I didn't call?" I put up my hand, and he walked over to my seat. "What is your name?" he asked, pencil poised to write. "Cindy Horne," I replied. "How do you spell that?" he asked. "H-a-w-e-r-n?"
I never finished class. I dropped out of the university before the term was over. i suddenly felt inadequate, and no amount of study restored my confiednce. Two years later, I returned to Kentucky, enrolled in a small liberal arts college, completed my bachelor's degree, and wernt on to become an art teacher. I had many good teachers, b
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