As a recent Ivy League graduate, I've been reading this blog with a healthy dose of skepticism. Lately, though, I've had a sneaking suspicion that some of my professors had just about had it with some of the spoiled-rich-kid-who-will-rule-the-world-someday antics of my fellow denizens of the ivory tower. After all, why care about a lecture when your father is about to hand over the reins of a multimillion dollar company?
I tried not to be that kid. I read every page of the reading for every class. I hardly ever skipped a class. I turned in every assignment on time, properly formatted, spellchecked, and executed to the best of my somewhat limited ability. I studied for all my finals and showed up to take them at the appropriate times.
During my last semester I was the president of a student dance company, and during the week of our show, I was in the theater from 5 p.m. until 2 a.m. every night. Then I would go home, work on the programs, multimedia fillers, and logistics for the show, and try to do the reading for my classes. There was a paper due in my American West class that Friday afternoon, and I kept trying to start it, but I was so drained every night that I kept putting it off. I really loved the class. The professor was young, enthusiastic, and highly respected. I was lucky enough to have him for my instructor, and wished on many occasions that I could find a way to show him.
But, in a desperate e-mail sent at 4 a.m. the day the paper was due, I asked for an extension on the paper. He never commented or complained, but just gave me the extension. That Saturday, after I slept for an ungodly length of time, I wrote the paper. When I got it back I'd earned an A-!
I'm sure that to him I was just another one of the spoiled kids who thought they deserved a break anytime they wanted it, and I'm sure he'll never read this, but I have always wanted to thank him. Because he bent therules just a little bit, he let me keep my sanity.
And our show was a hit, too!