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August 29, 2014 / 3 Elul, 5774
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Part II: College – I Don’t Think So!


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No such luck, however, as I saw my father ask the guard if he could come in with me. While it was clear to me that this was against regulations, I think the spectacle of my approach caused a lot of red tape to melt away. Before I knew it, my father and I were in the large, rather loud registration room.

The rest of that day was a bit of a blur for me. My father pushed me up to the history registration table. Much to my chagrin, both of the classes were open (an occurrence that would become very rare as my collegiate career progressed), and before I knew it, I was enrolled.

I remember going to the bursar, most likely because I had absolutely no idea what a “bursar” was, but I don’t remember how I paid for those classes. I would get scholarships in time, but I am pretty certain my folks paid for my first semester.

After all my interference and my objections, I was now a registered college student with an official schedule. I wasn’t happy about that at all, but there was still one trick up my sleeve. My parents could force me to apply, register me for classes and even pay the bill, BUT they couldn’t go to classes WITH me. That was still my way out, or so I thought at the time.

[Feel lost because you didn’t read Part I – visit http://chaimshapiro.com/

About the Author: Chaim Shapiro, M.Ed is a freelance writer, public speaker and social media consultant. He is currently working on a book about his collegiate experience. He welcomes comments and feedback at chaimshapiro@aol.com or on his website: http://chaimshapiro.com/


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Just a few months ago, I was having a difficult time getting a refund for a missing product processed via the customer service call center at a major retailer. After spending hours on hold and having my request denied, I sent a Tweet to the company’s Twitter account.

I have a background in counseling, and I can say that the biggest mistake that I ever made was refusing psychological help after we lost the twins. I was trying to keep my tough-guy facade going, and convinced myself that I could deal with the pain.

We had suffered through an experience I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. My wife had to go through labor and deliver our children to their deaths, and I was unable to save them or even give them a little warmth while they died.

Special Note: It is an unusual phenomenon that many bereaved parents share. We can almost see our age-adjusted children in our sukkah or running up to us during a family simcha. As quickly as they come, those visions seem to disappear as we go through the life cycle. They are hard moments made harder by the thoughts of not only what could have been, but what should have been.

I had to believe that things were going to be ok. They just had to be ok. We had gone through so much, had sacrificed so much and were doing everything the doctors told us to do. I remember speaking to a hesitant professor in my Ph.D. program about getting an incomplete in her class. The conversation stands out in my mind because, looking back, I can see how odd it must have seemed as I matter-of-factly told her I was too busy for coursework because my twins’ amniotic sack was bulging through my wife’s cervix.

On our first day in the antepartum unit, one of the nurses mentioned how critical every moment of pregnancy really was. “One minute in is worth two minutes out (in an incubator).” We weren’t really expecting a premature birth, but her comment put a fine point on the importance of the care my wife was receiving.

The best way to describe our emotions the morning of our major ultrasound was nervous excitement. We had survived a serious scare with a threatened miscarriage a few weeks prior. My wife was on bed rest at home, but we had no real reason to assume there would be any new problems.

It was only after we celebrated the great news that we were expecting twins that we saw the first sign of problems. First of all, my wife was losing, not gaining weight, even as the babies continued to grow normally. Soon after, routine blood work revealed that my wife was suffering from gestational diabetes.

Printed from: http://www.jewishpress.com/sections/magazine/potpourri/part-ii-college-i-dont-think-so/2011/12/23/

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