Latest update: January 27th, 2012
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 firstname.lastname@example.org or on his website: http://chaimshapiro.com/
If you don't see your comment after publishing it, refresh the page.