When I Grow Up

My mother says I was an unusual baby; slept during the day and played all night. So it probably isn't unusual that I find myself, at my age back in college. I won't tell you my age. But I will say that I am old enough to know that I am example of "youth wasted on the young."

I really enjoyed school and that's the problem. I enjoyed it too much. Between my boyfriend and the school paper, my days and nights were pretty busy . The editor knew that I'd write the story about the dirty student union floors and any other story nobody else would cover. And it seems that I forgot an important lesson. Writers write. Somewhere buried in my psyche, there's been a story screaming to get out.

But I muffled that scream with life. Kids. A new swimming pool. Jobs. And a few marriages followed by a few divorces. Now I'm back at school, majoring in Accounting and trying to make up for the time I flittered away.

Laughable as it seems, I can only explain my youth by saying I must have thought I was Peter Pan. Adults and old people were all around me. But I didn't need to worry. Didn't need a career or goals. I was 19 and I was going to stay that way. Me and my typewriter would set the world straight.

So here I am. And we've already established that I'm old. Last week I finished my first semester back. Actually, I am surprised I survived. I took six classes. Four classes are considered full-time. There was Payroll, Business Law, HR in Business, Portuguese, History and Counseling. I've had pregnancies that weren't that strenuous!

I've been kicking my own butt for not getting that BA in Journalism for - no, I won't say it - a lot of years. And the funny thing is, that darn Human Relations class. The two million words I wrote for Mr. Ledbetter brought back all my Journalism memories. And I couldn't help but think of how much I missed writing.

I won't reveal anything but I will say that it was a sad day in the Journalism Department when Elvis Presley died.