Micheline's Put-in
 
School's In!
Université de Montréal
Sitting at my computer during a break from my "day job," I'm deciphering the various subjects on which I would like to write. My thoughts, however, are continuously interrupted by memories of my school days flooding my mind. September will always be "back to school" month for me: that feeling of excitement mixed with fear; looking forward to new challenges and meeting new people; and the hope that I will not hit a class that is simply too difficult or a subject too demanding. While these thoughts are dancing in my head, my heart fills with gratitude at the fact that education was so accessible to me, and fond memories of the joy I found in each of my learning experiences.
I received a diploma in Marketing from Algonquin College (Ottawa) in 1984. In March 1988 (three years after settling in Montreal), I decided to get a B.A. in Communications. I was seriously considering moving to BC to be with some of my siblings, so, confident that I would be accepted, the only university I applied to was Simon Fraser; however, my resistance to writing an English as a Second Language exam delayed my acceptance. It was early August when the administrators from Simon Fraser U sent me a letter stating that, because all of my former education had been in French, I would under no circumstances be exempted from writing the exam. I had no back-up plan. I wanted to go to school.
The thought of returning to school was not a challenge for me. I lived in the "university ghetto" and had been out of school for a mere 4 years when I decided to return. I was, however, at a loss when deciding upon the language in which I would be educated. Given the fact that I was bilingual (well, sort of. See Frenglish, the real official Canadian language Hein?), and was at the University level, the choice was totally mine. Having been educated in French until this point, I felt it was my "duty" to continue in the same language; however, I was also sick of attempting to please others in order to feel validated. I knew I would prefer to study in English, and felt that I would get more out of studying in the language in which I was comfortable.
I finally decided to stay in Montreal. I had so much to choose from, given the fact that I was staying Quebec. My process of deciding on a school went as such:
- Université de Montréal: good reputation; well-established; many subsidies; French education = more employment opportunities in Quebec
- Université de Québec à Montréal (UQAM): younger school; more innovative curriculum; hip; French education = more employment opportunities in Quebec
- McGill: Ivy League; great reputation; subsidized; beautiful campus in the heart of the city; recognized throughout North America.
- Concordia: amazing reputation for my program of interest; good location; and FOUR BEER BASHES A WEEK!
Obviously, I had a winner. At 24 years old the concept of 4 weekly beer bashes mixed with a solid program at school seemed like the ideal situation. Besides, my desire to study at Concordia was growing. I lived near one of the campuses, was friends with many students, and was therefore involved in some of the student nightlife. My education was equally important to me and the school's Communications program looked quite interesting.
I found out that I could study as an independent student, a process by which I could only take a maximum of 3 courses per semester. These courses could not be core courses and I could only begin choosing them once the full-time students had registered. In other words, I could pick from the bottom of the barrel; but it was either that or wait and apply as a full-time student the following year. Nope. Not an option. I registered as an independent student and signed up for two classes, one of which was Communications. I was hooked. I loved the classes I had taken and wanted more. I wanted nothing more than to be a full time student and set out to achieve this goal. In hindsight, my learning experiences at university were not limited to my education alone. Being accepted to the program was as beneficial and memorable an experience as any class…
The following April I applied to the Communications program. I had to submit a portfolio representing my creativity, develop a two-page presentation based on an excerpt from Aristotle's Poetics, and submit to a grueling interview (the grueling part was MY interpretation). I knew nothing of Aristotle's Poetics. I felt that my creativity could only be displayed via my 10 years training as a dancer - not much of a portfolio - but I knew I was ready for an interview.
The day of my interview, I had a bad case of the flu. I had 103 fever and simply could not make it out of bed. I thought for sure that if I asked to re-schedule, they would refuse me and I would lose all of my chances to get in that year. To my surprise, I was given a second chance but was told that I could not re-schedule the interview a second time.
As one of my college courses trained me to do, I showed up for the second interview a few minutes early. I had been in the job market for a few years at that point and had a few interviews under my belt. I felt confident. I stood in front of the door to the classroom where the interview was to take place. It was slightly ajar. I could hear voices. I raised my head, took a deep breath and marched in. Four people were sitting in the room. They all looked at me, a little surprised, even a little annoyed. I began to say my name when one of the professors politely pointed out that he was conducting an interview and that I was early. Thinking he meant that he was there because of MY interview for which I was early, I proudly raised my head even higher and, grinning ear to ear, said, "yes, I am early." He spoke again, this time showing his lack of patience, and stated that he understood that, but could I kindly step out because they were in the MIDDLE of an interview. I quickly deflated, apologized, and ran out of the room.
When they called me back, I acted as if nothing had happened, and the interview seemed to go pretty well. I answered what appeared to be easy questions. I made my presentation on my view of comedy vs. tragedy. I showed my portfolio, which was my resumé containing the various dance shows in which I had participated. Then came the real questions. One professor flippantly asked me how I could defend the fact that dancing is creative, that to him it's simply a series of steps. I got hot under the collar and, virtually calling him an idiot, I explained in a condescending tone that a true dancer creatively uses his/her body to communicate; that the more creative a dancer is, the better that dancer communicates. He sat and smiled. I wasn't sure how to read him. I couldn't decipher whether he was pleased with my response or whether he was simply laughing at me.
After a few seconds (that seemed like hours), a second professor spoke up. He was kinder and gentler than the first. He asked if I knew who Aristotle Onassis was and, if so, could I make a link between the two Aristotles. I began to sweat. All I really knew about Onassis was that he was rich. I brought back the topic of tragedy, saying that one wrote about it and the other lived it. His bundles of money attracted a series of tragedies, as it often does with rich, powerful people. I had no idea what I was talking about, so I tried to sound as convincing as possible.
Once the interview was over, I couldn't decide whether they liked me. A few weeks later, I got my answer: I was accepted. Having been told that most people are not accepted on their first try, I felt proud of myself for my accomplishment. What was even more exciting was the fact that I was going to school again. All I needed was money, which I ended up receiving via a loan and bursary from the Federal Government. That was an even easier task. I provided a detailed account of my financial situation. I was not making much money at the time AND I was living on my own. It was automatically approved.
I successfully completed my degree in the 3 years I had allotted myself. I also took some French courses, which rid me of that guilty feeling. I worked in the Communications field for 10 years following my graduation in English, in Quebec.
At 39, I'm now looking for a new challenge. A friend of mine (who is also 39 years old) is going through the same thing. She recently announced that she would be taking university courses. The moment the words left her lips, I felt a surge of excitement; I believe that I will do the same. I don't know what I'll take, but I know that I want to learn something new. Creative Writing, perhaps?!
Aside from the obvious fruits of my education (jobs, career), it also granted me self-esteem, confidence, and a better understanding of both who I am and what I'm capable of. I feel so grateful that I live in a country, and in a province, that offers all of this and so much more. So this month, when hundreds of thousands of kids across the province, indeed, the country, are groaning with "back-to-school" blues, I get to sit back, reflect upon, and write about the great place in which I live that makes all of is possible.
© Micheline's Put-In
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