Go-Time

Last night I heard myself say words I've never said before:

"Tomorrow is just go-over-the-syllabus day; I don't really have to go to class."

Wes looked a bit like a puppy dog who cocks his head in confusion, trying to decide exactly what it was he just heard. His eyes changed almost imperceptibly, just enough for me to get the message -- which was you're kidding, right?

"I'm kidding!" I say backpedaling fast (I wasn't.) "Of course I'm going!"

When I finally got out of the house this morning, about 15 minutes late (grumble), I had to resist the urge to drive by Nathan's bus stop on the way to Luke's neighborhood school, just to make sure they were where they were supposed to be. Nathan has been up early every day this week, pulled from the comfort of his bed by the anticipation of his new middle school status. He's decided to revamp his image, telling his teachers to call him "Nate" and using hair products. *sigh* He seems to be embracing preteenhood and life in junior high. But it's more than the social life of the prepubescent that's making him seize the day. I told Luke this morning, "I think Nathan is actually excited about the work of 6th grade!" To which Luke rolled his eyes, looking horror struck, muttering, "He is! It's so weird!"

Luke is the opposite, at least to hear him tell it. He started telling us how much he was looking forward to next summer break before this summer break was over. He complains about learning new things ("I already know everything" -- he told us when he was four years old -- "I'm a genus!" Yes, as in, genus-phylum-species), about being bored, about getting up in the morning ("I'm way too tired for school this morning!"), and on and on... But he has come home happy and full of stories the last two days. On the first day of school last year, I came downstairs to find him sitting at the table totally dressed, including his backpack and bicycle helmet, eating his Rice Krispies. I saw him pedaling up the alley on his morning commute today, faster than he's ever ridden. Does that sound like a kid that r-e-a-l-l-y hates school? I didn't think so, either.

At any rate, I knew the boys were fine. They know the school-morning drill, and they execute it well. I also knew my compulsion to check on them was nothing more than a thinly-guised stall tactic.

In the truck on the highway, I asked myself in frustration, loud enough to be heard over the morning news on NPR, "What's my deal? I'm never late on the first day!"

I didn't have an answer.

Texas State University is in a little-big town called San Marcos, about 20 minutes down IH-35 from my little-little town, which is about 30 minutes south of Austin. This campus rocks -- sprawling across several miles of hills, it's an aesthetically-pleasing blend of old and new, with a river running through it. San Marcos' population explodes every new semester with the incoming class moving in for the first time or back for another round. Yet San Marcos stubbornly holds on to its redneck spirit, its old-timey small-town feel, refusing progress. That includes bridges.

There are no bridges going over the railroad that goes right through the center of town. And the tracks are used many times a day by trains. Long, s-l-o-w trains. Inevitably I find myself waiting on a train while en route to class at least once per semester, reading the graffiti on the boxcars that serve as sort of travel stickers, letting you know in which cities the train has rested overnight. But I've never waited for the train on the first day of classes; I'm usually early enough to miss it.

Not today. (I hate trains.)

Since I already own my own home and I don't think Wes would like dorm life, I commute. Commuters park on the outer rim of TSU campus, known as "the perimeter." There is a bus system that shuttles commuters from their parking lots in outer Mongolia to the heart of the campus, but to call them reliable would be like calling Genghis Khan a teddy bear. I usually walk in. If possible I return to my truck to change out books between classes, which means I walk in (read: climb The Hill) several times a day. I gained a couple of pounds this summer with the cut in activity; after today's walking I'm surprised it wasn't more! Anyway. It's about a 15-minute walk at a comfortable pace, or an eight-minute walk when I'm late, like this morning. Despite the speed, the panting and sucking of wind, the pounding heart, and the sweat pouring down my back and face, I sunk down into a chair in my 8:00 calculus class -- late.

I've had two lectures thus far today -- Calculus II and Organic Chemistry I -- neither of which was just go-over-the-syllabus day. In fact, the syllabus was abandoned within the first ten minutes of both classes as we dove right into the material. By the time I was done with calculus, I had my answer to why I was late: I'm afraid I'm not ready for this semester. I've scheduled 15 hours of intense courses. Add that to Nathan's new school, Luke's old reticence to do school at all (don't even get me started on homework -- uggh!), Wes' demanding work schedule, involvement in ministry at our church, the responsibilities of home ownership, and the unyielding guilt of never spending enough quality time with the kids -- well, it can be pretty overwhelming. The last time I did a semester like this, I swore it was the last time ever. Yet here I am again.

Why, you ask?

I'll tell you why.

I keep thinking, if I can't hack a heavy semester in undergraduate school, what will I do in medical school: Curl up under my bed in the fetal position and suck my thumb? And then, what will I do during the gruelling hours of internship and residency: throw down my clipboard and stethoscope while telecasting my crazy desperate wordless scream around the ER? No, that's not acceptable. This is my proving ground, this is go-time, (this is insane!) this is necessary to build my foundation, my character, my study habits.

Besides that, if I don't pick up the pace I won't leave TSU until 2015! I'll get the "Most Semesters Matriculated" award handed to me with my degree. That's not acceptable either.

This is doable. This may be my life for the next several months, but it's doable.

Okay, now I'm ready