Freshman at 50!!!

No, ladies, this is not a new reality television show. It's my real life. I hope you will join me as I embark on my latest and greatest adventure. Many of you may be thinking of taking the same journey. If it's that old nagging friend, Fear, holding you back, I sympathize. I have enrolled in college this year at the ripe young age of 51.

Upon hearing my latest news, which I delivered with a bit of reluctant enthusiasm, my girlfriends responded with the typical queried apprehensive smile that says, “Great? I think?” I 'm the type-A girlfriend in our exclusive troop who's always onto something new – whether it's my 85-pound weight-loss journey and the 10 pounds that will not die a final death or my latest Dr. Oz supplement suggestions or the upcoming three-day walk in October. I 'm usually up to something new.

I can't exactly pinpoint what drove me to this latest adventure, but I suspect its origins trace back to a place many women my age, and at a similar place in life, have visited. No, that would not be at the salon touching up the grey roots! It's the three glass of wine on the beach moment as you and your closest gal pals are reminiscing about the past, recalling those special, forever-gone times when the kids were all home and you never had the time to have time. It's that moment in life when your loved ones suddenly don’t demand all your time. It's when the daily activities vanish and the silence rings through your empty house and the too-large SUV sounds like a ship’s horn setting out to sea.

My moment of reality reared its tentacles on a summer day at the beach. My girlfriends and I were on our annual retreat of sand, sun, wine and shrimp.  We sat watching the young moms with their flat pancake tummies. What began as a delusional conversation about how figure-flattering our new "skirt" swimsuits were drifted into sharing our regrets and all we wish we had done differently. I had accomplished something in all these years that only I could take ownership of.  Yes, I had wonderful family, grown children on healthy, happy paths to independence and all the material trappings of the 90s. Why was it not enough? With an endearing respect, we are not our mothers’ version of 50. We're not a generation content to live out our years.  We want do-overs – and mulligans.  We want to believe Dr. Oz when he says resveratol will add many years to our lives. We're a generation pounding the sidewalks and trails to perhaps add precious minutes to our time here on earth.  Yes, we are the generation that will still secretly shop the junior rack in Marshall's when no one is around to find a sweater that might take five years off our looks. I yearned to own for myself something that was not a product of my love and efforts on someone else’s behalf, something no other person could accomplish for me.  I longed for the feeling that not even a trip to the merchandise mart would fulfill. My college degree would be just that – mine.  It would be of me, for me and by me.

I had thought of college briefly in my youth. It was short-lived however, as in that era, in the Deep South, a young girl’s goal was usually more focused on finding a "good man." I did do that, and for more than 30 years, I have even shared him with lots of other women. He wakes up Atlanta every morning on B98.5FM with the other woman in his life, Vikki Locke.

As summer cooled into fall, I found myself acknowledging that it was one of my greatest regrets, and my conscious kept whispering, "Who says you can't go to college and get one now?" The words of my father kept whispering in my psyche, "Can't never could till she tried."

Well, as is the case more often than not, it is easier said than done. I stirred the uneasy soup in my brain for the remainder of the early fall and took the leap. I requested transcripts from my old high school and applied to college. That was an adventure in itself. There was no longer even a record of my attendance. No fear. After contacting the South Carolina Department of Education, BINGO, my transcripts were found. I did ask the admissions counselor at my prospective college if they’d accept proof from an old boyfriend on Facebook who could attest that I had in fact attended and graduated, with him, from Spartanburg High School? I could even supply her with bad hair prom pictures to prove it! I was politely told, "An official sealed transcript would be needed."  With these wrinkles and rolls, what did I possibly need to hide under seal in a transcript?  Fifty years puts you way past caring about what your GPA was in 1975. 

I was on my way. There was no turning back now. I was accepted, pending new immunizations. Yes, I had to get all new vaccinations as well. Those records were long gone too. Next came Compass placement tests, the dreaded algebra and factoring polynomials and class selections. Soon January 8^th rolled around, and I was a new freshman at 50 – with my North Face book bag loaded and locked and a schedule of 18 hours. And there was not middle-aged person in sight with the exception of the professors.

This was going to be interesting. My sons, both away at college, gave me two words of advice. “Mom,” they said. “Whatever you do, blend in." Despite their good intentions, the words did little to calm my already unsettled and churning stomach. I had a throbbing headache, bloating from my impending visitor (who still comes around regularly), and to top it all off, I had been rejected on Facebook by my sons. My only connection to the college social scene de-friended me.  This was getting harder by the minute.

Stay tuned.