Name in Print

Today, for the first time, I saw my name in print.  Well, it's not the first time because I have written for various school newspapers, but it is the first time I have seen my name in a book--like with a binding and pages and numbers on the pages.  I worked with Dr. Bruce Ballenger, my professor and mentor, this summer on his book Crafting Truth: Short Studies in Creative Nonfiction.  I contributed an essay-in-progress (that started out in blog form here) called "Math, Metamorphosis, and Monarchs" about my time as a child in math class, how I was horrible at it and deemed smart at everything else, what it means to be categorized in the extremes of society, and the exploration of my loathing for my third grade teacher that has lived 20+ years in my gut.  To balance the extreme, I talk about a woman, my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Sutherland who was a kind, eccentric woman that was loved by many.  It feels weird to be in print--unreal almost--and it feels incredibly great to see my name on those pages.

And while to some it may not seem super important to be included in someone else's book and not my own, it is an honor to be included in someone's book that you greatly admire who sees potential in you, and that is why Bruce became my mentor, though I didn't ask for his permission to call him that (are you supposed to ask?).

My sister made fun of me when I was calling someone my mentor--that's what she does--and she asked me what it even means to be someone's mentor and how you go about getting one.  So, I will share how I ended up with a mentor, whether he likes it or not (the mentoring, not the explaining). 

After a really horrible start at college at 18 years old--there were numerous family and person issues that were making committing to college impossible for me because I was an emotional wreck--I returned to Boise State at 24 years old, almost 25.  After jumping through 3,666 fiery hoops to get back in after flunking out my first semester six almost seven years prior. I was assigned an advisor who was unhelpful and rude and self-important.  I took one writing class that I hated--I swore the woman that taught us was going to make us explore our own genitals with hand mirrors in class--and asked my advisor if I could get permission to take a class from Bruce (I had taken the class he taught once already, but in our department we were allowed to take certain writing classes twice for credit), and my advisor told me I needed to start working on my lit classes, which made no sense to me because I was an English major with a writing emphasis.

So, as I am wont to do, I took matters into my own hands.  I emailed Bruce and asked if I could meet him to discuss having him sign me into the class.  I went to his office, lined with bookshelves, and books, and a weird bodyless leg which I have never asked about, and sat at the round table in his office, across from his desk, while he took the other seat at the table.  I then talked incessantly.  I mean nonstop.  I am assuming I overshared (which for me usually entails giving too much embarrassing info) because that is what I do when I am nervous.  And in the next moment, he changed my college career.  He didn't offer me a spot in his class; he offered me an independent study, an opportunity to work more closely with him on an individual basis.  It was the end of April or beginning of May, and he decided to give me a summer reading list to prepare, and as he suggested books, we had a problem: I had already read them all.  So, he sent me a list later, and I devoured the books over the summer. 

Before I met him that spring day, I had thought about quitting BSU again.  The professors weren't particularly helpful, and I didn't feel like I was actually gaining anything from being there.  I thought that college just wasn't the place for me and that I had been fooling myself my whole life.  But after being offered the independent study, I felt like my academic career took on a new life, and I finally felt confident with my choice to pursue writing.  I still don't know why he offered the independent study; I was a complete stranger to him, and for all he knew, it could have turned out to be a horrible experience for us both.

So that is how I came to graduate, be published in a book, and seek graduate school.  While I have had a lot of support along the way, Bruce was my champion, though he is way too humble to take the praise.

And seeing myself in print this week wasn't the only great feeling of accomplishment I have had.  The essay that appears in the book has been revised extensively, and I recently gave a copy to my boss and his wife, Dick and Deana, to read.  It turns out that Mrs. Sutherland's daughter still visits their office, and she came in this week.  Deana gave her a copy of the essay, and Mrs. Sutherland's daughter asked for an extra to send to her brother. If the piece never gets published in it's finished form anywhere, I will always be happy knowing that Mrs. Sutherland's family received a sort of tribute to her.