Graduating

Graduation. It is the time where students are happy to leave the hell hole known as college. It is also the time when parents are praying that their children do not come back home without some kind of future planned out. After all, what parent would want to pay for the years of college only to find out that they lost everything the moment the child graduates?

Luckily that isn’t my problem. No, my problem is with the teachers. When you are in preschool, teachers become a second parent. They clean up after you. Tell you not to eat that glue or stick your finger in your nose and give the girl next to you the booger you just pulled out. However, once you reach the threshold of college, the teachers are no longer mentors. That’s not to say that every professor is not a mentor. I, myself, have two teachers who I could claim worthy of mentorhood. They are awesome people and do not dash your thoughts, no matter how strange. However, there are the teachers who believe that what comes out of their ass is gold.

These teachers think of themselves of the giant’s golden goose that Jack steals. Their goal is to make you want to climb that beanstalk and grab their tails, all the while thinking that it was a great idea to sell that emaciated milk cow, Bessie, instead of doing what mom told you to do in the first place. By doing this you have two choices: you can keep that goose alive, using the crap they expell out of their asses to build your empire, or you can just eat the friggin’ bird during the next Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade.

I have no problem with people who are confident or have attitude. My issue is when their attitude goes into sheer narcissism. Granted, we all have that trait, but oh well. I had one teacher specifically who is like that and I could rant on and on about him. However, I will only say this one thing: though I had the teacher for two classes and in those two classes I may have had a C+ or higher, he at least said my name right. That is actually quite a difficult feat. Not many people can do that. However, come graduation day, walking across that stage shaking hands with the man who has an entourage every day, shaking hands with the guest speaker, and hugging the adorable wife of the president, my name was uttered through the speakers. This teacher of two classes, who has always said my name correctly, said it incorrect.

You would think that the exposure of a student and a doctorate would at least give this golden goose the gift of correct pronunciation.