Thursday, July 10, 2014
Old college notebooks can stir up more than just college memories.
Sorting through things at my mother’s house continued the Fourth of July weekend. And needless to say, I was often reminded of days gone by.
My sister discovered a couple of faded University of North Alabama notebooks from the Student Bookstore in Florence, Ala.
One included my notes from Art 170, Speech 201 and Journalism 221.
The art notes included lots of definitions of terms like atmospheric perspective and contour drawing. And there was a mid-term exam grade – 82.
The speech notes included minimum requirements in the class and the grades for each – like a B for my three minute talk (either advertisement analysis or a demonstration) or an A- for my final speech, which was one-third of my semester grade. There was a rough draft, in my notes, of a speech I gave on how television was corrupting the lives of our children (and that was in the early 1980s).
The journalism course was an introduction to mass media. One interesting sentence I wrote – “local press is for the local people to inform the local public.” I would say I’ve applied that greatly over the past 28 years. And by the way, the first newspaper in America was the “Boston News-Letter” (April 24, 1704).
But this notebook contained much more than class notes. There were lots of notes back and forth between Mother and I on the pages not used for school work.
I was the only child at home with her at the time. We’d always keep each other aware of where we were and what we were doing.
Here’s a sample.
“Mother, right now I plan on leaving Wednesday afternoon and going to Montgomery and staying overnight at James’ apartment. Tim is going with me. Then, Thursday morning we will go to Auburn. As for when I’ll be back, it’ll be either Friday night, Saturday morning or Sunday. The tournament ends Saturday, but if Winfield gets beat out, I’ll be on home. Love, Barry.”
Her response – “I’m glad someone is going with you. I’ll do the jeans tonight, and be careful, and have a safe trip. Love you, Mother.”
Here’s a funny one from my mother – “If you want to eat when you get in, you can put it in this plate to warm up, except the potato salad. You don’t warm it. Love you.”
The other notebook included more notes from classes, like English 231 and Psychology 201, but more importantly, at least for me at this point in my life, more notes written by Mother and I to one another.
“Mother, wake me about 8:00. I believe I’ll go to Hamilton to church this morning. They asked me to come for the first service in the new building. Plus, I can’t make it probably on first Sunday when they have open house. So, you probably won’t want to fix lunch. Love, Barry.”
And another one from her – “Barry, leave the water like it is in here (the kitchen) and the bathroom, dripping. It’s supposed to be around 18 degrees today and 0 tonight. And leave the heat like it is. Love you, Mother.”
I spent about an hour over the weekend reading each of the notes written by me and my mother. There were lots.
I’m having to get rid of many things from my mother’s house but not these two notebooks.
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