Aaaand now for something completely different totally the same! Scroll down to read about my school story.
Right, college. As I stated 20-odd posts ago, parts of my college experience coincided with some of the worst emotions I’ve ever felt, while other parts have been incredibly enjoyable/beneficial. I’ll probably take quotes from my old blog posts to help keep this fairly accurate.
I started into Mary Immaculate College in Limerick in September 2007, coming off the back of a bad break-up in May, a very decent return in the Leaving Cert in June and meeting a new girl in August. I missed out on my first choice (Primary Teaching with Psychology) by 30 points, but I’d never really put in the work to get that course anyway. Instead I got my second choice, the Bachelor of Education degree. By Christmas time I was sitting in the college counsellor’s office wishing I could be anywhere else.
Looking back now, it’s easier for me to see where I went wrong. I went in to register on the very first morning, signed some forms, got my photo taken for my I.D. card and then left again straight away. I didn’t hang around to chat with anyone else. I didn’t check out what events were planned for Freshers’ Week. I didn’t ask anybody about what clubs and societies were in the college, or when training would be starting.
Then lectures started. Many of these were “sign-in” or “roll-call” lectures. Some of them were held in a room designed to perfectly resemble an Infants class-room. I think it’s room G37. Think badly-drawn pictures, multi-coloured posters, labels on everything and boxes of bricks/straws/lego/toys, etc. on the shelves. I was in First Year, but it felt like I was being treated like a 5 year old again. The lecturers even snapped at students as if they were bold children, tried to confiscate mobile phones and gave out if people were sketching/doodling during lectures. It was pathetic. And not liking the lecturers meant I didn’t want to do any work for them. I’d safely say I did less than 10% of the required reading for First Year.
The worst parts of first year were my Visual Arts lecturer, and Micro-teaching in Semester 1. She wasn’t just condescending; she was abusive. It should have been my favourite part of the timetable, but by week five or six I felt absolutely miserable because of her. I couldn’t chat with the people around me, or even crack a smile, without her launching into a tirade. Once she decided she didn’t like me, none of my work was good enough for her either.Micro-teaching involved doing very short lessons with very small groups of very young children! We did 5 sessions over 12 weeks, which were recorded on video. The idea was that we’d go back and watch over the videos and self-criticise our performances. this was supposed to be done with a partner, who would give some more objective criticism. Even after a month into the year I didn’t know anybody well enough, so I had to write my own “partner” critique myself. By Christmas time I was lonely in college, not seeing enough of my old school friends and doing no work. The one highlight was a creative weekend in County Tyrone with three 2nd Year students. I’d probably have dropped out if not for that.
Second semester was a bit better. The break did me good! I was less shy around people and I was starting games for the Freshers’ Gaelic Football team. I think we made it all the way to the national semi-final for our division. Not bad for a panel of only 18 players! There were different lecturers for most subjects too. I passed my first Teaching Practice experience, somehow. We had to go to Irish college for 3 weeks at the end of first year and I ended up in a house in Minaird, between Anascaul and Dingle, with 14 other lads. Of all the true friends I made in college, all but one were in that house with me. The other one used to spam post in the C&H forum too… >_> I also spent 6 weeks working in the Irish College in Inis Oírr that summer.
Second Year kicked arse. And I mean, like, TOTALLY, roysh?! The course material included philosophy, 2 psychology modules and a History of Education module. I picked Gaeilge for my Arts subject and so did most of the lads who’d shared the house in Kerry. Only one or two lecturers maintained the sign-in policy. On the negative side, we were still spending far too much time studying Religion (a constant issue across all 3 years) and the man-hating Sociology lecturer alienated the men in the hall whenever we bothered showing up for her lectures. I passed my driving test early in 2009, which was a massive confidence-boost. I’d also completed the Gatekeeper: Suicide Awareness and Prevention course around the same time. The kick in the teeth came at the end of the year when I got the very same Sociology lecturer as my Infant TP Supervisor. The woman has never taught in a primary school classroom in her life, and there she was, responsible for my grade for the biggest module of second year. I passed anyway. Which was nice.
Anyway, along came the summer holidays. I’d secured another 3 weeks of work in Inis Oírr. In 2008 I was lucky enough to work as an Ardchinnire for six weeks, three of which I did alongside D4RK ONION. In 2009 I arrived on the island with tonsillitis, unable to speak and a full stone lighter than I had been a week before the course. On the bright side, my colleague was one of my best friends from Secondary School. You’d be very lucky to meet a nicer guy. It was also coming up to my 2nd Anniversary with the girl I’d met just after my Leaving Cert. She dumped me a week before the big celebration. The break-up coincided with some other shocking news: my colleague from the second summer course in 2008 had gone on a stabbing spree, killing himself and another young man. I went into a slump that lasted about six months, including a spell when I dropped out of my 5 week Home Teaching Practice module after only 3 weeks. I was very, very lucky to have some fantastic support from a number of different departments in college. I got away with all sorts, getting rules bent for me and everything. A great many people helped me sort myself out, and again, somehow, I passed the first semester. I started moderating C&H at the start of that semester as well, and having that gave me a sense of responsibility that helped me get through everything else.
My final semester as an under-grad started just over a year ago. It was mixed, but grand overall. I had some good friends, some really interesting modules and I was starting to get to know people on C&H a bit better. One poster in particular had made a great impression on me during the Christmas holidays. 
I’ve been going out with her for over 13 months now! :p I gave up soccer and Gaelic Football in 2010 and returned to ju-jitsu after a 5 year gap. I also moved out of home for the first time, giving me a chance to shop and cook for myself. Alas, I stopped writing poetry. Not by any choice, but because I had lost all sense of inspiration for it. I got through the last semester with some great nights out, some last-minute essays and a bit of luck. Once the exams were done, I had to get straight back to work to prepare for my Home TP repeat. That nearly wiped me out again. I only had to do 4 weeks, due to having completed 3 weeks during the first attempt. I think I averaged four hours sleep per night over that month. My supervisor was much, much better than the other woman who’d supervised me a year earlier. It’s a shame I hadn’t met someone like her earlier. She pointed out so many areas where I had room to improve, and it was a great shame I only got that guidance at the end of my time in the course. I just couldn’t improve so many flaws in such a short space of time. I got the minimum grade needed to pass the module, and, therefore, a poor grade on my degree after three years.
Looking back, I believe now that I should have dropped out early in First Year. Either that or looked for a transfer over to Arts. The word that best sums up two thirds of my college experience? Torture. To describe the other third takes a few more words. It was all about getting to know the right people. When I was with friends, the bad stuff became tolerable. Without them, there was nothing to hide just how much was wrong with the place.
I got a lot of credit for that event, but I really had nothing to do with it. I was convinced to sign up to Boards.ie at that time as well. We ran our very first 6th Year Retreat, which was an incredible success. They’re still running that retreat two or three times a year now, following in the formula we established after coming back from Vancouver. I got a poem published in a local poetry journal, and was working hard to convince my English teacher that I was above his estimation of “might get a B in the Leaving Cert, if he keeps working at it”. We weren’t allowed to establish a school GAA team that year either, which also pissed me off, but over-all it was another good year. Broke up with the girlfriend just before the Leaving Cert and did very little for the summer.
