The Ultimate Period

by Blanca Baquero (’16)

 

It was Wednesday evening, December 16, 2015, and I was writing my last exam, having completed all the necessary courses to obtain a BA in French with a minor in Spanish from Acadia University. The exam was an arts core course in Women’s and Gender Studies, and it had a profound effect on me, intellectually and emotionally. A good course is like a good book – it should arouse and startle, intensify and alter, and open one’s heart to the human truth. This course did exactly that.

I looked up and noticed that it was only 9:30 p.m. I was just about finished – unusual for me because I usually write to the very end of an exam period. I looked behind me – the class was gone. I turned around, refocused and wrote a few more sentences. I was just about to put a period at the end of my last sentence when suddenly I pulled my hand from the page. I paused, reflected and thought, “No!” I sat back in my chair and stared at my paper. It struck me that the minute I placed that period on the page “the journey would be over.”

I put my pencil down. This lady wasn't quite ready for it to end. What is more, I wasn’t about to let it end…at least not right away. What an incredible and unforgettable journey it had been! I thought about all the times my heart pounded whenever I bought new books for a new course, all the times I panicked when there was something I did not understand, and all the times I swore I would never take another course when I had toiled over an essay until 2:00 and 3:00 in the morning ... only to forgive the gods the very next morning despite all of my suffering.

My professors came to mind. A melancholy feeling came over me as I pictured each one of them. The thought of no longer seeing them on a regular basis was suddenly unsettling. I looked up to them, was in awe not only of their knowledge, but also of their desire to impart it.

The students also came to mind. I never felt out of place in any of my classes; in fact, students often wanted to know about me and why I was there. Many were involved with important causes such as the environment, health matters, feminism, justice at home and abroad. They were opinionated, alive, smart, full of energy and new ideas, and they tweaked my outlook on life.

I thought back to the lovely ladies in Student Accounts whom I looked forward to seeing at the beginning of every semester. Their eyes always lit up when they saw “the grey-haired lady” returning to sign up for more courses. They were genuinely proud of my endeavours and always cheered me on. As strange as it may sound, paying my fees was always the highlight of a new semester. 

Childhood memories surfaced as well. I recalled the time my mother had to hide the shoe polish on me because I was fastidious about being presentable at school. I would polish my shoes so much (liquid shoe polish being popular in those days) that the leather would never quite dry, and the skin on my feet would end up being the colour of my shoes. It took my mother quite some time to figure that one out. Of course, finally telling her the truth helped too. The bottom line was that I loved the whole process of getting ready for school. My mother said that when my brother and I came home from school, there was no telling where his books might land. I, on the other hand, took my books directly to my bedroom. Before even changing into my play clothes, they would be placed on my desk with paper and pencil positioned just so, ready to be picked up when the time came to do my homework.

The nuns appeared in my reminiscences. They had been my elementary school teachers. I remember them as being strict, but kind and loving as well. Having attended schools that were run by nuns, uniforms played a big role in my life. Like a knight wearing his suit of armour, my navy blue tunic and white blouse gave me passage into a world I simply loved: school, teachers, librarians, paper, pencils, projects, books – not to mention the sweet aroma of those books and the deep, rich and comforting smells of all that woody incense: oak floors, oak walls, oak desks, and large, polished oak parlour tables, as strong and as committed as the nuns themselves.

I suddenly realized that tears had come to my eyes and I hurried to wipe them away. I took a deep breath and smiled. Then I picked up my pencil and, with equanimity, made one big proud period. You should have seen it. The professor must have wondered what hit the page. It was about the size of a cherry pit. I coloured it in so that it looked nice and smooth and round. My ultimate period was a gorgeous period. The journey had ended. I looked up at the clock. It was 9:48 p.m. and I was, at long last – at the tender age of 70 – an Acadia University graduate.