One of the kids gave me a strong shove and I fell hitting my knee on the edge of a footprint. I limped home without any idea how completely my life had been changed.
The house I grew up in had a back yard that butted up to a fallow pasture. The entire block butted up against this pasture and the kids felt a proprietary kinship playing there.
During Christmas break of sixth grade I had had pneumonia and was very happy to be recovered and playing outside with my neighborhood friends. We had had a late snow followed by sleet, so the field was covered by a thick blanket of snow topped with a layer of ice. Some of us were trying to skate and slide around while others were pushing each other to make footprints in the ice. One of the kids gave me a strong shove and I fell hitting my knee on the edge of a footprint. I limped home without any idea how completely my life had been changed.
Between sixth and eighth grade I dislocated each knee multiple times. Different orthopedist made different diagnosis and recommended different treatments. From radical surgeries transplanting muscles to hold my knees together to conservative courses of physical therapy. My father used two leather belts to tie together books which he then tied to the blades of my ice skates. Sitting on the kitchen counter I would do sets of eight leg lifts, slowly to prevent the swinging books from damaging the kitchen cabinet.
One day mom showed up at high school to pick me up. My sister was already in the car. She had something to show us. We drove to Ridgewood and visited a bi-level house that was called a fixer upper. We were moving so I could walk from school to the hospital for physical therapy three days a week.
Our new junior high school was through grade nine. We were leaving a small high school where I had been a member of the marching band. I was not a happy transfer going back to junior high in January 1976.
My sister and I walked to our new Junior High School and three days a week I walked to Valley Hospital for physical therapy. My sister and I transferred our Girl Scout membership and settled into our new troop. We also found our places in the junior high school concert band.
I was mature for my age and also shy & awkward. I was invited to serve on the American Girl Magazine’s editorial advisory board with three other girls from our troop, so once a month I got dressed up, left school early and commuted to the upper east side offices of Girl Scouts USA. My classmates thought I was a narcotics officer planted in their class.
I still dislocated my knee a few more times and was removed from physical education per doctor’s orders. Actually, the doctor and the previous administration trusted me to be responsible and sit out activities that I couldn’t do, but this new school was much bigger and didn’t know me from Eve, so that was not an option. By the time I got to high school I was able to convince my guidance counselor to let me take the social dance and archery rotations to satisfy the state graduation requirements.
My sister and I were awarded The Gold Award and feted by a reception in Trenton with all of the NJ Girl Scout Gold Award recipients. She had found a troop that canoed, kayaked and hiked. I had found a troop that attended live theater on and off broadway.
When I started college, everyone told me to beware the freshman ten. Unlike my high school classmates who moved to dorms and bought meal plans, I commuted to Manhattan by bus every day. Starting with a one mile walk from home to the bus, 15 blocks from the Port Authority bus terminal to F.I.T. and lots of stairs as I moved through the vertical campus. I was toned, trim and confident that this healthy lifestyle would keep me safe from further knee trouble.
Until I trusted Elise when she said she could teach me how to drive a dirt bike. Her father’s property in Walton, NY was too big to walk. She wanted to ride the trails and show me the property. I was nervous, but trusted Elise and her parents. I was wrong. I lost control. I drove the bike into her car. The biked bounced and smashed my knee between it and the car. I never did get to see the property.
My knee swole up bigger than a melon. It was only July but I needed to be able to walk if I wanted to return to campus for my Senior year. Once the swelling was down I started to move around on crutches with a knee brace. It was a modern marvel with Velcro instead of buckles.
By September I was able to walk without crutches and returned to campus. By October the orthopedist, my parents and I agreed that I had evaded surgery long enough. Instead of railroad track scars they could do arthroscopic surgery which is minimally invasive and I could expect to return to class within a week. Surgery was scheduled for the Friday before midterm exams. I was granted permission to complete all of my exams early so I could take midterm week to recover from surgery and return to class without missing any class time.
Surgery went badly. The repeated injuries had caused extensive damage. Nothing went to plan and I didn’t return to school until February.
Almost all of my professors agreed to give me incomplete grades for the fall semester and permitted me to attend lectures during the spring semester to complete the missed work. One lone professor made me redo the entire semester. I was determined to graduate on time. I commuted, completed the double load of coursework, and walked with my classmates on graduation day at Radio City Music Hall.
In retrospect, if I had known I would want to go to graduate school, might I have considered spending one more semester at college so that I could have earned a better GPA? I don’t know.
At the time, was I driven to graduate with my class and begin the career of my dreams as fast as possible? Absolutely!
Am I a better student now than I was in high school or college? Indubitably! As my Praxis scores and Alternate Route to a Teaching transcript reflect, I love learning and relish deep learning. One of the most valuable lessons I have learned as a teacher is that every student has their strength if we have the vision to recognize it.
Sadly, when I contacted the universities that offer economics and education policy programs the universal response was that as a 1984 graduate of FIT with a less than stellar GPA I should set my sights lower.
Wait, what? The people who profess the value of life long learning were judging me on 35 year old data? They couldn’t imagine that I might be exactly the right candidate for this area of study? Even the local State University department head suggested I try something less rigorous.