My final biology grade freshman year of college was a solid “C-“. Calculus also kicked my butt (C baby, a whole half-letter grade above bio). And English? God, I love English but I still forget when a colon and semi-colon are appropriate – I use them, sometimes interchangeably,  and hope to god I’m correct. Art? I cannot express how much joy art brings me. I could try to write it down and attempt to put it in words, but that’d be impossible. How can you write emotions that extend beyond human comprehension? You can’t.

• 

“I’ll be at UWGB got elementary education”

Such confidence. 

“Wow,” It was all I could say. My high school friend, Emily, was telling me her plans after summer. She knew what she wanted. I didn’t. “So like, just little kids? No high school or beyond?”

“God no, too much Algebra.”

“Fair enough.”

“What about you?”

“Art.” I punctuate with silence and then, “I think. Illustration? I like drawing in my sketchbook.”

Emily commended me, supported my decision, applauded me for doing what I loved. But I hated it. I was a high school senior, not fully developed in any way (isn’t the age everyone throws around 25?) and you want me to pick out a career path I want for the rest of my life? I always thought that it was the dumbest ass expectation considering I know nothing, much less what I want to be until I retire. But I knew I wanted to pursue art. I wasn’t sure I was capable of freelancing like Dan Gerhartz, so illustration would have to do.

So I applied fir UW Eau Claire since they had an illustration major. I put in the down payments, signed up for housing, filled out forms, and attended orientation. I told everyone I knew and come full circle, Emily reaches out two or three weeks before dorm move-in.

“I know someone who needs a book illustrated. Nothing that would be on store shelves, but something to put under your belt and to build your resume.”

I said yes.

So I started on this book and I worked and did 12 illustrations, plus four more in case they wanted options. I spend so much time on this project… and I hated it. Oh my god I hated it so much how could someone do this? For hours? And not feel like their eyeballs were being pulls from their sockets. I had done this so many times before on my own time and for my own pleasure, but doing it for a client? Drawing something that wasn’t my desire in my sketchbook? It was different, so different, and I didn’t want to do it anymore. Certainly not for the rest of my life.

So, looking at the calendar I had two weeks before school started and approximately 2 seconds away from a crisis. In a last minute, mother-suggested effort, I applied to UWWC. Panic, panic, panic. Cancel UWEC enrollment. New applications. Panic. Acceptance. Less panic, but panic. Enroll in classes. Panic. First day of classes. Panic, because why not.

And then I was in Anna Moisiadias class. It was a digital design class my counselor suggested to fill the suggested 15 credits per semester and it focused on the adobe suite applications. I had never touched Photoshop before in my life, much less any of the other programs like illustrator and indesign but it was related to art so I was open to learning. Anna taught us all the programs; had us design collages, posters, tattoos, business cards, and logos. All these things required so much planning and effort and forced us to treat it like we had a client in need of a design. We couldn’t be late with a client so we can’t be late in the class.

And I noticed something. Even while being put to the grind, I was enjoying what I was doing. I wasn’t ditzing about in my little art world, I was being forced to create something according to the rules of another person like when I was illustrating. But, unlike the illustrating, I was enjoying it? I looked forward to it? It was a passion. It was also an answer.

“So just for reference, I like to know even if your just considering, Is anyone going into art?” Anna dropped the question one day before class when most of us were finishing up our final projects. A lot of us said yes and she follows up with, “What for?”

• 

I can finally answer what I’ve been asking since day one: “Graphic design.”

About thirty minutes north of Milwaukee, Grafton, Wisconsin was my home for twelve years. Living near the lake, Grafton is a meager town that holds a historical past that would surprise any out of towner. From summer parades, to Friday night football games, beautiful hiking trails, and even the annual Christmas parade, the prosperous community never fails to seek fun. New subdivisions are being built so more families can reside peacefully away from the robust, 414. On the other side of town, in a red, two story, multi family home is where I grew up. Up the concrete porch slab, and behind the grey and wood doors, was four rowdy kids and one stressed out, single mother. Eight years of screaming, crying, laughs, love and so much more were established in that home and will forever remain embedded into the popcorn, eggshell walls. 

Off from our kitchen, we had a bathroom. No shower, just a toilet, a sink, and dire blue tile flooring. Anytime I walked into the bathroom, I started counting the rubber ducks on the wallpaper just to make sure another one didn’t appear. Oddly enough, it was my favorite bathroom. I remember one time as I was counting the last duck, my sister shouted from the kitchen, “Cassie! What do you want to go to college for?” My seven year old mouth rambled three majors, while counting on my fingers, “I wanna be an author, an illustrator, and a vet!” I had no idea what college was when I was seven, I just knew it was school, and I loved school. Under her breath, my sister mentioned to my mom that “you’re gonna be paying a lot for college.” and that was the end of that conversation. Until I got to high school, things started to change. 

Author? No. Illustrator? Can’t draw. Veterinarian? I can’t do that to animals. So what do I do? I toggled majors in my head, not fully knowing what a major was until I became a junior in high school. Although I loved school, I didn’t know the difference between degrees, two and four year colleges, let alone what to expect about college. After graduating from middle school, my mom told me about the University of Wisconsin Washington County, which is a two year school. I loved Green Bay, and still do, and she talked about a transferring process to a four year school. I was still confused until I was about seventeen years old. Of the four kids, I’m the first to go to school and to get my degree. I didn’t know anything about college, I didn’t know what tuition really meant, how that got paid, nothing. After applying to Marquette University, I traveled off onto a different path than my original one from when I was fourteen and entering high school. 

Throughout high school, my friends would say things like “oh Cassie, you would be a great teacher” and their parents agreeing. Voted “most likely to return to GHS as a faculty member” is something I wish I could write on a resume, because they weren’t wrong, even if my major wasn’t education. I had talked about becoming a teacher for a long time, but I was only directed to a higher paid job, like dentistry. Lasting only three days at Marquette, I quickly reverted back to my original plan. 

University of Wisconsin Washington County, now UWM at WC has helped support my exponential growth into being not only the person I wanna be, but the future educator I can continue to grow and develop as. Not only do smaller class sizes help with one on one connection with professors and students, but the classes available to help first generation students become comfortable with to understand what the college level is like. Throughout my two years, I’ve been able to become comfortable with myself as I continue to meet new friends and professors, as well as work for my degree. Teaching is something I’ve wanted to do, and to feel the confidence from professors and counsellors as well as friends makes the time at UWM WC much more valuable and memorable. In high school, I felt as though I was trapped, and that becoming a teacher was the wrong thing to do. Until I moved my life to West Bend, and got a job down the road from school, have lifelong friends in the classroom over, and a school that respects and supports any student’s decision. 

Change hasn’t always been easy for me. But coming to West Bend, from the tiny town north of Milwaukee, changed me for the better. To see my own passion for teaching enhance and to go out and experience the teaching field itself by observation and participation. University of Wisconsin Milwaukee at Washington County has given me the confidence I need to become a better person and to be confident in who I am and who I want to be after my time is done here. 

By Alison Dewers

It almost felt freeing, ditching class. However, there was a bit of worry that nagged at the back of my brain. What if I missed something super important?

A huge ball of stress weighed on my shoulders as I thought about all the things that I needed to accomplish within the last couple of weeks of the semester. This was my first set of college finals I ever had to face, and I was very ill-prepared. I had a presentation to make, a few papers to write, and some tests to study for. I sat with my boyfriend Cody in the cafeteria, and we slowly ate lunch, procrastinating from doing all the things we needed to do for our classes. “I don’t want to go to English,” I groaned and tried to refrain myself from banging my head on the table. “I think we’re just peer editing our final papers today, and I don’t even have anything to peer edit!”

“Well then don’t go,” he shrugged casually. “Just work on your paper instead.”

I perked my head up. Wow. It felt so against my nature to ditch class. In high school, I was nearly a perfect student. I never called in, and I especially never ditched class. In college, I had considered ditching class many times, trust me, but never actually went through with it. After considering it for a bit, I took a deep breath and nodded. “You know what… that’s exactly what I’m gonna do,” I smiled at the thought of not having to sit through a long ramble from my English professor. “Plus, I turned the research proposal for this paper last class,” I shrug. “I think I’ll be just fine.”

Cody checked the time on his phone. “I should probably head to class now. I’ll see you after, alright? Have fun,” he gave me a mischievous smile. 

“Yeah, this is gonna be a total blast,” I rolled my eyes and waved him off. I then started writing my final paper. It almost felt freeing, ditching class. However, there was a bit of worry that nagged at the back of my brain. What if I missed something super important? What if I needed to turn something on that day? I quickly brushed those thoughts off as the stress of completing this seven-page paper on the decline of the Great Barrier Reef loomed over me. 

People slowly left the cafeteria as it was almost time for the 1:00 PM classes to start. Soon, I was the only person in the room, working alone on the beast of a paper in front of me. For an hour, I hacked away at the paper, accomplishing a tiny amount. I sighed internally. I’m never going to get this paper done. 

The next week rolled around, and I decided to pull my focus onto working on things I needed to get done for other classes. I didn’t even touch the English paper. I had gotten intel that during the final week of classes that my professor was just going to use class time to let people work on their papers and to peer edit them more. I decided not to go to both classes that week. Why go to class when I can just work on it in the peace and quiet of the hallway next to the cafeteria? 

Time was quickly dwindling down. I had about half my paper done and a couple more days to finish it. I put in hours of work to finish it, but I eventually did it. It was very late the night before it was due, but I made sure to reread it over and over again just to make sure it was perfect.

The day to turn in the paper had approached. This paper was the last final I had to turn in. All I needed to do was go to my professor’s office and turn in my paper, and my first semester of college was done. My confidence was at an all-time high, and I was ready to get this semester done. I determinedly walked up to his office, ready to turn in my paper. 

My professor’s eyes widened when he saw me approach his office. “Alison! I thought you dropped out of my class!” he exclaimed. I laughed at that, thinking it was a joke. It had to be, right? “No seriously,” he looked me dead in the eye. All the confidence that I had felt moments before completely shattered. The dim, cluttered office seemed to close around me. My professor went on to explain that since I had skipped the last three classes without notifying him; he thought I had completely dropped the class. He also went on to tell me that the research proposal I turned in, the one that I felt so sure about, wasn’t graded. “Why would I grade a student’s paper if I thought they dropped!” he crossed his arms. “It would be a huge waste of time!”

Pure panic settled in my chest. We only had four other assignments in the class! If I got a zero on that report, my grade was totally shot! I wanted to say something, but no words came out of my mouth. I have completely messed up. “I’ll tell you what. You did turn this proposal on time, so I will grade it,” my professor started to say.

“Thank yo-!” I started, but he quickly cut me off.

“But it will have to be right here, right now,” he finished. My heart sunk. I absolutely hate watching people judge my writing in front of me, and I then became completely on edge. I had to sit and watch my professor grade my assignment in front of my eyes. I felt small as he was determining my grade in front of me. I silently willed the piles of books in his office to just topple over me to make this misery end. 

“Okay,” he proclaimed when he was done. He then extensively talked me through what I did right and wrong throughout the proposal. Nervous butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I anxiously waited for him to tell my grade. “You got a B,” he finally announced. Relief flooded through my system.

“Thank you so much!” I exclaimed. He finally let me turn in my final paper, and that was it. I was done for the semester!

“Next time, come to class,” my professor gives me a smile. “Or at least notify your professor.”

“Absolutely,” I nod vigorously. I know I got off lucky that time. Never again will I ditch class.