By Heather Lee Schroeder, Faculty Advisor
On a recent Friday, I brought my 11-year-old son to work with me because my husband, who normally works from home, had an in-person meeting to attend. Since my son is enrolled in an online academy, I set him up to complete his synchronous class meetings in an empty classroom on the third floor of McWherter while I met with the Imaginary Gardens staff. Every so often, I checked in on him to make sure he was doing OK.
His responses ranged from “These desks hurt my butt” (yes, my dude, they are terrible) to “I told my teacher and classmates that I’m attending college today” – the usual stuff for an 11-year-old boy. We got ready to leave when my meeting ended and his homework completion period started, but first, I had to run over to the campus bookstore to pick up an order.
“Let’s explore!” he said, which, given who he is, wasn’t too surprising, but, what happened next did amaze me.
I spend a lot of time on the Hardin Valley campus, and, in early March, the drab gray and browns of the landscape combine with the mid-semester slump, making me unlikely to feel a sense of wonder about anything, let alone a campus I know all too well. The same could not be said for my son, who, with his backpack on and standing at five-feet tall, could be mistaken for a small college student.
As we walked down the stairs in McWherter, he didn’t seem to notice the tired paint on the walls or the curling posters. Instead, he asked about the engineering department. I told him about the lab classes and how students have the opportunity to complete hands-on engineering work.
“That’s going to be me,” he said with certainty. “You know, when I come here. I’m going to take engineering classes and get to do those projects.”
I stopped and looked at him. “You want to attend Pellissippi State?” I asked.
It’s a foregone conclusion that he will attend college, but honestly, we haven’t talked much about where that might happen. Sometimes he speaks longingly about my alma mater, University of Wisconsin-Madison, and I’m always suggesting he think about an HBCU since he’s a biracial Black kid. However, we’ve never really talked about what college might look like for him.
“Of course,” he said. “It’s a great school. I’d be proud to graduate from here.”
Although I think Pellissippi State is the best deal in town and I’m a diehard cheerleader for two-year colleges, I confess that I was surprised, mainly because I often find myself defending the community college experience to people I meet. Of course, many students argue that Pellissippi State is just a stopgap until they get to attend their “real” college, so I was taken aback by my son’s enthusiasm, although it was unexpected and delightful.
I think Pellissippi State is the best deal in town and I’m a diehard cheerleader for two-year colleges…
As we walked across the campus quad, he said, “It feels like a real college here. I’ll bet people hang out on the lawn and stuff—play Minecraft or kick a soccer ball.”
I hated to break it to him that most college students leave Minecraft behind, but I could confidently affirm that, yes, on sunny, warm days, students do hang out on the lawn and socialize. He nodded as if that was the most obvious statement ever.
We entered the Goins Building, and, although he had been on campus before, he didn’t realize we have a cafeteria.
“Sick,” he pronounced. “I’ll bet students eat here every day with their friends!”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him that a lot of students probably don’t even realize we have a cafeteria, but, suddenly, the darkened and empty space took on a new luster. In fact, he’s correct. It is pretty amazing that we serve food on campus.
We popped out into the rotunda area in the Goins Building.
“Whoooooaaaaa,” he said. “This is amazing. Let’s go up the stairs so I can see what’s up there.”
We stopped in at the bookstore to pick up my order. The bookstore clerk knew who I was and hurried to help me. When we left, my son noted with appreciation that as a professor, I’m somebody special on campus. (I didn’t tell him that the bookstore staff treats everyone that way.)
He asked again if we could walk up the stairs in the rotunda. He was vibrating with excitement, and honestly, who can say no to a kid with that much enthusiasm? Not me, clearly. We climbed the stairs and he stood looking out at the space below us.
“This building is trippin’,” he said, bestowing the highest compliment he knows on a space that I often find echoey and disheveled. I looked around and saw the space through his eyes. Instead of glossing over what I take for granted, I noted the grandeur of the rotunda area—the lofty ceiling, the graceful lines of the balcony area framing the circle of a space that connects key college services. Yes, I thought, the building is pretty great.
“What’s down that hallway?” my son asked, interrupting my reverie. He was pointing to the administrative wing of the building.
“Come on,” I said, getting into the mood. “I’ll show you.”
We wandered down the hallway, and he looked down at the flags lining the hallway beneath us.
“Those flags represent our academic departments,” I said when I noted his interest. “It’s kind of like the houses in Harry Potter.”
“Is the English Department like Slytherin,” he joked.
“Hey!” I said, and we laughed as we strolled past the many doorways that lead to the administrative heart of the campus.
“The college president is down this hallway,” I said, pointing in the direction of Dr. Wise’s office.
“Maybe we’ll run into him,” my son said. “Do you think it’ll help me get accepted to the college someday if he knows me?”
I explained how we’re an open-access college, meaning we accept all students who apply in an effort to make education possible for anyone who wants it. He nodded in appreciation. “I like that,” he said. I do too, I realized. In fact, educational access happens to be one of my dearest-held values and plays into why I think community colleges are vital to the American educational experience.
We were walking past the Alexander building now. The weather was sunny and fine, and my son breathed in the air.
“Yeah,” he said, “someday this’s going to be my college. I can’t wait.”
I looked around, and the college quad looked less drab. In fact, through his eyes, Pellissippi State looked pretty gorgeous.
On the drive home, my son was buried in a book, and I was thinking about how we all probably take the Pellissippi experience for granted. We have beautiful campuses—each one vibrantly different from the other—and, on any given day, if you were to ask me about my students, I would tell you that I have the best on campus in my classes.
My son’s wonder and excitement served as a good reminder that we are lucky at Pellissippi State.
Our community ties run deep. Our professors care about individual students and their wellbeing. Our staff goes out of their way to help students succeed, and our student body truly reflects the fabric of Knoxville and surrounding communities. Sometimes all it takes is a reminder that what we have in our campus community is extraordinary—”sick,” as my son might say.
