Since I’d been playing piano and guitar since I was a small lad, I passed the proficiencies, no sweat.
The private voice lessons were tougher. Though I’d been in choirs forever, there was apparently much technique I still didn’t know, and the professor insisted I master classical pieces before modern ones.
Some days frustrated me nearly to tears.
But the classes for my major weren’t a problem.
It was the rest, the general education crap.
Though I tried to pick the easiest choices in the catalog, I was still surprised by the amount of work presented. Many dead trees were sacrificed in the name of higher education.
Faced with having fun or spending the weekend stooped over a desk, I probably chose fun a few times too many, but what else would an eighteen-year-old bloke do out on his own?
A bar band, a beer, and a pretty girl on my arm made for good distraction.
Still, a voice in the back of my head that sounded an awful lot like Beth kept nudging me back to study, to press on. She’d never let me hear the end of it if I flunked out first year.
As always, she was my conscience, the good little angel on my shoulder.