Whelp, I survived.

It wasn't even all that scary. Sure, at times the halls and public places can get a little on the crowded side, I'm still trying to find my places (not classrooms, I know where theses are), and at times find myself asking what the hell I was even thinking.

But I'm not scared.

Twenty-five years ago, in the nineteen hundered and nineties, at Fleming we didn't have as much (that is to say any) online components. Now, each class has a webportal with all the lecture notes and lab assinments. We have a school email account that we are expected to check daily. We even have online, synchronous lectures.

Now, I don't know if it's because I'm an old, grumpy, set-in-my-ways fart, but I shake my head at some of my new colleauges. Showing up half an hour late to classes, not completing the assigned readings, generally being so very, very... young. (Why can't they be older?). Maybe it's just a case of First Week Jitters. Maybe it's just the most recent evidance of the decline of modern society. I don't know. It'll be interesting to see how things progress.

Here's a hot tip for anyone thinking of going back to school: Treat it like a job. Most days I don't have class until the afternoon, but I'm physically on campus by 8:45. I setup my mini-workstation in a little nook with the charming name of E1003 (I think), drink my coffee, review my notes, and read ahead.

The campus is like it's own little city. Not a surprising observation, but still valid. (I read somewhere recently, probably in an email, that 20,000 people access the college every week.) This morning I watched (future) nurses walking to class, saw (future) police wearing their grey t-shirts, and (future) whatevers doing whatever it is they were doing. Sitting in my nook I can hear several different languages being spoken; see many different styles of dress; smell oh so many types of food (someone has ginger and garlic and it's amazing). One thing is for certain: I'm not in Irondale anymore.

One of the hardest things I've noticed is resisting the urge to be a facilitator. Eveything doesn't have to be a Teachable Moment. Running seminars on How to Open Doors isn't a thing (even though my experiences last Friday showed that maybe we should have one). There is no need review proper procedures on what to do if you hear an air-raid siren.

(Because people will ask: How to Open Doors. Last Friday my lab was held in what could be best described as a 'secure classroom'. Access is controled by a smartcard (also known as my student card). Next to the door is black box with a red light. Tap the card, light turns green, and the door unlocks. Sounds pretty easy, eh? (I had it all figuared out in about ten seconds, with eight of those being getting my card out of my wallet). I got the door open. Five or six of my colleauges got it open. But the rest? Not so much. Eventually I opened the door, mentioned the magic door opening box, and whent about my day. Evil Facilator Joe would have closed the door and made them do it themselves. I don't think the future IT professionals are quite ready for that... yet.)

One more thing: I'm not the oldest in all my classes. Sure, I'm older than some of my instructors (one introduced himself by saying he first graduated from Fanshawe in the early '90s... from the Day Care), and virtually all my classmates. Key word: 'virtually'. There is at least one other guy there who's even older than I am. I've only seen 'em in a couple of classes (MS Applications and Operating Systems) but he's there.

Okay, I lied, I had one more one more thing: I'm an Old Soul. The other day I was sitting in my nook and overheard some students talking. One said that she was an Old Soul. Her friend looked to her asked how old she was. "I'll be eighteen in a couple of weeks." Ya... Anyhow, her friend smiled and said something about being much older; they were an ancient twenty-four years old.