A Christmas ode to college registration time
'Twas the night before Second Semester Registration Day and all through the dorms every freshman was stirring and setting their alarms.
Class listings were posted on desks with studious care in hopes that when the 6 a.m. window opened a space might still be there.
Upperclassmen dreamt happily, their courses all set, while their fresh young counterparts' dreams filled with fret.
Come 5:55 blaring wake-ups swept through the halls and half conscious first years leapt to their laptops as though into a brawl.
Hurriedly they logged on to their college accounts, dashed to term two and scanned class limit amounts.
Once the courses had been dealt, the teenagers returned to their bunks, some in euphoria and some in a funk.
Come the next morning battle stories were swapped as freshman related their successes or confessed that they flopped.
Horrific narratives were spun that are dreadful to relate but their awful ends must be told though their sadness shan't abate:
There were six a.m. logins that amounted to naught when wireless connections failed though with co-axial cables and wall plug-ins they fought;
There were pre-med majors whose plans were upset when with maxed out science labs their browsers were met;
(Thankfully I have a most glorious roommate who quelled my bemoaning and bettered my own fate)
But the saddest and most disastrous tale of them all concerns a young lad whose plans were put in the worst sort of stall.
When entrance into a specific class he was denied he fled to the professor and although he tried...
He could not gain the pivotal thumbs-up for admittance and so his advisor suggested he bid his whole major good riddance!
As we huddled together and mumbled support we tried to think of ways in which our miseries we could thwart.
Alas there were none, we discovered in sorrow, so we crawled through the day in hopes of a better tomorrow.
A freshman's whole future is held in registration -- 'tis not feeling you should attempt with emulation.
And then there are those of us who go through it not once but twice when as transfer students we seek to roll a new pair of dice.
Yes, dear reader, you interpret my rhyme correctly: from Concordia to Hamline I will travel come January.
Cobberville, I have found, is not the place for me and so I will move down to the capital Twin City.
Oftentimes events don't come about as we intend and, it seems to me, when that occurs we must work to achieve our own end.
So I make another move -- that's plenty for one year -- and cross my fingers and clutch my rabbit foot near
And hope that those forces which watch over freshmen will follow me down south and allow me some contentment.
College like life houses plenty of struggles but, I believe, if we stop with our grumbles
And change those things which are within our power, accepting those which are unchangeable though dour,
We can find happiness whatever the season, even when events like registration give us seeming little reason.
I'll leave my poem off with a quick thank you to those who each week read my column -- which is usually in prose --
And follow my exploits be they far or near and even when my verses don't rhyme very well.
Happy Registration Day to all, be you at Concordia, Hamline or Cornell!