Confessions of a spring fever victim (04/23/08)

Ordinarily, I'd say spring fever's a pretty harmless phenomenon.

But when I looked at the paper one recent Saturday morning after a particularly sunny and springlike Friday afternoon, I began to wonder.

That particular day, there were no fewer than five traffic accidents in Jay County. And in every case, it seemed, one of the drivers said he or she pulled up to a stop sign, looked, then pulled forward into the path of oncoming traffic.

Their brains were elsewhere, maybe working in the garden or trying to get a suntan.

Then I remembered my own nearly-fatal case.

It didn't really cost me my health, but it damaged my grade point average, and it's probably the reason I didn't graduate from college with honors.

It was spring of my freshman year, and in my memory every day was perfect.

Certainly the weather was good enough that a class at 3 p.m. when the sun was shining wasn't especially inviting.

What the heck, I figured, that class will get along without me. I've done the homework, and I can catch up later.

Trouble is, the professor noticed.

And she wasn't happy.

(Years later, when I taught journalism as an adjunct faculty member, I understood completely. When you've gone to the trouble of preparing a lesson, it's mighty insulting when students don't bother to show up to soak up the feast of knowledge you've prepared.)

My professor wasn't amused.

It was a French class, and my French was pretty good thanks to Marguerite VanDyke at old P.H.S. In fact, it was good enough that the class dragged on in slow-motion.

Cutting class was probably inevitable, given the state of development of my pre-frontal cortex at that age.

But that's no excuse.

At least it wasn't to my French professor.

As the term wore on, she developed a habit.

If I was in attendance, class ran as it usually did. But if I was, say, tossing a Frisbee somewhere out on the lawn, something else happened: A pop quiz.

And just before one of those Jack-is-tossing-a-Frisbee pop quizzes, the professor also announced that these quizzes would count toward a third of the grade in the class.

Had I learned that, I might have reformed my ways.

But completely clueless, caught up in a world-class case of spring fever, I kept goofing around on my derelict path.

After all, I knew I'd aced the mid-term exam. And I felt confident about the final as well.

The C that was recorded in my transcript was a little like those smacks to the forehead in the V-8 commercials.

And the lesson lingered on.

A few years later, heading toward graduation, I was a significantly better student. I'd passed my comprehensive exams with honors and had received honors on my senior thesis as well; both were required for graduation in my major at the time.

So I was a little surprised to learn that I wouldn't be graduating with any special distinction.

Then a friendly member of the English faculty pulled me aside. There'd been some significant debate on the topic, he informed me. My grades were good enough in my major, but there was something else that did me in.

Think back, he urged me, to spring of your freshman year.

And then it struck me, the French professor I'd offended with my spring fever class-cutting was the wife of the chairman of my departmental major.

So, enjoy the spring by all means, but don't let it affect your studies or your work.

And, by all means, look both ways at every intersection. Better yet, look twice.[[In-content Ad]]