University of St. Thomas

Laura Stierman, Class of 2007

Imagine a youthful world, filled with innocence, hope, and a joi de vive that the young possess in great quantity. Now imagine a mature world, filled with responsibility, reality and a tenacity for life that adult women possess in great quantity. When these two worlds collide, as they did for me when I entered the prestigious halls of the University of St. Thomas, something wonderful happened. I discovered the beauty of innocence buried deep within responsibility, hope abiding in the reality of life, and a tenacious joi de vive that propelled me to attend classes, find my voice, and engage in coversation with confidence.

Being a woman on a campus, and an older woman at that, I found myself in the interesting position of being both an authority figure and student, with the lines often blurred between the two. It proves to be quite advantageous. On one occasion, early in my academic career, some fellow students and I were waiting impatiently to get into our computer lab; we all had last minute revisions to make on a paper, and the lab had printers available. Something had to be done. I walked into the nearest office and announced to the administrative assistant, "My classroom door is locked. May I borrow a key?" She promptly handed over the master key, and I let myself and my fellow students into the lab, then gratefully returned the key. We madly made our last minute revisions, printed quickly, and turned in the ‘perfect’ paper just in time. There are advantages to looking my age. I also realized then – at that very moment – that I could actually be a professor. It had nothing to do with the situation at hand, but the fact that someone mistook me for a learned, confident woman made me realize that I was a learned and confident woman, not just some frumpy housewife with a husband and six children who wanted to attend college. I think it is the small moments that allow us to discover more about ourselves that we ever thought possible.

It is also the small moments that allow us to see what is not possible. I am a parent on campus, different from ninety-nine percent of the population. I do not wear low-rider jeans, I do not spend hours on my hair/makeup, I do not need a Tommie Taxi voucher to get me home from the local watering hole, and I attend class regularly. I do not text from my cell phone, I do not own an iPod, I cannot play Guitar Hero, and I am only vaguely aware of what an avatar is. It is simply not possible to for me to have the undergraduate experience my children have. And for that I am quite thankful, actually.

Not only was my experience different from that of my young counterparts, it was also different than that of some of my ‘partners in crime;’ women like me who are attempting to juggle family life with academic life, with actually having a life. That was eye-opening, and in not so much in a wonderful I-love-it-here kind of way. There are people in authoritative places who are rigid in their thinking, leaving no option for a woman to find her voice. There are those who are self-righteous in their demeanor and classroom style, leaving no option for the adult woman to speak her voice. There are those who are condescending, leaving no option for the student mother to have a voice, once she’s uncovered its power. There are even those who believe that a woman’s place is in the home, leaving no option for a woman to speak at all. Oppression comes in many forms, takes many shapes, and comes in a kaleidoscope of colors.

The most dangerous place for it to occur is here in the halls of academia, where it is our conviction to provide an ‘education needed for complete human development’ and where it is our mission to ‘give a student a foundation for clear thinking and expression; a sufficient understanding to read intelligently in fields with which an educated person ought to be acquainted.’ Complete human development and providing a foundation for clear thinking and expression simply cannot be obtained when women are not allowed to speak their voice. It is the small moment of sitting in a classroom, feeling unable to speak an opinion, that academic freedom is lost. And lost in its essence – in the person herself, not its attributes – her work. That is the true tragedy in the loss of academic freedom.

However, the University does have in its core, a challenge: Challenge Yourself and Change Our World. This motto is a mirror image, however, for it is also a challenge to change the world at UST. Perhaps challenge and change are convertible terms: when one is challenged she is changed, and when changed she is challenged. Both opportunities, I think, come in the form of respectful conservations. I hope the University continues to listen to its students, as the faculty, staff and student body has done with me. I rarely felt my opinion was delegated to some ‘one-touch circular file’ without a second thought. I found my voice as an adult learner, and used it frequently. When I spoke with respect, most often I received respect in turn. I must admit, I did challenge myself and hopefully, in some small way, change the perception of the wife-and-mother turned academic-student here on campus.

In return, then, I guess that means I should learn how to play Guitar Hero, or figure out how to load music onto an iPod. I have heard that Guitar Hero is a great aerobic exercise and that I can load only songs I actually like onto an iPod. Engaging in worthwhile conversation does indeed necessitate finding a common ground. Hmmmm, me using an iPod and playing Guitar Hero. Imagine that.