Posted on 12/13/2009 5:41:39 PM PST by franksolich
It was the late afternoon of December 16, the year I was nineteen, and a junior at the University of Nebraska; the week of final examinations for the semester, and I had just one remaining, in Spanish, for 10:00 a.m. the following day.
It was snowing greatly that day, in Lincoln, and in the rest of Nebraska, silver-dollar sized flakes drifting down, covering the ground to several inches, and causing the trees to sag from the weight.
I had just gotten done eating supper with classmates, who were all agog and excited about going home for Christmas. I had my own plans, to go to my grandmother's home in northeastern Pennsylvania. The deadline was getting close for reservations with an airline, but I figured I would deal with it after dealing with Spanish.
Returning to my room, I looked with foreboding at the Spanish exercises. There seemed no way I was going to pass the course, a requirement for a degree, but as the University of Nebraska had made some, uh, exceptions already for my being deaf, I had never bothered asking for another one. One can after all ask too many favors.
(Excerpt) Read more at conservativecave.com ...
Ping for the list.
thanks Frank
Thanks for sharing this. I try to help truckers on the roads when they need to change lanes or whatever.
Bump for bookmark & later read
Great stuff once again frank!
I enjoyed your story. Thank you for posting this.
With gr grandparents that homesteaded in the sandhills of Nebraska, and of course being very familiar with the state, this was very much of interest to me.
Thanks.
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