Dropping out of high school was one the easiest things I ever did. There are decisions in life that you dwell over, that you sit and think all day long about until your racked brain still refuses to come to a conclusion. Not the case with me. In fact, I remember being in third grade and having someone tell me you can drop out of school at sixteen. “I’m going to do that!” I had said, full of excitement and hope. I wouldn’t have to live the nightmare of school forever and I would be free to pursue my own dreams; dreams of sleeping in late and playing video games all day. That was the life I wanted.
I humored my loved ones for a few months my first year of high school, testing the waters and seeing what this new world had to offer. I was, in all cases, disappointed. I first knew there was trouble when I found out all my friends from my previous school had gone to other places, leaving me almost alone to this terrible world. With the exception of one very good and smart professor of history, my teachers were, in the best of words, imbeciles. It was hard to learn from someone I didn’t respect and to learn with others who I respected even less. The other students were fools; shallow and too into their selves to be worth my time (I, of course, was obviously into myself). Not that I was much worth of a student, I barely passed my classes and I was a geek to the point that geeks wouldn’t hang out with me. High school was a time of being alone and being ready to leave at a moment’s notice.
Trouble loomed when I began skipping school; for a day or a week at a time. For a while, I could get away with it. I would go to the library, the one place no one would come looking for me, and read until school was over. After a time, my family started to fight back, driving me to school instead of the bus. I would get out of the car, walk into the building, watch my mother drive away, and leave school soon after. There was no stopping me. In a battle like this, the victor was going to be the one who cared the most, who had the passion for victory. I wanted to be out of school more than they wanted me in.
I said at the beginning that dropping out had been the easiest thing I ever did. All the things I did to do accomplish this; skipping, lying, hiding, they were all easy to do. Walking in to the building at sixteen, signing the papers, and declaring my leave from high school was simple and rather anti-climatic after years of dreaming. The hard part was lying in my room, listening to my mother cry. I remember her talking to my grandmother, her words fighting through the sobs. I tried to ignore it, to shut myself out of the moment and focus on my victory. But, even under my pillow, I could still hear her. Her fears of my future, the pain I had caused her. It bothered me then and it bothers me now to remember. I had won, but the victory was not as enjoyable as I thought.
Winning meant I had my reward. I stayed at home while others went to work or school. My days consisted of video games and movies, of staying up and sleeping in late. I beat all my games, read all my comics, and watched all my shows. I saw my friends less and less, and my family grew to accept me waking up at dinner and going to bed around lunch.
My victory cost me purpose and meaning. My life was now just a day to day routine of superfluous entertainment and microwavable dinners. When I moved out, got my own apartment and had a steady job making pizza, my life still lacked anything worth working for. I would wake up and wonder what I was doing. I was working to work, eating to eat, and living just because it was something I was supposed to do. Dropping out of school had been what I wanted, but it forced me into a corner of life with few chances and very small opportunities.
God, however, loves to work with few chances. After my life had really hit rock bottom, God introduced me to a Christian college that would accept me, even with my G.E.D. Looking at few choices, I applied, hoping for direction of any sort. Arriving at school, I feared I would repeat my old habits, skipping class and running away from my problems.
College, as everyone had promised, was a different beast than high school. All the issues I had had before were gone; the teachers loved what they taught, the students wanted to learn, and I found I could relate to them as friends. It was a strange thing to see happen to me, to watch me fall in love with school.
It’s been eight years since I dropped out of highs school and it’s now my fourth year of college with one to go. Irony and grace abound in the situation. I’ll have spent as much time in college as I did out of school. God’s humor is rather funny when you stop and get the joke. But, his grace is more than deserved. I know the chances I had, the statistics that said I would be flipping burgers and cleaning toilets all my life. I have been in those worlds, working as a janitor and a fast food employee. These should have been my life after my decision, but God took my biggest failure and worked it into something else. My life should be defined by its failure, but it’s now a great testimony to God’s work. The tears my mother had can still be seen in my mind, but I hope they have been long been wiped away by the present course. I am ashamed to say I took the lazy way out of school and I’m embarrassed when I have to explain why I’m older than the other students at my college. But, I am never ashamed to share how I made it off the path I had set and was brought to a better, more hopeful road laid out for me by a wise God.
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