I remember when I discovered I could write.
In college at Villanova, I didn’t bring much enthusiasm to my coursework. Basketball? Yes. Classes? Not so much, especially any not related to my computer science major.
My freshman year humanities class, taught by a middle aged priest with penchants for smoking cigarettes and chasing away squirrels, covered several standard classics. I recall Plato’s Cave and Shakespeare’s Othello.
This professor had a reputation for tough grades. Word filtered to my classmates and I that no one ever scored better than a B on the first assignment or two, and that an A was the rarest achievement at any point during his classes.