So begins another semester at Wayne State University. As usual, it was delightful to be waiting in a snaking line throughout Marwil’s to pay for a stack of photocopies. With my Bachelors and a Master’s behind me, I am now taking classes for the fun of it. The problem is that the majority of my undergraduate classmates are now a good 8 years younger than me and may very well be almost 10 years younger. It has happened: I have become the strange old person in the class. I remember trying to come up with logical reasons for the presence of these people in my undergraduate classes. They stemmed anywhere from “they are brave and finishing a degree at an advanced age” to “they must be in their 7th year in undergrad”. Either way, at 17, 25 seems ancient. Old at the age of 25. Depressing.