I am always only a number.
I came to this realization on my way to work today. I’ve experienced what it’s like on both sides of the fence when it comes to numbers. In high school, I was a number and, after the first few weeks of school, a name. In Etown, I was a name. At Grossmont, I am a number.
There’s something about anonymity that makes me feel safer, though. Teachers don’t pay too close of attention, so I can get away with slacking off a little bit. Back in Etown, if I missed an assignment, everyone knew. If I failed a test, everyone knew. If I got an A paper, everyone knew. Do you see a pattern here? But, still, it was nice to be a name and a face and a person instead of just a number. I wasn’t just a list of credentials on a piece of paper. I was a person—a student.
I’m out of Etown now, and I’m in California. If I stay here, no matter what happens, I’m going to be a number at some college. CSU’s are too big, and small private schools might not accept me as a student. So I’m going to be a number if I stay here for college.
That’s college, but what about life after college? Well, that’s simple enough. I’m still a number. I have been since birth. I put it on all my work applications, college applications, and everything else of any official matter. And I have to pay to keep my numerical identification.
My social security number.
No matter what I do, who I am, or where I’ve been, I will always be a number assigned to me by the government at birth.
Therefore, I am always only a number.
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