I had no idea what I wanted to be or what I wanted to do or what I wanted to learn. I did know I wanted to get a diploma and have a good time. I was kind of bummed to learn that you couldn't major in diagramming sentences. They gave us aptitude tests and through that I learned that I was good at math (which later came with a big caveat) and writing.
The math thing really appealed because there were way more men than women in the math classes. I mean way more. And it was kind of easy for me so no real studying needed so more bridge playing accomplished.
BUT, turns out, the math degree required science. Ooops. Problem. I was a whiz at working with abstract numbers. Give me a formula and I'm all over that baby. But start with that 'a train leaves the station' shit and I'm DOA. Physics and chemistry and biology both bored and puzzled me. I had no idea what the instructors were saying and really didn't care.
So writing. The head of the English department was not so impressed with me. And finally decided that I was not worthy of majoring in English. The bitch. So..... I fell into journalism more by default than anything else. It was a very very small department. Journalists did not have great reputations (this was before Woodward and Bernstein and investigative journalism) so no one wanted to be one. There were, again, more men than women so I stood out but, this time, in a good way.
And there was no science. Plus you got to work on the radio station. Lots to like here.
I eeked by in my other courses and did great in all the journalism classes and labs so the average saved my sorry ass.
But the dynamic of everything was rapidly changing. My first two years of college - September 1967 through May 1968 - were in one century and my the next two years were in a completely different time with different rules and different mores. At least that's what it felt like then and still feels that way looking back.
To Be Continued