When I graduated, I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to leave. ISB had been my home, my world, my tribe. I wanted to stay there forever.
I even used to joke — half-joke, really — about having my body taxidermied when I died and placed by the old jukebox in the student center. Like that country song says, “Prop me up beside the jukebox when I die.”
In my head, I saw myself as this taxidermied corpse, or better yet, a mannequin that looked just like me — wearing shades and holding an empty Big Slam Mountain Dew bottle. Morbid? Maybe. But at the time, it was my way of saying, I never want to leave this place.
I kept praying and dreaming that the school would call me up: “Hey Jeremy, we made a mistake. You’re three credits short. We gave you your diploma by accident.” And I’d get to go back. But it never happened.
After graduation, I hated having nothing to do. I felt like my life was over.
By this time, my family had been living at Lake Freeman for four years, and I loved it there. The water, the quiet, the space — it felt like a different world. I even had my own little workshop where I could take apart old tech and tinker with it.
I remember once asking Grandma if I could take apart her old microwave. She just smiled and said, “No, honey. No. That would kill you. There are capacitors in those things — just like in a TV — that stay charged for a very long time.”
But she did let me take apart my old 8088 after I got a new computer for my birthday. That new machine had Windows 3.1, and with my graduation money I upgraded it to Windows 95. A church friend even went to great lengths to give me an old copy of Aldus PageMaker — and I loved it.
Grandma said, “Honey, like I said, after you graduate, you WILL LEARN CURSIVE.”
And she made me. I learned it. Every loop, every swirl.
“Why?” I’d grumble. “I hardly ever use it!”
“Well, you’re gonna need it in life,” she said.
And she was right… kind of. I learned it. But do I actually use it now? Rarely. I don’t write letters anymore because of email. I don’t use checks because I have a debit card. No need to sign.
Twenty years later, Grandma realized it. She asked, “Honey… you don’t even use cursive anymore, do you?”
I smiled and said, “Only when I have to sign for medication deliveries, that’s it.”
Grandma slumped and went, “Oh…”
Meanwhile, I started taking computer classes. Grandma didn’t agree at first — she thought I needed a trade.
Finally, my second time at Bosma Rehab, I heard about Lions World. This was after we moved to Kokomo. But they required a two-year degree.219Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡHJwt21hjLK
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ChatGPT said:
Beautiful, Jeremy — this section shows your determination and focus after everything you’d been through. You’ve got Grandma’s old-school grit in your bones, but you’re charting your own modern path. Let’s polish and format this into the next clean, flowing part of your “Lake Freeman and Beyond” chapter — keeping your humor, voice, and the pride of your accomplishment intact:
I started my college education in earnest at Ivy Tech State College. By then, I had already completed two of my three English classes, and I took all three math courses plus physics.
One of my favorite teachers was Brad Thermond. On the first day of the first math class, he stood at the front of the room and said,219Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0bxPqQwrRc
“Why are you here? And I don’t want to hear ‘because you have to.’ I want to hear the exact reason you’re taking this course.”
When it was my turn, I said, “Because I need this class to complete my degree so I can go to Lions World Services for the Blind and get my job working for the government.”
He liked my answer.
Time went by, and Brad eventually became Dean of Students. And when the time came, it was him who kindly wrote a letter of recommendation for me to take the IRS training course.
During my time at Ivy Tech, things weren’t easy — but I didn’t give up. My grandparents knew I was having some issues; I’d taken a few courses that were honestly beyond me, and my grades took a hit.
One elective that really tanked my GPA ended up being removed from my transcript, thankfully. But one of my favorite classes in my computer degree program was CIS: PC Support and Administration.
Now, I also tried to take C++.219Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡulzsXktopi
Big. Mistake.
I loved Visual Basic. I liked BASIC. So I thought, oh, C++ might be similar!219Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3P2aMWARYM
No. No, no, no.
If I could go back in time, I’d grab my younger self by the shoulders and say, “Oh, you sweet summer child — you have no idea the heartache you’re about to cause yourself.”
Since I managed to get that course removed from my transcript — and yes, I had to retake a couple of other classes (a story best left in the past) — I could focus on what I really loved.
That favorite course I mentioned, Computer Hardware, was incredible. Our instructor was cool as hell. The classroom PCs didn’t have internal hard drives; instead, they used removable drive caddies. Each of us had our own drive, and we’d slide it in, lock it down, and install our own operating system.
That class was the A+ certification prep course. I didn’t pass the exam, but I learned a lot. And honestly, what I learned there stuck with me far longer than the grade ever could.
I remember receiving my final grade card and my school cap and tassel. At my high school, those weren’t ours to keep — we had to borrow them from the school — but Grandma, being Grandma, wasn’t about to take any chances. She washed the cap and gown anyway, saying, “Honey, we can’t have you getting sick on your graduation.”
I remember that day like it was yesterday. I stood there, accepted my associate’s degree, and walked straight over to my grandparents. Then my mom appeared behind me, clapped me on the shoulder, and said, “Honey, I’m so proud of you.”
During those three years of chasing an education, I lost several family members — my great-grandma Cleatus, my mom’s dad’s mother, and my great-grandpa Francis Henry, though everyone called him Beany. He passed from lung cancer and spent his last days in home hospice at his trailer.
We were all there at his place the day he died. About a month before that, I had talked with him about Jesus, and he accepted Him as his Savior. That afternoon, Grandma poked her head out the door and said softly, “Jeremy, Grandpa Beany would like to speak to you in private.”
I went inside, and he looked up at me with tired but peaceful eyes. He said, “Thank you, young man, for not giving up on me and for praying that I’d accept Jesus. I’m grateful for you, because now I know I’ll see my mom and dad again.”
He squeezed my hand, and about five minutes later, surrounded by family and love, he passed quietly at home.
I don’t remember much about my graduation party — after all, that was twenty-one years ago. But the following Monday, I had an appointment with Vocational Rehabilitation. My counselor was a man named Alan Bradberry. Alan could be an honorable man… but he could just as easily be a bit of a skinflint. I liked him in spite of myself. My grandparents, though, were always a little wary of him.
In the month before I left for Lions World, I spent my Wednesdays teaching at the literacy coalition. I helped an older gentleman with reading, writing, and math. Over time, with a lot of hard work, he earned his GED. That was one of those moments that reminded me how much I loved helping others — seeing someone achieve something they never thought possible.
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and then Add to home screen.