An old man.
It’s a cold Tuesday morning in early January when my father calls me. I’m at work, running on a tight deadline, trying to manage multiple projects, when my phone buzzes on the desk. It’s a call from Dad.
This is unusual. My dad is the kind of person who usually leaves texts like, “Let me know when you have time to talk,” or emails with the subject line, “Important.” But a phone call? Especially in the middle of a busy workday?
I press the button to answer, pushing aside my growing anxiety. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
“Hey, kiddo. You got a minute?”
I can hear the excitement in his voice, which is weird. My dad, Bob, is a quiet man in his mid-sixties who doesn’t usually get excited about much. He’s the kind of guy who’s content to spend his days tinkering with tools in his garage, reading the newspaper, and watching reruns of Jeopardy! while sipping his nightly glass of scotch. So when I hear that extra energy in his voice, I know something is off.
“Sure. What’s going on?” I ask, shifting in my chair, preparing myself for whatever news he’s about to drop.
“Well,” he begins, “I’ve been thinking a lot lately. And I’ve decided—I’m going back to school.”
I freeze, my hand stilling on the mouse. My brain takes a second to catch up with the words he’s just said. “Back to school? Dad, you’re 65 years old.”
“Yeah, I know,” he says, undeterred. “I’ve been looking into it. I want to finish my degree. It’s never too late to learn something new, right?”
I blink twice, unsure whether I’ve heard him correctly. “Hold on a second. You’re serious about this? You want to go back to college?”
“Absolutely,” he replies, his voice firm, but there’s an underlying tremor of excitement. “I’ve always wanted to finish my degree. Life got in the way, and then, well, I had to start working full-time and raising you kids. But now, I’ve got time. So, yeah, I’m going for it.”
The absurdity of the situation hits me like a ton of bricks. I feel like I’m in a strange dream. My dad, the man who was always skeptical about the value of fancy degrees, the man who didn’t even know how to send an email until about five years ago, is telling me he’s going back to college.
“Dad, I—what? How is this even possible?” I manage to stammer.
“I’ve been doing my homework,” he says, clearly pleased with himself. “I’ve found a local community college that has a program for older adults. I can take classes at night, and they’re flexible with schedules. I won’t have to quit my job. They even offer a scholarship for people my age. It’s a perfect fit.”
I’m still reeling, but the more I think about it, the more I realize this might not be as crazy as it first sounds. Still, it’s hard for me to wrap my head around it. My dad has always been the practical one, never one to go after lofty dreams. He’s been content with what he’s had, a steady job in construction, and a life full of simple pleasures.
I decide to play it cool. “Okay, well… I guess that’s awesome, Dad. But, um, what exactly are you planning to study?”
“I’m going to major in history,” he says with the kind of certainty I’ve never heard from him about anything, let alone academics. “I’ve always been fascinated by history, especially the Civil War. I used to read all these books about it when I was younger. I think I’d be really good at it.”
I don’t know what to say. I just sit there in stunned silence. My dad, my 65-year-old father, is going back to school to study history. I’m not sure what’s more surprising: the fact that he’s going back to college at all, or that he wants to study something as complex and academic as history.
“Wow, Dad,” I finally say, my voice filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “You really thought this through, huh?”
“I have,” he says, with a chuckle. “You think I’m too old to go back to school?”
I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “No, it’s just… it’s unexpected. I mean, you’ve been out of school for so long. And I guess I never pictured you as the college type.”
“Well,” he replies, “I guess that’s where you’re wrong. I may have taken a different route in life, but I always loved learning. And now it feels like the right time to do something for myself. To finally finish what I started.”
As he talks, I begin to realize that this isn’t just about getting a degree or taking a history class. It’s something much deeper. My dad, who has spent his life working hard to provide for his family and never once thought about his own dreams or desires, is doing something for himself. He’s taking a leap, at an age when most people are thinking about slowing down, retiring, and playing golf. But not my dad. He’s choosing to challenge himself, to push beyond his comfort zone and do something that fills him with passion.
The conversation ends with him telling me he’s already filled out the application and is waiting to hear back. As I hang up the phone, a mix of emotions swirl inside me—pride, confusion, and an unexpected sense of awe. I’ve always admired my dad for his practicality, but this? This feels like an entirely different side of him I’ve never seen before.
The following weeks are filled with updates from my dad. He’s registered for his first history class, and while I’m still not entirely convinced this is a good idea, I can’t help but be excited for him. He’s signed up for a night course, just one class for the semester, and he’s taken it upon himself to brush up on reading and writing skills. It’s like he’s become a student all over again.
But as his first day of class draws near, I start to feel an increasing sense of anxiety—not for him, but for myself. I’m worried about how he’ll fit into a classroom full of much younger students. I’m concerned about him being out of place, about the possibility of him being ridiculed, or struggling to keep up with the pace of modern education. The idea of him sitting in a room full of 18-year-olds, trying to engage in discussions and understand the latest technology, makes me uneasy.
“You ready for your first day, Dad?” I ask when he calls to update me the night before.
“I’m nervous,” he admits. “I’m not going to lie. But I’m going to do it. I think it’ll be good for me.”
“You’re going to do great,” I reassure him, though I’m not entirely sure he will. “Just remember, it’s okay to feel out of place. I’m sure there are other people in the class who are older, too.”
“I’m not worried about that,” he says. “I’ve always been the oldest guy in the room. You know that.”
That’s true, I suppose. My dad has always been the one who worked in places where the younger guys would turn to him for advice. But this is different. This is a classroom, a place where age isn’t usually celebrated, and I wonder how he’ll handle the transition.
The first day of class arrives. I text my dad, asking how it went. He doesn’t respond for several hours, which only heightens my anxiety. Finally, he calls me in the evening.
“Well?” I ask immediately.
“It went great,” he says with a laugh, his voice sounding surprisingly light. “The professor is a real character. Kind of like you—he’s passionate about what he teaches, and that made it interesting.”
I exhale in relief, but my curiosity gets the better of me. “How were the other students? Did you feel out of place?”
Dad laughs again, a warm, familiar sound. “Not really. I don’t think they noticed much. I just sat down in the back of the class and kept to myself. I think most of them were too busy worrying about their own stuff to care who I was. Plus, I have a good memory. I can keep up.”
As the weeks go by, I notice a change in my dad. He starts talking about his class with genuine enthusiasm, bringing up facts and figures about history that I didn’t even know he was interested in. He talks about his assignments, his readings, and even the relationships he’s beginning to form with his classmates. Some of the students, he tells me, have even started to ask him for help. They’re fascinated by his life experience, the wisdom that only comes with age. It’s almost like they see him as an unexpected mentor, someone who has lived through decades of history rather than just reading about it in books.
I’m floored. It’s like my dad is becoming a new person before my very eyes. He’s no longer just the man I grew up with, the father who always seemed stuck in his ways. He’s evolving, growing, and challenging himself—and it’s inspiring to watch.
By the end of the semester, he’s still enrolled in his history classes, and the progress he’s made is nothing short of remarkable. My dad, at 65, has not only returned to college but has embraced it with a level of passion and commitment that I never expected.
In the end, I realize that my dad wasn’t just going back to school for a degree. He was going back for himself—for the same reason we all should: to keep growing, to keep learning, and to never stop pursuing the things that light us up.
And so, when he tells me he’s signed up for another semester, I can’t help but feel proud. My 65-year-old dad is going back to college—and I’ve never been prouder of him.
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