For all the professions that could be dreamed of or realized, I never ever took a second thought to cross out being a surgeon in my short list. Mind you, I
was am not afraid of the sight of blood or even squeamish taking a look at open wounds. Put simply, first impression did last.
Sophomore year Biology subject had its highs and lows. Interesting was the general term I could use to describe the year long education. Curiosity and wonder combined somewhat to redeem the subject from being considered boring,
The high point came later, nearly at the end of the fourth quarter. I believed that it was arranged as such to limit the scope on sex education. A Catholic school would be too embarrassed to tackle on the subject unless they wanted their candidates to the priesthood be tempted to prefer marital vows instead.
On the other hand, the low points dominated the other three quarters, giving us reasons to be more imaginative in our approach to learn about Science. Studying animals and plants was engaging if we were not forced to memorize all those scientific names of species, seen and unseen. We thought it was a waste of time, knowing fully well that not one of us in class was destined to be a scientist.
Then, the worst turn off happened: dissection. Show me a worm and I would hold it my hand. But tell me to cut it cross-section wise, you’d understand that no and never have the same meaning.
The worm experiment could be excusable. But cutting a bull frog open to see its innards was too much. I could have accepted a failing mark if threatened for not murdering the poor thing. Fortunately, my partner in the experiment had a criminal streak in him.