First Experiences with Programming

Well, this time it's not so much about the subject as it is about everything that happened alongside it.

I don't remember ever growing up with a dream job in mind.  The most concrete thought I ever had was something to do with raising caterpillars.  I excelled in math, but maybe because I merely enjoyed calculating numbers in my head and finishing tests before everyone else.  Later on (around high school and up) I would harbor no love for it, but that was entering a period where I started to lose interest in everything to do with academics.  Anyway, I grew up with the vague notion that whatever job I'm taking, it'll be something math related.

Computer programming felt like a subject I naturally would have been willing to invest in, but I never had (created) the opportunity to be acquainted with it.  I finally took my first computer science course in the fall semester last year, and I can't say I remember most of it.  There were simple algorithms, a brief introduction to assembly language, a single class session on Python near the very end...and a whole chunk I've forgotten about that came before those.  I'm sure I'll pay dearly for that.  I have the book and study sheet somewhere.


Signed up for the next course under the same professor in the spring this year, and this one was all about Java.  In an attempt to change myself and build up new, good habits I read and answered the first chapter before the semester began.  It was all concepts and stuff; no coding save for one exercise at the very end which only served to make sure the IDE worked.  Of course, I just had to jump into the next chapter following that, and then a very peculiar thing happened: I cared about learning again.  From then on I made sure I stayed at least a whole week ahead of the course schedule (that teetered off near the end when I found more programming projects to occupy myself with).


The class experience was very different this time.  Normally I'd take care to be invisible to others, even neglecting to show up for my senior photo in high school.  I'd be fine sitting in class as a part of the silent majority while a select few answer all the questions.  The silent part held true for the first few class periods when I still lacked the courage to speak up, but there was no one consistently jumping up to answer the questions.  None.  If answers did come out they'd usually be incorrect even though it's right there, clear as day, in the chapter you're supposed to read before coming to class, but I'm a hypocrite to complain about that.  I've always neglected to cover the book, let alone thoroughly, until now.  After the dead silence the professor would sigh with disappointment.

I should describe the professor a little more.  He was a little short, likely in his 50s, and he came with an Indian accent.  I can't call it that bad but those who were vocal with their opinions seemed to think so.  I'd miss a word every once in a while.  He had a good sense of humor and definitely held a deep passion for the subject.  His ability to teach it is another matter, which I can't provide an accurate estimation of as I always treated the class periods as a review session.  I could probably place some judgment if I paid careful attention and tried to imagine myself in the shoes of someone who didn't read the material, but that wasn't a concern at the time.  General consensus from the talkative groups would be that he does, in fact, suck at teaching.  Some of them would admit the book was great, though, but they didn't have the time to read through so many pages.  I guess it is a lot, but the pages aren't densely packed like a few other books I know of.


I eventually speak up to solve some of the problems.  Or attempt to speak up.  Without raising my hand, but that's like a weird thing now since no one else in the class is doing it.  I'm sitting in the back of the room one seat away from the corner, and it's a strange experience to articulate yourself when you normally don't utter more than 50 words a week.  A generous estimate.  I'm sure it's more like zero when there aren't any parents to greet.  Or two to say "excuse me" to that older gentleman while walking through the shopping aisles within the nice and spacious Costco.  It could be more as well if we count whispering fragments of words to yourself.  Probably not suitable practice for speech, though.  Sometimes the professor and I will be holding our own conversations since he doesn't receive the entire message from me. 


Pretty soon I'm regularly answering stuff, but I'll usually wait for the more interesting scenarios because I still don't want to be that deeply involved in talking.  If I raise my hand early and already solved some problems on the main computer before then I'll offer the spot as a last ditch effort to not hog all the fun.  There were certainly other brilliant students in the class (I remember one was a business major), but...it just wasn't their style to take the mantle.  They'd go up from time to time.  Performed wonderfully.

One of the later course assignments was to construct an ATM machine and interact with it through the console.  The professor wrote down on the board features to be included, and it was then that I opened my stupid mouth to ask about a function he mentioned earlier but didn't write down.  So he adds that and it's met with groans from the class.


Interacting directly with my classmates isn't something I would do.  It's a pleasure to talk about something you're interested in, but that only happened when they approached me first.  In light of the trouble I caused I sent an email via some online classroom thing that I wouldn't expect anyone to check, but someone did post a message there earlier.  I offered help explaining the concepts we learned and how it could be applied to the assignment (we weren't allowed to work together). 

I sent the message the same day we received the assignment which was on Thursday (Tue/Thur schedule).  No replies over the weekend, but while wandering the hall about an hour before class on Tuesday someone called out to me.  He had replied to my message half an hour ago and stumbled upon me in person.  We'll call him the Asian guy.  It was a busy week for him so I didn't do much other than answering questions over IRC.

The next person came to me Thursday that week when the assignment was due.  I picked up a new pair of shoes the day before so I'm getting used to the little settings, and on my way to the campus one of the shoelaces become untied.  I'm no shoe tying expert, and being the self-conscious person I am I didn't want to take my time trying to fix it out in the open.  I bend down to quickly tuck them in and walk carefully as to not whip them out and get them dirty.  I proceed inside the building and up two flights of stairs to the floor for teacher offices, then sit on a bench.

As I'm tending to the shoe someone comes out from the hall at the far end.  I think nothing of it; I'm sort of close to the stairwell doors and there's other hallways around me.  That doubt starts to go away as she walks past the doors and slows down in front of me.  I didn't know if she was looking at me but since I'm looking down I could tell her shoes were pointed in my direction.  She speaks up after a short pause.  It sounded like a small struggle for her; the words began with "um..." and her speech was timid.  I don't recall the exact details of the conversation, but basically she asked me for help with the assignment.  And forming words to send back without much planning is bad enough for me.  I end up redoing the shoe tying twice and slowly at that.  The conversation is over and we're waiting on me to finish up.  I'm not doing that bunny ear method or whatever either; I just somehow fail to give equal spacing for the tail ends of the shoelace and one of them will slip out while I'm adjusting the first knot because I apparently can't think and make use of my hands at the same time.

We travel to the library and I take a look at the work of my classmate now known as the Korean girl.  For the record, the Asian guy is Chinese, but...I don't know, it sounds worse to refer to him as the "Chinese guy."  Probably due to old encompassing stereotypes?  Anyway, the assignment covered the chapter on methods which she said she didn't get to fully read.  I try my hand at teaching the material (the IRC episode doesn't count) but there's 45 minutes until class.  I ask her if she wants to turn it in late.  No?  Okay, I'll finish up the program myself.  Nothing fancy.

The professor was really lenient about late penalties, though.  Like a 90 / 100 for something weeks late.  Perhaps it was the collective will of the class?  I'll continue later.