The big news from the House of FiveChimera is that Dennis will be teaching an introductory programming course this fall at WTC. (Naturally, I'm quite proud that he was asked, and maybe slightly envious--Java being my favorite language and all.) Quite coincidentally, today is the twentieth anniversary of my graduation from college, which has prompted an inventory-taking of sorts, tallying what I actually gained from five years and thousands of dollars. It's a different inventory than I would have made at the ten-year mark, and--perhaps counter-intuitively--the balance has improved.
I realize that it's fashionable to diss higher education, regardless of whether or not you have a fancy bit of paper with your name on it. But I think that this attitude makes the mistake of confusing process with content. Content--i.e. what you paid to have folks try to teach you--is a depreciating asset, particularly in the sciences. Computer Science majors, for instance, expect the technical content to be obsolete in a depressingly short time. So, to a greater or lesser degree, content is simply not the point.
What's important is that you made a commitment, ultimately to yourself, of four+ years. You had to learn the discipline (and risk) involved in making trade-offs, deciding which information you only had to chew on for a fixed amount of time and which should actually be digested. You probably learned when to skim and when to read closely (i.e. distinguishing between signal and noise). You perhaps developed a sense of whom to ask when available information was either scarce or super-abundant. You learned which authority figures actually wanted you to expand yourself, and which enforced conformity. If you had time for extracurricular activities, you might have picked up tricks in interpersonal politics that you didn't master in high school.
And, when it was all said and done, you showed up. Given the choice, most folks would much rather fritter away time at the bar, in front of the tube, playing video-games, what-have-you. And too many of them will, even when they know better. So never, EVER, underestimate the differentiating power of just showing the heck up.
None of these things was taught in any single class. It was the unofficial curriculum for every single program. So it saddens me how much permission society gives to scoff at that on the grounds that the paint-by-numbers exercise merely turns out corporate drones. Exemplified by "Bill Gates never graduated from college!" Which, by the bye, conveniently glosses over the fact that Mr. & Mrs. William Gates Sr. sent their kid to Harvard...and doesn't speculate on whether Bill Jr. might have (belatedly) matriculated, had Microsoft flamed out like so many software companies in the Wild West atmosphere of the early PC era.
Did college teach me everything I needed to know? Heck, no. At least a few of the most important lessons had to be pounded into my stubborn skull by no less than Life itself. But I take full credit for that. Extrinsic motivation will never take the place of intrinsic motivation--that's a given. But as with any intensive training, formal education tends to make the process a programmed response. In this case, the process is acquiring and contextualizing a specialized set of information. Given the rate of turnover in knowledge (a rate that we can fully expect to accelerate in future decades), that's certainly nothing to sneer at.
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Oh, and while we're on the subject of education in general, can we pretty-please-with-chocolate-sauce-on-top just lose the "...Those who can't, teach" nonsense? George Bernard Shaw never taught a class in his life. How much do you relish the thought of giving a presentation for an audience? Okay, now do it five days a week, for multiple audiences every day. Probably not your idea of a cushy job, am I right? Certainly not for me. And I used to do public speaking for fun. It's even less fun when you have to create your own lesson plans, remembering that not everyone learns the same way and you have to cover a number of bases to make sure no one's left behind. "Can't," my eye. Try it sometime.
