So why, you might be wondering, am I still blogging on Student Affairs when I could be at the Museo del Prado looking at Picassoâs Guernica, eating tapas, or at least doing my homework, which must know I am a Duke student after seeing how much I have received over the past few days.
At my school, homework increased in time by the developmental age of the child.
Think of a Norman Rockwell scene rearranged slightly by Robert Mapplethorpe: "I'd be doing my homework at the kitchen table at 10 in the evening as Uncle Ed, hair gleaming from a shower, dressed in leather bomber jacket and jeans, said good night to me as he headed out the door for another night of cruising down in Greenwich Village," Fleming recalls.
She said: "At 14 I should have been at school worrying about my homework, instead I was locked up.
I've burned my boats, I can't go back — or, rather, I do go back, dutifully, every evening after school, and do my homework at the same table in the same stale olive-green dining room, and still get the best marks in the class for everything, nearly everything.
I remember finding it hard to resist chatting with my classmates when we were supposed to be doing assignments, and I was always doing my homework at the very last minute, but I also remember my teachers telling me I was a "bright" little girl.
I crossed the border every morning and did my homework at the Camarena Memorial Library [in Calexico] during the afternoons.
Normally I would choose the TV before I would even touch my homework at 8 or 9 p.m.
I also promise to maintain open communication with your dad so if you say 'dad did XYX' or 'I left my homework at dad's,' I'll immediately call and find out the truth!" -Shelley Wetton.
