Oanh was in my computer class last semester, but she didn’t look like a student at all. She often wore t-shirts to school that had words on them such as “Love me” and “Kiss me,” and she used a lot of cosmetics. She colored her fingernails with violet fingernail polish. When she walked in the classroom, every student could smell her perfume. Her hair stuck out and was dyed with different colors every week. I thought I didn’t have anything in common with her, but I was wrong. I found out she was Vietnamese one night in the

computer lab.

First, we talked about class and homework, and I watched her try to debug a program. Then I began to talk to her about more personal subjects. The more I talked to her, the more I admired her. Oanh’s mother had abandoned the family, and Oanh’s father had become sad and useless. Oanh took care of her whole family. Although her appearance was like a Vietnamese punk rocker, Oanh was a strong and responsible person. I have learned not to judge others from their appearance. I hope that in the future I can convince Oanh to give up her rock and roll hairstyle.

        Nola Ochs was born in Kansas in 1911. Her life was not extraordinary by most measures. She grew and married, had children and grandchildren, taught in rural schools, and lived the quiet Midwest life. But she was different in one notable way: After her husband died in 1972, Nola began taking classes and eventually earned her associate degree at age 77.

       “I still wanted to go to school. It was fun to go to classes. And if I had an assignment to do in the evening, that occupied my time in a pleasant way,” she recalled. After some years went by, Nola again got the bug to learn.

       Learning takes time, and moving through courses must be done on your own time, at your own pace. When Nola had 30 hours of school left to complete, she moved 100 miles away from her farm, got an apartment and attended classes in person. She graduated with her granddaughter in 2007.

      Nola could have been finished then with her long life of learning. She was, after all, 95 years young. Nola decided to keep going. She lived in the student dorms and got her master’s degree in liberal studies with an emphasis on history three years later, at age 98.

       A hundred years yields a lot of wisdom. But it’s the process that can teach us all. Learn everything you can. Share your crops with the neighbors. And never, never give up on yourself. At 105, Nola finished her memoir.