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Post #31

What my father tells me when I get home:

"What is your major going to be?"

I tell him, English.

He asks me, what are you going to do with an English major?

Gee, Dad, I don't know yet. I mean, I have some ideas...I could be a teacher, I'd love to work in publishing, and here's something I'd never tell you: I want to write. I want to write for a living.

He tells me, I guess it doesn't really matter what you do as long as you go to graduate school.

Really, Dad? A graduate school that I can't even fathom to afford? A graduate school I don't even want to go to, a graduate school that will be useless to me?

I don't want to go to graduate school. I don't need to go to graduate school. Nor do I want to think about it right now. How 'bout the fact that I have three more years of my undergraduate life to fulfill? How 'bout that? Can ya spare me some time to think about the life I've already spent hours and hours thinking about? Can you?

Maybe I'll get teaching credentials (but oh wait, I can already get them through my school's teaching program), maybe I'll get a masters in creative writing (something you probably wouldn't approve of, anyway), but graduate school? You don't care about my happiness - you just want me to go to graduate school. Okay.

I tell him I don't want to go to graduate school. He asks me, then what are you doing at a school like Haverford? Why not go to some Cal State?

Okay, Dad, let's not think about how these four years of my life are helping shape my identity as a human being, how I'm learning, I'm having fun, I'm meeting new people, I'm happy. Gee, why didn't I go to Cal State University, Northridge? And let's not forget about the fantastic financial aid I'm receiving from a private school like Haverford - or have you forgotten, it would actually have been so much more expensive for me to go to UCLA?

Sure, Dad. Let me think about this for a minute. And I'll get back to you. Someday. Or not.