What a great reflection, Roy. Leaving aside my own empty nest torment when my kids went off to school, I had to constantly check myself not to interfere too much in their progress through college because their experience was different from mine in a significant way: I went to college on scholarship as a kid from a working class Bronx family; they went to college as a matter of course, the middle class sons of two professionals from suburban Philadelphia. Back in my college days I always felt I had something to prove, both to myself and the world. My sons accepted going to college as the inevitable next step after high school. Anyway, we all did fine.
We took our oldest to college last weekend. He seems well-equipped to handle college and life away from home. Of course this isn't 1966, so he doesn't have to worry about being drafted and pot is legal in the state wherein he will reside, so I assume he'll have it easier than I did. (Or so I tell myself so I won't have too many sleepless nights. Insomnia: one of he unheralded benefits of parenthood.) Anyway, I was in the second class at my Ivy League school that had more than a handful of public school graduates, and there was plenty of feeling snubbed and looked down upon even though my family was comfortably middle class. I meet kids now who want to go there and I refrain from telling them how unpleasant an experience that might be because maybe they're more self-assured than I was 53 years ago.
Well, this reminds me of my own first days at college and the relief (frankly) at being liberated from my family. But it also reminded me of taking my own kids to college and the feeling of "plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose." Nice essay again.
Freshman year, Penn '68: Me and two friends from our mostly-Jewish public high school, in one dorm room, and across the hall, three guys from Choate but also central casting: A surfer dude ("Kahuna"), a hippie, and a frat bro dating FDR's niece. Up the hall, a wiseguy from NYC who, when you asked him where he grew up, answered, "Eighty-eighth and Park."
I was the first from my nuclear fam. to go to college, and I sometimes wish there had been a course on "How to Go to College." Although I probably would have thought, at the time, that it was for losers and dweebs, and disdained it. Anyway, I cobbled together some bullshit major, had a class with Philip Roth, became chums with Norman Mailer's literary executor, wrote a bunch of stuff, and--first and foremost--stayed out of the Army. So it all worked out.
What a great reflection, Roy. Leaving aside my own empty nest torment when my kids went off to school, I had to constantly check myself not to interfere too much in their progress through college because their experience was different from mine in a significant way: I went to college on scholarship as a kid from a working class Bronx family; they went to college as a matter of course, the middle class sons of two professionals from suburban Philadelphia. Back in my college days I always felt I had something to prove, both to myself and the world. My sons accepted going to college as the inevitable next step after high school. Anyway, we all did fine.
Happy Labor Day Weekend to all!
Remembering you from freshman year, Roy, I thought you were perfectly well socialized, a stimulating and witty companion. And you still are.
“As with everything, there was a lot I’d have done differently then had I but known“
So true. As the saying goes, “youth is wasted on the young.” Not exactly true, but you understand.
We took our oldest to college last weekend. He seems well-equipped to handle college and life away from home. Of course this isn't 1966, so he doesn't have to worry about being drafted and pot is legal in the state wherein he will reside, so I assume he'll have it easier than I did. (Or so I tell myself so I won't have too many sleepless nights. Insomnia: one of he unheralded benefits of parenthood.) Anyway, I was in the second class at my Ivy League school that had more than a handful of public school graduates, and there was plenty of feeling snubbed and looked down upon even though my family was comfortably middle class. I meet kids now who want to go there and I refrain from telling them how unpleasant an experience that might be because maybe they're more self-assured than I was 53 years ago.
Well, this reminds me of my own first days at college and the relief (frankly) at being liberated from my family. But it also reminded me of taking my own kids to college and the feeling of "plus ca change, plus c'est la meme chose." Nice essay again.
Freshman year, Penn '68: Me and two friends from our mostly-Jewish public high school, in one dorm room, and across the hall, three guys from Choate but also central casting: A surfer dude ("Kahuna"), a hippie, and a frat bro dating FDR's niece. Up the hall, a wiseguy from NYC who, when you asked him where he grew up, answered, "Eighty-eighth and Park."
I was the first from my nuclear fam. to go to college, and I sometimes wish there had been a course on "How to Go to College." Although I probably would have thought, at the time, that it was for losers and dweebs, and disdained it. Anyway, I cobbled together some bullshit major, had a class with Philip Roth, became chums with Norman Mailer's literary executor, wrote a bunch of stuff, and--first and foremost--stayed out of the Army. So it all worked out.
Lovely campus. Is this Princeton?