Wide Lawns, Narrow Minds and Lots of Pressure

My uncle once told me a story about a job interview he had in college. Like me, my uncle has a BA in Philosophy from the University of Louisville. At the job interview he was asked “What do you hope to do with that?” To which he replied, “I’ve always thought that commerce should serve education, not the other way around.” He’s in his 60s now and works in IT or Programming, I’m not exactly sure which. But, you know, he has a reputable profession.

My uncle is one of my favorite people, not just because of this anecdote. I was thinking about him and the story last night at the parent orientation for high school for my daughter, class of 2020.

We live in Oak Park, IL, a suburb with a reputation of being “so liberal even the expressway exits are on the left.” We have super high taxes and an amazing high school with classes some colleges dream of offering. But last night part way through the meeting I said to my husband, “Is it too late to move?” “Up a row?” He asked. “No, like to a commune or something,” I said.

For an hour and twenty minutes we were told about everything wonderful our school has to offer and we were told about how important it is for kids to pick their classes with their college majors and choices and their career paths in mind. I have a Master’s Degree and I still don’t know what the hell I should have majored in at college. I’m almost 50 years old and I have yet to pick a career path, does my almost-14-year-old really have to pick hers? Was my uncle wrong? Is even a high school education supposed to serve the needs of commerce?

I went to a performing arts high school, where I in fact, had a major, theater, yet I am not a professional actor. I spent some of high school stoned, and some of high school making out in the hallways, and some of high school arguing with teachers, and very little of high school doing real work. My Junior year of high school I left and went to boarding school in Malawi, which meant I never took certain required classes. I did not once think about how any of this would affect my chances of getting into college or my future career path. What’s more, I knew I wasn’t alone in my lack of interest in life after graduation.

I’m not saying this is the best way to go about your teenage years. I went to the University of Louisville because it was free for me and because I wanted to get an apartment with my friend instead of living in a dorm.

Maybe if I’d thought a little more clearly about my goals earlier on I would have had a richer college experience, and not be struggling so much with my career path now. Maybe I’d have more money or be more satisfied. Maybe I’d be doing great things for the world. When my husband was a child he knew he wanted to be a cartographer. He went to a high school much like the one our children will go to, and he went on to go to three great schools, earn a PhD and marry an undecided slacker like me, so maybe not. Maybe whether you have a plan or not, you can still wind up in a town like Oak Park.

I also don’t think it’s an accident that most of my closest friends are friends from high school and college. I don’t think it’s an accident that some of the traits I consider most essential to who I am were formed during this time when I was consciously not busy forming a life plan.

I know that my lack of focus as a teenager is a sign of my privilege. My parents were professors and college was an expectation and an easily navigated situation. But the same is true of many more students here in Oak Park than it was of my equally unfocused classmates at Louisville Youth Performing Arts School.

The most famous graduate of Oak Park River Forest High School is arguably Ernest Hemingway. He is rumored to have described Oak Park as “A town of wide lawns and narrow minds.” I’m just hoping there’s enough room on those lawns for all of our children.

 

 

 

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