Family
Thicker than blood
Why does college life teach students to lose the family to find the self?
During my last long conversation with my mother, I asked her whether,
after she died, I should leave Yale and come home to live with my father
and sister. It was far past bedtime for both of us, but her body clock had
given up under the influence of insulin injections, chemotherapy and the
steroid pills she downed by the handful every morning. I was kept awake by
the adrenaline rush of responsibility and fear, and the searing pain of love.
The American way decrees that chicks should flee the nest, and baby boomers
can’t deny their own babies the privilege of flying solo. “Dad isn’t going
to be happy unless you’re happy,” my mother told me. “And he can’t be
happy if you give up these incredible opportunities for him.” The
syllogism seemed simple.
So here I am, on another late night 18 months later, back at Yale
for my senior year. But though I have no wish to neglect my mother’s last
instructions, I am unable to escape the gravity of my family. My sister
just went off to college as well, but my old anxiety about leaving my
father alone has only shifted focus to the complexities around his
impending remarriage. I still call him almost every day and check in with
my grandmother every week. And as my friends discuss overseas fellowships
and fun post-graduation vacations, I find myself unable to imagine being anywhere but back home with what’s left of my family.
This isn’t the way college is supposed to be. Our deans act in loco
parentis, but nobody mistakes administrators for the real thing.
We’re free of bedtimes, chores and curfews, free of expectations and
history, living in a world consisting entirely of other 20-year-olds.
College is for navel-gazing and self-actualization. Family? Who even
remembers it exists? Few of my friends have seen the place I grew up or
met my parents, and few mention anything about their folks back home.
College is for now and for the future — when we’ll graduate and move to San
Francisco, Seattle or New York, or take off to teach English in Guatemala
or France and self-actualize some more.
In a society where extended families scatter across a continent and
nuclear units move without regard to who is left behind, is it any
surprise that the model maturation process involves cutting ties to the
people who raised you? Age stratification is the social, political and
even geographic norm, accepted — contrary to many thousand years’
experience — as natural. Generation X has no faith in Social Security and
the elderly vote down school budgets, while television programmers know
that any given sitcom can only be pitched to a 10-year-wide demographic.
American Self-Reliance! Growing up means striking out for distant shores and a virgin
prairie, unencumbered by Grandma or Aunt Tillie or any obligation to anything
but your own ambition.
Here in the dorms, we have a mild expectation of spouses and children
somewhere in the future, but any current requirement of family is buried
deep and undisclosed. It’s awkward to mention my friend who loved Yale but
graduated early to save her parents another year’s tuition, or my former
roommate who now lives at home and wasn’t excused from class to attend his
grandmother’s funeral. Another friend never explains why he doesn’t talk
to his parents during the semester and never goes home for vacations. I
was blessed with a loving family and a happy childhood, so I can’t
criticize the escapist needs of my friends whose homes hold only pain; my
family lives in New York, so I don’t have to choose between them and all
the peculiarly urban opportunities. But then again, I know a lot of people with loving
families who seldom find the time to call home. We leave it all behind,
or at least we pretend to.
But by denying the connection to the people closest to us, we
sometimes lose our connection to the world. Sure, demands of the
clan can induce provincialism and xenophobia, but families also teach us that we
are neither alone nor entirely our own. They make us remember that there are a few people who will always care about us. Without this understanding, it’s hard to avoid the instability and self-doubt of college life, much less the anomie of the “real world.” But in return for this comfort, we must acknowledge what we owe — a lesson families teach best, and one both American and dorm culture could stand to learn.
The very idea of going away to college assumes that we grow best through independence,
through cutting ties with our homes and forging new connections, new friends, a
“family” of people our own age who happen to end up living down the hall.
It’s brilliant, mind-expanding, joyous. But I’m not sure it works. That
night with my mother, I learned that the crucial question about college is
the one we hope never to have to ask: For whom am I doing this? In a
free-market world, any answer but “myself” is hard to come by. As I decide
what to do and where to be after graduation, I’m trying to come up with something better.
The last time I saw my mother, she came out of her painkiller haze to wish
me a good trip back to school. I sat on the train unable to study, unable
even to think, gazing out the window through my tears at an empty
landscape. I knew she was gone. When the call came the next morning, I was
not surprised; in the company of friends, I put my suit in a bag for
the funeral and got back on the train.
I will not leave my family.
Simon Rodberg is a senior at Yale University. More Simon Rodberg.
Sleuthing for my father
On her death bed my mother revealed a shocking secret. Now I am trying to solve its mystery
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Advice,
The last thing my mom said to me was, “When I was young …” and then she died. I had no idea what she was trying to tell me. Then I found a letter she had written to a friend saying that the man she was in love with is my actual biological father.
My dad and I were in shock with the DNA results and now I have spent countless hours trying to find out who this man is. I can’t ask anyone as they are all dead and my dad said it must have been this guy who was in town for a short time while attending ammunition-inspector school in Savanna, Ill., but didn’t know a name.
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
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Where did the money go?
My parents went bankrupt twice. Suddenly I can't go to the college I want. They make good money. I don't understand
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Cary,
I am 24 years old. Sometimes I get so angry that it is hard to function. Other times I get very anxious and I feel like I am on the verge of a breakdown. I think it stems from my parents. I don’t know what to do, and I need your advice.
My father is an engineer for a large oil company, and my mother works in a doctor’s office. My father has always been steadily employed (although I have lived in three different states growing up because of his job). However, I feel like my family has always been struggling financially. This has deeply affected me, especially when I graduated from college in a time when jobs were difficult to find. One problem is that I am not sure why it is this way — they live in a nice house, but definitely not one out of their means. They do not buy nice cars, and we did not go on vacations growing up. They do not eat out very often or buy anything that would be considered luxurious.
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
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More Cary Tennis.
Me and baby, living at Mom’s
I got pregnant young, got married young and already we're separated. Now what?
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Reader,
I’m taking a little vacation down in Florida. It may be possible to conduct a couple of writing workshops while I’m down there, if a space and people can be arranged. I’ll be in Fort Lauderdale Thursday the 5th, then the Gainesville area from Friday the 6th until Sunday or Monday, and then back in Fort Lauderdale the 10th through 12th. Email me if you’d like to attend or help set something up. It would be great to meet some interested people and write together.
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
- Make a comment to Cary Tennis not for publication.
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More Cary Tennis.
I had to move back in with my dad
I'm a grown woman who lost her job. Now I'm living with a man who won't wash his hands
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Cary,
I need your help in determining if I am an ungrateful daughter or person reacting to a shitty situation. I am a 38-year-old woman who, like many Americans, has lost my job due to the recession. However, I do bartend part time. Needless to say, I was experiencing financial difficulties and because I couldn’t find a job I decided to attend school in an effort to make myself more employable. My father expressed how impressed he was with my educational endeavors and made me an offer that I could not refuse. He said that I could live in one of his rental houses until I was out of school and I would only be responsible for utilities. This was music to my ears. Within no time I was packing my bags and moving out of my apartment. I moved to the house and paid to get new carpet and tile installed as well as have the house painted. My father was working on getting the house up to code so that it would pass inspection and after the inspection he was supposed to go back to live out of state. Here it is one and a half years later and my father has not left. The carpet that I purchased is completely ruined and so are the tile floors.
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
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More Cary Tennis.
I’ve never had a drink in my whole life
Because of a family history, I've never touched a drop. And then there was a toast and we raised our glasses ...
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Cary,
I’ve read your column often, and I think you can help me since you yourself have dealt with the consequences of addiction.
I really don’t know who else to turn to with this particular problem since most self-help books don’t deal with people who don’t drink.
I am in my mid-20s. In a nutshell, I was raised as an only child in a single-parent home with an alcoholic mother, who self-medicated with wine to deal with depression.
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
- Make a comment to Cary Tennis not for publication.
- Send a letter to Salon's editors not for publication.
More Cary Tennis.
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