A friend of mine once made a joke that might too accurately sum up how I view life. He said, “Waffles are top priority. School is second.” He went on to change it slightly to say, “Okay, waffles aren’t top. Sleep is top. Then friends, then food in general, then waffles, and then somewhere at the bottom is school.” I suppose my priority rankings aren’t dissimilar. Putting my friends, my physical needs, my health, or my happiness above schoolwork has always been the norm for me. This essay will be late, because it got put off by gym time, and taxes, and my best friend’s birthday. I realize that this is wrong of me, and school should come first, but it’s difficult to prioritize schoolwork when I was never raised to and never cared to. I was always raised with overall health and happiness in mind.
I was closest to my maternal grandfather, and he always seemed of the opinion that we were all a little above school. He went to Cooper Union to study civil engineering. For the entire two years he was going part-time, he was also working full-time. Once he started a family, he dedicated his time to work and home. My grandpa was the only project coordinator for the NYC Highway Department; there are eighteen today. He had two people under him, and with their help it was his job to coordinate with the community when there was construction, and answer any inquiries or complaints. He was very good at it, and continued to consult until he was 77.
Because my grandfather was very smart, and also had helped build the roads he drove on, he often believed he was above the rules. He nearly died a couple times after feeling justified into making illegal U-turns and the like. I can’t say that this actually taught me that if you were intelligent enough you didn’t have to follow rules, but it certainly set some groundwork for that idea.
My maternal grandmother and I weren’t as close, and maybe that’s why the strict adherence to rules she taught us didn’t ever really stick. I was very driven to be “good” when I was younger, and would cry whenever she yelled at me. I did the same throughout elementary and middle school when a teacher would scold me. I didn’t fit into anyone’s set of rules, but couldn’t handle not being perfect.
My grandma also went to a CUNY school part-time for two years, but ultimately dropped out when dissecting frogs was more than she could manage pregnant. Her main job was raising five kids, but along the way she managed to do pretty much everything else. Before marriage, she was an airplane mechanic in the army. After the divorce, she was a bookkeeper for the Town of Kent. Once she retired, she started working for the Putnam County Office of the Aging as a liaison between the nursing homes, residents, and the state.
Somewhere along the way, she dedicated immense amounts of time and energy to her community, starting local associations, being active in the PTA, starting a Square Dancing club, serving as secretary for multiple bowling leagues, volunteering for Salvation Army, running for Town Supervisor, and god knows what else. If I get a hunger for a sense of community from anyone, it’s from her through my mother. My mom also dedicates huge chunks of her time to helping those around her. It’s this mentality of giving to the community and being surrounded by people that makes me uninterested in incredibly driven lifestyles of big fame or big money like some of my friends. I hope to be known in my community and known in my field. I think there is happiness there.
My mom tried very hard to make me value school. When she wasn’t working sixty hours, commuting to NYC and back from Albany, on the phone with Japan at 8pm on a Tuesday, she would go through our homework to see if we did it right or at all. She would try to enforce us not watching TV until everything was done. She would help us figure out what we didn’t understand. But she was often too busy, and those things my father quickly gave up on.
She went to New Paltz, studying English Literature. Her father didn’t approve and refused to help pay tuition. Grandpa’s income was such that her financial aid ended up being next to nothing, she paid for most of it herself. That time period, while she was working at McDonald’s, is the poorest she’s ever been. But, where she once couldn’t feed herself, now she feeds and maintains a family of four as the primary breadwinner. She works as a project coordinator for Citigroup, with teams of business analysts, developers, desktop support, helpdesk, and more. My mother’s scope of familiarity with different parts of the industry, technical knowledge of the processes that have now been automated, along with her people skills is why I believe that she will always have a job. All of this in a realm that has nothing to do with her education what so ever. I can only hope to be this well recognized in the field I actually am studying. She is definitely proof that experience trumps all.
The story is shorter on my paternal side. These grandparents only ever affected me secondhand. It comes through in stories or in my father.
My paternal grandfather is just known as Herbie in my house. He graduated from Pace University and went on to be an accountant for the Military. He left when my father was two. That’s really all there is to that.
My paternal grandmother, Grandma Nikki, was an artist who was more likely to buy cigarettes than dinner. She died 8 months before I was born from lung cancer, so I was often told I had her spirit. When I was young and also wanted to be an artist, that was wonderful. When I was older and heard more about of her wildness, it was less so. She took continuing education classes at the Brooklyn Museum. Then, she went to New Paltz later in life, where they gave her a lot of life credits. She didn’t finish that degree because she wanted to move back to the city. She didn’t seem to care for college anyway, as she only wanted to paint. She was a bookkeeper for small businesses a few days a week, but it was only for the money, and she focused much more on her art. I grew up hearing my dad talk about how little they had. I walked away knowing I wanted to have enough money to support my family, even if it wasn’t doing exactly what I wanted.
Unsurprisingly, my father skipped school for an entire year of high school and no one noticed. Much of his high school experience was a mixture of depression, bullying and poor teaching. When I was having a hard time in school, he’d reassure me that high school was pointless, but you just had to do it. He’d let me take days off every so often, and sleep in late even more frequently. He’d tell me I was smart enough to do so. It wasn’t always the same for my younger brother, who struggled in school.
For him, the goal was always college. He went to New Paltz through the Education Opportunity Program (EOP), that helped people in a certain income and grade point average have a chance to go to school. His guidance counselor originally told him he couldn’t go anywhere with his grades. Between the EOP and other financial aid, his schooling was almost entirely paid for, and worked as a bartender to make up the difference. He studied Journalism and went on to be a sports writer, working for newspapers, franchise magazines, blogs, and collaborating on a book with a former NBA player and coach.
For my dad, college was a way to get out of the city, and later he would make the same case for me getting out of my difficult family life and small town. As long as I got into a good school, he was happy. He promised me a car if I got a scholarship. He was incredibly excited to take me on a college tour in Boston. He never worried about my grades, because they were always fine. When I started failing classes after I got sick my first semester in college, he was quick to cite the times he failed math. Once I came back to school after my medical leave, he was interested in my grades being good to show I was back to my old self. It was never the actual letters on the page that mattered.
All of this begs the question, where does this leave me? So far, all signs point to lazy. And I can see that. The reality is, I just never valued the institution. I sat through too many classes too easy for me. I sat through too many discussions swirling in circles. I’ve covered the same material over and over and I’ve seen how not only my peers forgot it, but I did too. I could screw up over and over academically and still walk away with a good grade. It all seemed pretty pointless. It didn’t seem like something worth sacrificing for.
I can think of so many nights that I didn’t do any homework because one of my friends was having a breakdown of some sort. I remember wanting to write a note to my teachers explaining, so I wouldn’t be penalized. But at the same time, I knew I had made my choice and already accepted that I would be punished in the academic realm. The irony of this is that counseling my friends so regularly is what led me to where I now am academically, pursing a PHD in clinical psychology. If I hadn’t had helped them, if I had written that US history essay on time, would I be where I am now? If I didn’t see how much mental illness prevails in those around me, and didn’t get a sense of the need for something better in my community and in society, I wouldn’t be so invested in my studies. Every psychology class I take, I take with intention. I am never lazy in a class that could help someone someday.
Of course it goes beyond that. In an increasingly competitive college environment, where we are expected to do it all and get amazing grades and run sleep deprived– where running sleep deprived is not only normalized but celebrated– at what point am I supposed to take care of myself? And it doesn’t stop in college. It moves on into climbing the corporate ladder. It moves on into motherhood. Here again driving yourself into the floor is exalted. Balance isn’t considered. If I’m on the verge of dying, but I don’t want to take a medical leave because my doctors want to avoid taking me out of school and I don’t want to “fall behind”, have we begun to value the institutions of education above the person being educated?
