Leaving Home: Short Pieces Read Online Free Page B

home. In a few hours, after we have unloaded and unpacked and made the bed and hung your posters on the walls, I am going to hold you tight and tell you for the thousandth time how proud I am of you. I’m going to paste a smile on my face and I’m going to say, Work hard! Have fun!

    There’s so much, though, that I won’t be saying to you today. It’s the lump sum of the twenty-five year lead I’ve got on you – a quarter century of mistakes and triumphs. But unlike the litmus test for when you take a Tylenol versus when you call the doctor – something we discussed this past summer – these lectures aren’t quickly memorized. They can’t be tucked like notes between the folds of your comforter and the chapters of your paperbacks, inside the jewel cases of your CDs. Lessons of the heart are different that way; they have to be learned on your own.

    So although I am thinking it, you won’t hear me tell you: Do what you love . Have you ever heard a five-year-old say that when he grows up, he wants to be an advertising executive? I didn’t think so. A crazy thing happens at university – kids who once wanted to be astronauts and ballerinas and firemen somehow morph into bankers and public relations specialists and sales managers. Practicality – such as paying the bills for the first time in your life – is a heavy-duty abrasive that wears the sharp edges of a dream to fit into the round hole of reality. Remember me – with my one-in-a-million career path – the writer I hoped to be, instead of the teacher I assumed I’d be. Don’t listen to people who ask you what on earth one does with a degree in Egyptology. If it’s what you fall asleep thinking about, and wake up excited about, it’s what you should pursue. The rest (including a paycheck) will somehow sort itself out.

    You won’t hear me tell you: See the world through your own eyes . When you were ten, you stood up in class and blurted out, I love math! It was an outburst of sheer enthusiasm, followed by a chorus of snickers from the rest of the class. I remember cringing, because I knew how much you’d be teased. But you know what? You did love math. You still do . And you knew even at that age that your voice had just as much right to be heard as anyone else’s. That’s still true – whether you are talking about religion, politics, or sexual orientation. You’re smarter than I ever was. You’re self-motivated. You have the persuasive ability to talk a polar bear into moving to the Bahamas. Sure, it’s easier to be a lemming, to agree with what the majority says and does. But it’s more meaningful to be the dissenting vote, because – who knows? – you just might make someone else think twice.

    And, a codicil: This planet is smaller than you think . I don’t just mean that environmentally – an arena where you’ve taught me, instead of the other way around. I mean that there will be plenty of people who do not think the way you do – whether that’s in a class at college, in the workplace, in your country. Don’t judge someone just because their opinions are different – lest they do the same to you. Instead, ask them if they want to grab a cup of coffee. Start a conversation. Listen. Open their minds – and your own. Focus on what’s good, instead of carping about what’s lousy. Is your waitress particularly attentive? Tell her how much you appreciate it. Write a letter to the editor of the local paper, praising someone who’s done a great job. For some reason, discontent spreads virally, and edges out kindness. Make some room for it.

    Expect to cry . Real life isn’t fair. People get promoted who don’t deserve it. Politicians get elected when they’re not the wisest choice. You finally get the courage to ask someone out – and you get rejected. Baseball players make millions and teachers can barely pay their mortgages. Here’s a bona fide fact: You’re not going to get straight A’s in college; you’re going to