A few days ago I got an e-mail asking if I could write a column about “college” due to the theme of this week’s paper. I decided it probably wouldn’t be kosher for me to write a column screaming about politics, and then roll it in weed and dip it in beer. In sitting around thinking about what I could write that would encapsulate my five years of college, I wasted 100 words writing this introduction. I thought that was fitting, considering most everything I wrote in school had about 100 words of crap at the beginning.
The morning I went off to college, my mother sat me down and said, “I’ve had 18 years to teach you right from wrong. If you don’t know by now, I haven’t done my job. I will never again tell you to do anything. But, feel free to ask for my opinion. And, remember, until the day I die, you can always come home.”
After initially thinking a pod person had replaced the formerly drill-sergeant-like keeper of my innocence and virginity, I got frightened. No one had ever told me about this part. The whole “going it alone” thing wasn’t something that was really discussed by my family. I had excitedly packed my books and laundry bags and flip flops and CDs thinking only of the first night I would spend away from my parents. I’d spend a night watching cable until 2 a.m. while drinking a beer. I would watch, drink, eat and talk about things that were delightfully forbidden.
No one had informed me that being able to do that also meant no one was there when you woke up in the morning. I was desperately afraid I wouldn’t make it. During the two hours we spent unpacking my dorm room, I really wanted to stop and scream, “Stop. Stay here with me.”
But I adjusted quickly. I did laundry. I fed myself. I made it to class. I partied on the weekends. In doing all of these things alone, I quickly found out what my mother had been talking about. There were decisions to be made. There were questions to ask.
I would say those first two years of school were a heavy-footed shuffle designed to discover the boundaries of my values. I felt as if my whole world was restructuring. Years later I realized maybe there were some things I should have asked along the journey. In feeling set adrift in the world, I was anxious to grab onto things that felt familiar. In those four years, out of fear, I created the same world my parents had created for me. Later I realized that time might have been better spent creating my world for myself. I finally decided to blame this oversight on not being taught to ask “why.”
Most of the time growing up the question “why?” is followed with “because I said so.” Its usefulness peters out around age 10 when you realize “because I said so” isn’t a valid reason, so you stop asking the question. This isn’t due to bad parenting. This is because your parents are busy. They are underpaid and underappreciated. But your college isn’t.
My whole first semester I hauled my cookies up two flights of stairs to use the restroom if I was in the lobby studying with someone. I did this because dorm rules said that the bathroom downstairs was for “guests only.” I didn’t know why it was for guests only. I just accepted this as fact and ran exactly 28 stairs twice a night for five months every time I had to use the restroom. One day I overheard a girl ask the R.A. “why” she couldn’t use the downstairs restroom. The answer came down to the R.A. being too lazy to clean it if 200 girls were using it regularly. I thought about that. I didn’t agree with it. I thought it was kind of stupid, actually, so I started using the downstairs bathroom. The world didn’t end, I didn’t get into trouble, and most importantly, the RA didn’t know my tushy was touching her sparkling toilet seat at least twice a day.
Never be afraid to ask someone why. Ask a teacher why (s)he is teaching you this subject. Ask who wrote the book and what they believe in. Ask “why” when a student organization tells you to behave in a certain way. Ask your roommate “why” they leave the top off the shampoo bottle and won’t recap the toothpaste. Ask “why” when administrators give you arbitrary rules you do not understand. Ask “why” until you make everyone crazy and then ask it some more until it all makes sense.
No one told me that those four years weren’t about books and school. No one told me those four years were about finding “me” in the midst of all the “non-me-ness” that is this world. This life is about your learning as much as you can about yourself and the world you live in. One simple “why?” can be the most important word you ever say. Especially when you realize your behavior is being shaped by the answers to questions you haven’t yet asked.
Two months ago at work I asked a coworker “why” we were doing some seemingly mundane task. She looked at me and said, “You sure do ask a bunch of questions.”
Without missing a beat I returned, “Yeah, but I sure do know a bunch of stuff.”
After throwing in a “touché,” she told me why we were doing what we were doing.
If anyone ever asks you why you ask so many questions, tell them “because I said so.”
Ali Greggs is a regular JFP columnist and a social worker.
Previous Comments
You know, you could recycle this as a darned good commencement speech if you ever need one on short notice… Cheers, TH
#70595 | Author: Tom Head | Date: Aug 26 2005
I wonder when I will get the first request to speak at a graduation. 😉 Tom, I think you ran into a friend of mine (or rather emailed him about speaking at your church) yesterday. Small world. Thanks, Ali 🙂
#70596 | Author: Lori G | Date: Sep 6 2005
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