Mental Musings from
The Marginatrix
...because sometimes I just need to share my thoughts.
When I was a kid, I don't think my mom ever had any doubt that I would go to college. As the oldest child, and arguably the smartest, in her family, she had been denied the opportunity to go because she was a girl and her parents could only afford to send her brothers, who had never taken school as seriously as she had. They weren't nearly as curious or motivated to learn as she was. As a result, she instilled in her kids a curiosity and love of learning that might have been innate, but just as easily could have been environmentally influenced. And it worked. Until I reached my teen years, at which point my desire to oppose everything important to my parents became my overriding motivation for everything I did.
Don't smoke. Check. Don't drink. Check. Don't get involved with the wrong crowd. Check. Get good grades so you can go to college. Check. And by check, I mean do the exact opposite. It was only natural that I should want to get a job at the age of 16. After all, there was no greater desire than my need to get out of the house, out from under the ever-watchful eye️ of parents, particularly my mom, who seemed to care more and be infinitely more involved in my life than any of my friend’s parents. I don't recall asking them to care. In fact, the message I tried to convey was just the opposite. Oddly, all of my friends thought I was the luckiest kid around to have such an amazing mom. If only they knew. Off I went, literally across the street, to apply for my first job, and later that afternoon I was the proud recipient of a minimum wage waitressing position in the local nursing home. It went without saying that my parents would purchase the required uniform. It was a fun job which perfectly aligned with my school schedule, which was probably why so many of my classmates worked there as well. The best thing was that school vacations and summers offered additional hours as that was the time when the full-time waitresses got to take their vacations. In this way, I was introduced to the regular, or should I say adult, waitresses. So began my odyssey toward furthering my education. These women weren't having nearly as much fun as my friends and I. To them, work was a drudgery of responsibility and complaining, the highlight of each shift the opportunity to gossip or discuss the latest sermons of Pat Robertson or Billy Graham. I didn't know who either of these men were, but apparently they were on the TV and these bitter women found them somehow inspiring. That was enough for me to know that I wouldn't. These women inspired me, though likely not in any way they might have expected. The reality of the lives they were leading gave me the vision to realize I would much prefer another four years of school to the mundane and mind-numbingly dull future I might have if I followed in their footsteps. It wasn't too late. My grades weren't terrible. With two years of school to go, I needed to get serious, and now I had my motivation. I think we often believe that motivation or inspiration will come in the form of a vision of what life could be. But for some of us, it can take the form of a dystopian vision of what we hope our life will never be. Thankfully, my mom had instilled in me the belief that there was something more available to me, and I grabbed hold of that belief and confidently pursued the future that was possible. I will forever appreciate these women for the lesson they taught me. October 24, 2018
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Elizabeth J. Connor
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