My sweet 18-year-old granddaughter has gone to Finland to be married. She intends to live there, learning a new language, a new culture, and all about wedded life at the same time.
In my opinion she’s a very brave girl. She’s eighteen years old and ready to take control of her life. She’s ready to jump in and enjoy the adventure.
I was no where near so (brave, fool hardy, crazy, adventuresome - pick one or more) when I was her age. When I was 18, I went to college. The college was selected by my father. He completed the forms and informed me of my acceptance. He put me on the train near Sacramento and my uncle took me off the train in Seattle.
I stayed at my uncle’s home until I had registered for school, taken a week-long battery of tests, and settled into a home where I was to work for my room and board. (Doing domestic things, like caring for children and cleaning the house.)
My father forgot to send money. I had enough money of my own from summer work to pay a semester’s tuition and buy books, and I had a tiny, token scholarship. Period.
When I look back, I wonder “How could my father have done that? I was so little prepared for this new life.”
When my father was a young man, he went to college for the first two years all-expenses paid, then the stock market crashed and he worked his way through college for the next four or so years. Maybe he thought that if he could do it, I could do it. Maybe he forgot those first two years of having all-expenses paid.
I don’t know why he did it, but I found myself at a well-known private college not only scrambling for enough money to get by, but also coping with being 17-years old and studying in an academic world for which I had poor preparation. College was hard work! I was bright and a quick student, but I’d never gone to school with two hundred other bright and quick students. MAMA! I may also have been lazy.
So, after one semester, I quit college and went to work. (The family rule was that if you’re not going to school, you have to work.) I got my first real job before I was eighteen and by law could only work 8 to 5. So? You may ask. I was working at the telephone company where shifts were distributed on a seniority basis. Except for me, everyone else who worked those hours had been there a long, long time. Not everyone was happy about my special priviliges. As soon as I was 18 the special priviliges ended and I was at the bottom of the pile so far as work hours were concerned.
That was a very long time ago.
My granddaughter intends to go to college as soon as things settle down a bit and she learns some more Finnish. Somehow I think she’s going to do just fine. She has the high spirits and a outlook on life that’s going to see her through.
And she has a new puppy. <grin>
Marilynne
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