Reading the headline to this piece in the Chronicle, it was all I could do not to roll my eyes. The headline implied incredulity that public flagship universities would offer discounts to middle-class students.
There was a time when it was simply assumed that public flagship universities were largely for middle class students. Now it’s considered noteworthy when they gesture towards remembering the bulk of the electorate.
I say, bring it on. And that’s not only because I have a kid on the cusp of college. It’s also because I’m annoyed that he would have received more help if he had spent high school perfecting his jump shot, rather than studying hard and working part-time jobs.
At some point, a culture gets what it pays for.
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Last Sunday we went to a backyard wedding. This bears explanation.
It was crazy-cold, with the kind of wind that goes right through you. We were there for hours. Going inside was not an option. And given the occasion, it wouldn’t have seemed appropriate to dress for a football game.
The dress code was described as “casual,” which isn’t terribly helpful. Does that mean sportcoat, sweater, or hoodie? I was concerned that I was underdressed until I noticed one bride wearing Keds and the other wearing New Balance. Casual meant really, really casual. We were fine.
Their dogs served as ring bearers. One was perfectly well-behaved. The other starting hacking about a minute into the ceremony, and just kept going. The minister actually imitated him at one point, drawing laughs from the shivering crowd. I don’t remember much of what the minister said, but Simba pulling at his collar and coughing up heaven-knows-what made quite the impression. (“Do you HACK take HACK…”)
We’ve known one of the brides since The Boy and her daughter met in preschool. Her younger daughter gave the speech, noting that the brides met when our friend worked as an intern in the other one’s practice. As she put it, “X doesn’t like interns and doesn’t like kids, and I’m the intern’s kid,” but she said it with a smile. I was impressed at her savoir-faire.
I was glad that The Boy and The Girl were there. Despite the wind -- did I mention it was cold? -- there was something heartwarming in seeing a longtime friend who has been through some stuff find happiness.
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Being married to a writer, even a part-time one such as myself, has to be taxing. At one point last week, while running errands, we stopped by a local dollar store so TW could pick up some ribbon and gift bags for a conference she’s coordinating. I helpfully wandered the aisles.
As we walked out to the car, I mentioned that I was struck by the large and prominent display of home pregnancy tests in the dollar store. It seemed indicative of something larger.
Her response:
“(Sigh.) You’ll probably write about that, won’t you?”
Yeah, probably.
