What I Know about 20 is Worth 20 Cents

The summer I turned 20 years old, between sophomore and junior years of college, I took two summer school classes at Indiana University. Biochemistry and Microbiology. I lived with my Aunt and Uncle and rode a bicycle to class every morning, pedaled home in the afternoon and then got to work studying. I worked hard and got 6 credit hours with a 4.0 GPA for my efforts.

I don't recall any social life; the few students I met in class weren't really friends, just acquaintances. I entertained myself by watching the opera students rehearse for the summer production of Gilbert and Sullivan's, The Gondoliers during the evening hours with my uncle. As Dean of the School of Music at I.U., music was his life and opera in particular. I remember sitting in on so many rehearsals that the musical score burned itself into my brain by the time dress rehearsal rolled around. And then, entertainment was continuing to watch the fully costumed performances at the Opera Hall for many more nights. Why did I do this? Perhaps because there was little else besides the Gondoliers and studying.

I don't remember going out at night for purposes other than the opera. I watched a lot of TV, saw a few movies (maybe) and looked forward to my parents visiting. It was an odd summer living with people ten years older than my parents, being respectful of my role as a house guest, and studying instead of "studying/playing". I listened to dozens of "talking" clocks in their home; from grandfather to wall from small to large sitting on all surfaces. Most of them chimed the hour or worse, the quarter hour, 24/7. I took all this eccentricity in stride and don't recall giving it a second thought.

I was the proverbial Good Girl. I didn't fight against it or wish I was elsewhere. I had lived through two years of college, replete with the typical craziness of being free of parental supervision, on my own, making my choices, and atoning for stuff I thought was all my fault. I had worked through a lot of the madness and playing around endlessly didn't appeal. On the bell curve of idiocy, I was somewhere to the left of mid line; some semblance of maturity blooming (perhaps).

My personal experiences at age 20 count for little right now. The times are different. The wiring is different. I am flummoxed. I feel that what I say matters greatly but that whatever comes out of my mouth will be the wrong thing; words ignored, advice given but not appreciated or worse yet, words that hurt and remembered forever. I could elect to "put a sock in it". I could take the tact of screaming and yelling but I've already been advised that this "doesn't do any good". I can pray for grace; this seems to be the only path that makes sense. Whether or not any words will come, I know not. Bone weary and terminally confused, I'm doing the best I know how.