Hope Springs Eternal
I was home this past weekend, partially for Easter but mostly to partake in the world premiere of my silver screen debut in The Paper, a documentary about the 2004-2005 school year at the Daily Collegian. In case you're wondering, I'm on screen for up to five whole seconds. I have no speaking lines, but thanks to director Aaron Matthews, the glorious mane of hair I had that fall will be passed down to generations to come.
Though I was home to see the film, the most consequential news of the weekend came on Friday. Seemingly, it shouldn't have been consequential news, but it was. My mother told me that she thinks my beloved fox terrier, Scout, may be diabetic. I always hate it when people grieve over a pet; I love my dog and all, but crying about a pet's death always seemed so juvenile to me. After all, how much emotional attachment can you have with a being that can't speak to you or even comprehend half the feelings you have?
When my mom told me, I was just kind of shocked. Apparently, the dog drinks water like a camel, and as a consequence, constantly wants to go outside to relieve himself. I imagine it's an inconvenience, but beyond that, it doesn't seem like a big deal.
But later that night, I came home from DJ's house and my parents had gone to bed. I watched TV for a bit, and just before I went to bed, I looked over at Scout lying on the couch. I broke down. It's not so much that he might die, or get sicker, or anything like that. It's the possibility that this might happen while I'm away at school, and I won't be able to see him one last time before he goes. It's the complete helplessness of the situation, that I can't possibly do anything to change his fate, make him better, or keep him around just until I get home from school in May.
Seemingly, I should be more upset about the possibility that this could happen to my grandmother. Her health has rapidly declined in the past year, and the thought of the insane coincidence involved (one I've written about before — I've lost grandparents in 1995, 1999, and 2003, and it's now 2007) is mainly just eerie. But since I've been through this with grandparents three times now, and that the last time around, it was almost a foregone conclusion, perhaps I'm more ready for it. I'm not saying my Mom-Mom is going to die this year, but it seems odd to me that the thought of Scout dying is more devastating to me than losing her.
When I chose to attend Penn State, there were a number of reasons: it was a great campus, it had a real journalism program, and my then-girlfriend was going there. But the simplest reason was location, location, location. It was close enough that I could come home for a weekend if I wanted, but it was far enough that my parents wouldn't swing by for any surprise visits. In my fourth year up here, that's the reason that has held strongest. But there's a sacrifice to go along with that, one which I hadn't really considered back in 2003. I rarely see my life-long friends (or my high school friends, for that matter), I miss all the good shows in Philly, and I'm completely helpless in any grave situation at home. I don't know if this factors into my adamant insistence of staying in Philly for as long as possible after college, but it certainly bolsters that feeling.
If you take away the idea that my failure to graduate this spring is partially (if not wholly) my fault, I shouldn't feel any guilt over being away while my grandmother and dog decline in health. But I can't take that away. If I'd chosen a different school, if I'd made a clean break with Erin before college, if I'd gotten my shit together (or never gotten my shit separated), etc. There are plenty of reasons to blame myself, and now I'm just hoping Scout and Mom-Mom can hold out for another year. It's a lot to ask.
Well, fuck it. I can't do anything but ask. Not even Apples in Stereo and Wild Cherry Pepsi can cheer me up. Here's to eternal life.
Though I was home to see the film, the most consequential news of the weekend came on Friday. Seemingly, it shouldn't have been consequential news, but it was. My mother told me that she thinks my beloved fox terrier, Scout, may be diabetic. I always hate it when people grieve over a pet; I love my dog and all, but crying about a pet's death always seemed so juvenile to me. After all, how much emotional attachment can you have with a being that can't speak to you or even comprehend half the feelings you have?
When my mom told me, I was just kind of shocked. Apparently, the dog drinks water like a camel, and as a consequence, constantly wants to go outside to relieve himself. I imagine it's an inconvenience, but beyond that, it doesn't seem like a big deal.
But later that night, I came home from DJ's house and my parents had gone to bed. I watched TV for a bit, and just before I went to bed, I looked over at Scout lying on the couch. I broke down. It's not so much that he might die, or get sicker, or anything like that. It's the possibility that this might happen while I'm away at school, and I won't be able to see him one last time before he goes. It's the complete helplessness of the situation, that I can't possibly do anything to change his fate, make him better, or keep him around just until I get home from school in May.
Seemingly, I should be more upset about the possibility that this could happen to my grandmother. Her health has rapidly declined in the past year, and the thought of the insane coincidence involved (one I've written about before — I've lost grandparents in 1995, 1999, and 2003, and it's now 2007) is mainly just eerie. But since I've been through this with grandparents three times now, and that the last time around, it was almost a foregone conclusion, perhaps I'm more ready for it. I'm not saying my Mom-Mom is going to die this year, but it seems odd to me that the thought of Scout dying is more devastating to me than losing her.
When I chose to attend Penn State, there were a number of reasons: it was a great campus, it had a real journalism program, and my then-girlfriend was going there. But the simplest reason was location, location, location. It was close enough that I could come home for a weekend if I wanted, but it was far enough that my parents wouldn't swing by for any surprise visits. In my fourth year up here, that's the reason that has held strongest. But there's a sacrifice to go along with that, one which I hadn't really considered back in 2003. I rarely see my life-long friends (or my high school friends, for that matter), I miss all the good shows in Philly, and I'm completely helpless in any grave situation at home. I don't know if this factors into my adamant insistence of staying in Philly for as long as possible after college, but it certainly bolsters that feeling.
If you take away the idea that my failure to graduate this spring is partially (if not wholly) my fault, I shouldn't feel any guilt over being away while my grandmother and dog decline in health. But I can't take that away. If I'd chosen a different school, if I'd made a clean break with Erin before college, if I'd gotten my shit together (or never gotten my shit separated), etc. There are plenty of reasons to blame myself, and now I'm just hoping Scout and Mom-Mom can hold out for another year. It's a lot to ask.
Well, fuck it. I can't do anything but ask. Not even Apples in Stereo and Wild Cherry Pepsi can cheer me up. Here's to eternal life.
posted by Kevin A. Doran at 1:45 AM
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