The Importance of the Ugly Brown Suitcase, Or Unwanted Gifts

“Mr. Murphy,” my father started in his unusual use of speech, “by the end of the summer, you are leaving the house. You are either going off to university, and we will help you pay tuition, or you are going to work, but either way you are leaving the house, period.” This was the reason why for my 18^th birthday, my father had purchased me an ugly brown suitcase. While my father had lived with his mother until he got married, he did not want the same for his sons. We all had to leave at age 18, but my older brothers left willingly. Upon reflection I do not think that this strategy is all bad. While the shock of being forced to leave home at 18 was harsh, I believe the experience helped me become educated and an independent person.

The end of my 18^th birthday party was filled with tension. My friends were also shocked and laughed shyly. But like the well adjusted middle child that I was, I accepted my fate. So at the end of the summer, I got on the Greyhound Bus and went off to Gonzaga University. I had to endure the cigarette smoke since smoking was permitted in the back of the bus, the smell of old ladies’ flowery perfume and of course their flatulence. The worst part, however, was the fact that GreyDog had sent my box on to Montana. A week later, I finally got my box which contained my bedding, clothes, and desk supplies. As a consequence, I slept in my clothes for a week. I was trying to become a bohemian and pretend I did not care.

I was a good student. I was religious about going to the library every night, including weekends. I wrote some Beat Generation type poetry and was in love with Mary Morris, a senior PE major. The first words she spoke to me were, “We have this tradition where the senior women seduce the freshman boys.” I did not know if Mary was joking or not but I remember being struck by the word “seduce.” Some nights I stood under huge oak trees and wrote poetry while campus police shone its bright flashlights on me as if I were on drugs or suicidal. “Are you alright?” the campus cop asked. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I also stayed outside the haunted music building. It was late, yet I could see inside the old house where the instruments were all playing but no one was inside. So both spiritual and the occult, I was exposed to many ideas that first year. Furthermore, I learned the basics of many subjects: poetry, politics, biology, sociology, and even Freudian psychology—and of course basic composition.

I have never been a very practical person, but when I was in high school, I had no common sense or street smarts at all. At college, however, I learned some practical skills like how to do laundry: don’t throw in whites with everything else. I also learned to skip dinner if the spaghetti was too watery or the turkey was cold and overcooked. Instead I went to the café for a burger and a game of Pac Man. I started to enjoy video games again. I also loved the jukebox blaring out “Down on the Corner” or “Bayou Woman.” Gradually I began to speak up more and to develop some practical skills but it was a long process.

Thus, I had started to develop my academic and practical skills. Upon reflecting on that first year, I realized that my father had my interests in mind. He was not just looking to throw me out of the house. He did know best. And after that semester, I was welcome at home as a college student, not a pubescent animal. I have never returned home to stay, and I am proud of that fact. I had accomplished something: becoming more educated and learning more practical and social skills. Now my son is 18 and it is time to send him off on his quest for education and enlightenment. It is time to buy the ugly suitcase and give the “By the end of the summer” speech to my son. In fact I would recommend the same to many young people who are prepared for university: give it a try. Leave home for four months and see what happens. While the student may miss his family for a while, his or her future depends on being educated and learning practical skills that can be best acquired at university—and away from home.

Robert Frost once wrote, “Home is where you go when there is nowhere else to go and they have to take you in.” in my case, however, this was not true. For my 18^th birthday, my father had purchased me an ugly brown suitcase. While he had lived with his mother until he got married, he did not want the same for his sons. They all had to leave at age 18. Upon reflection I do not think that this strategy is all bad. While the shock of being forced to leave home at 18 was harsh, I believe the experience helped me become educated and an independent person.

My friends were also shocked and laughed shyly. But like the well adjusted middle child that I was, I accepted my fate. So at the end of the summer, I got on the Greyhound bus and went off to university. I had to endure the cigarette smoke since smoking was permitted in the back of the bus, the smell of old ladies’ flowery perfume and of course their farts. The worst part, however, was the fact that GreyDog had sent my box on to Montana. A week later, I finally got my box which contained my bedding, clothes, and desk supplies. I slept in my clothes for a week, but I was now a bohemian and did not care.

I was a good student. I was religious about going to the library every night, including weekends. I wrote some Beat Generation type poetry and was in love with Mary Morris, a senior PE major. Some nights I stood under huge oak trees and wrote poetry while campus police shone its bright flashlights on me as if I were on drugs or suicidal. I learned the basics of many subjects: poetry, politics, biology, sociology, and even Freudian psychology—and of course basic composition.

The seniors loved me because I could consume lots of beer and hold my own. While inside I was still an insecure teenager, outside I was a bohemian loner who did not care about those students who just wanted to go to college to find a wife and make money.

I also learned some practical skills like how to do laundry: don’t throw in whites with everything else. I also learned to skip dinner if the spaghetti was too watery or the turkey was cold and overcooked. Instead I went to the café for a burger and a game of Pac Man.

Ultimately, my father had my interests in mind. He was not just looking to throw me out of the house. He did know best. And after that semester, I was welcome at home as a scholar, not a pubescent animal. I have never returned home to stay, and I am proud of that fact. I had accomplished something: becoming more educated and learning more practical and social skills. Now my son is 18 and it is time to send him off on his quest for education and enlightenment. In fact I would recommend the same to many young people who are prepared for university: give it a try. Leave home for four months and see what happens. While the student may miss his family for a while, his or her future depends on being educated and learning practical skills that can be best acquired at university—and away from home.