We're getting older now, aren't we?
Last week I graduated from my architecture program. Now you are talking to a master. (I know a few of you hoped that you were talking to a doctor, but let me just say I can make some good referrals, and I'm sure we'll be able to get that rash cleared up in no time.)
Now, Honeymoon week is over, and it's time to get down to do it, whatever it is. I mean something, that is, that makes it sound like I'm not just sitting around catching my breath after architecture school, wheezing and puffing like Mr. Burns after he tries to open a jar of pickles. Afterall, I can only have the "I'm taking the summer off" conversation with so many people before I begin to sound ridiculous even to my own ears.
One of the upshots of my new status as a free man, unchained from from the studio, is some time with the parents. Last week I was at a party with them up in Hartford, and my father and I managed to escape to the front terrace of one of the three real modernist houses I've ever seen in the area. We were talking about my trip last summer to Rome and how nice the lifestyle must be for the expats who tour around visiting architecture and fine arts groups.
My father then told me a story I'd never heard before. In fact, I only know a handful of stories from my father, so I was very interested to hear another. After his freshman year in Boston, he went to Greece for the summer. This trip wasn't paid for by his parents; he had a little study fellowship from the college. The funding didn't cover much, though, beyond the price of his ticket there, and he realized he wasn't going to be able to live on three dollars a day, even in Athens. After looking around for a couple of days, he realized that hey, his was an architecture student! He probably knew as much about the Acropolis as most of the guides up there. So my father went up to the top and stood by the Parthenon where guides and tourists find each other. Pretty soon, my father was giving tours in English, Spanish or French. He did these on and off all summer, and it paid for his travel and fun all over Greece. What was fun, though, was when he realized that the couples and families he was taking around the ruins didn't really want all that much of the ancient and architectural history of the site—instead they were excited and happy to be on vacation, and wanted someone to organize and acknowledge their happiness. As a young man, slightly foreign-looking and educated in several different countries, he was a great companion to these people for a couple of hours—he was part of their vacation.
Sometimes I wonder how all of his initiative got lost in the translation to me. The last time I made a random friend while traveling, it took 150 miles on foot to do it, and I don't think I've ever made a dollar that didn't come in the form of a cheque. Well, now that I'm done with thousands of dollars of school, I can find the time to go busking in the subway, playing my kazoo and squeaky-duck medley.
