Thursday, September 17, 1992
Relationships-
The Collegian
Last night, 2 a.m.
Outside my bedroom
window, the glow of the
tangerine street lamps
softened the harshness of
this otherwise ruddy
neighborhood. I had an 8
a.m. class to get up for
(some guy named
Shakespeare), and I hadn't
gone to bed yet. I didn't
care, my special
companion was with me.
The night was cool,
quiet, and breezeless.
There were no sounds of
scraggily crickets scraping
their legs together.. No
sounds of dueling drunken
couples fighting out in the
street. No sounds of
unguarded guard dogs
barking. Nothing. Just me
and that someone special.
We stayed up all night,
churning out cassettes on a
too old player, and
spinning Russian roulette
with ideas for my nearly
completed novel. We
spent the night dreaming
that someday soon, I
would become a published
novelist.
College is a hard way
to go, let me tell you and
so is being single and
thirty-four years old.
Companions have come
What
Andrew D. Festa
The Collegian
People, in general, are
intolerant of anyone of/with a
different race, religion, culture,
attitude, belief, appearance,
preference or desire not shared
by the judges we've become.
This is about pain, about how
people hurt people, about how
people's beliefs and attitudes, if
not shared by others around
them, lead to name calling,
slurs, abuse, hatred, violence,
and other manifestations of
intolerance. Why do people do
that to each other?
Life is too short to be so
ignorant. Time won't retrace its
steps to let us undo the damage
we cause; it laughs at us
because of our stupidity, and it
cries for us because it's just a
passerby and can't stop to help.
When we place a value on an
object, we judge known
variables: cost of materials,
labor, shipping, storage,
display, and even hype. I call
this the Value Assignment
System (VAS). The VAS is
wonderful though a thousand
percent markup for hype is too
much - qnd it has its purpose.
Where would we be if we
couldn't .assign a value to
something?
and gone, and loneliness
and depression have seen
too many of my days.
Relationships have not
exactly been a success
story in my life. Until
now.
My special companion
has been with me for some
time now and my life has
easily been the better for it.
It's not that I couldn't have
survived my college years
without her, it's just that
she made the time pass so
much more gracefully.
Before starting at
Behrend, it had been
fourteen years since I had
any formal type of
schooling. The first
semester was brutal. I was
thirty one years old at the
time, and starting
something completely
new. I didn't know
anyone and no one knew
me. I felt like a player in
Heinlein's Stranger in a
Strange Land. It was a
long four months.
It was just after the
Christmas holiday, when I
met my special companion.
What makes her special is
her ability to stay with me
for so long. I'm not a hard
man to know. But I am a
hard man to know well. I
change moods faster than a
baby changes diapers.
And she has withstood
did
When we use the VAS to
place a value on people, we
cross into unfair, unjust and
inhumane territory. We give
people no greater importance
than things. Unlike an object,
the factors of which can be fully
known, people are more
complex. People aren’t objects
and can't be judged solely on the
visible.
If one looks at a case of fine
china and notices a flaw, it's
reasonable to place a lower
value on the flawed item. One
might even remove the item
from the case. Quality is
important, isn't it?
How does one tell if people
are flawed? If someone has long
hair, is that person flawed? is a
black person flawed? Is a Jew?
Is a Russian? Is a gay person?
Is a Catholic? Is anyone?
People are nbt equal in
qualities. They’re not rubber
stamped into existence as
replications of all the others in
the 'case'. People are
individuals, unique in every
respect
I agree with the idea that
some people are flawed, people
dangerous to others or self, but
those are, one should hope, the
exceptions rather than the rule.
A killer is flawed. A rapist is
flawed. A thief is flawed.
real kind of love
the
them all
Throughout the final
re-write of my fantasy
adventure manuscript, she
has sung, screamed, and
swore for me. And at me
for that matter. She
checks my punctuation and
corrects my spelling when
necessary ( I'm not
proficient at either).
In all our time together,
she's never tried to change
me. She gives room to
my moodiness, and I, in
turn, recognize her
limitations. Sometimes my
moods frustrate her, just
as her limitations frustrate
me. Despite this, I
haven't tried to change her
either. At times, it is quite
difficult.
What makes male/
female relationships, by
nature so damn fragile?
Why do they so often fail?
As cynical as this may
sound, I believe the
concept of love has much
to do with it. Love cannot
be defined. It cannot be
done.
The meaning is
different for everyone. It
is an ever changing thing,
even over time within the
same relationship. Some
say love in the manner that
it gives them the right to
possess or own the other
person. Some say love,
you call
People who harm or are a threat
to others are flawed but, one
would hope, are correctable.
Just because people are of a
different race, wear long hair,
have different religious beliefs,
like Chevys rather than Fords,
choose public versus private
school, would rather eat salads
"People are not equal
in qualities. They're
not rubber stamped
into existence as
replications of all the
others in the 'case'."
than parts of an animal, choose
careers over being housewives,
or would rather be writers than
The Collegian
when all it really is sexual
desire. Still other have the
ability to say "I love you."
with the same ease and
manner as they say " I love
ice cream." or "I love
pizza."
Do I sound like the
Scrooge of romance? Do I
sound like someone who,
if given the chance, would
steal the arrows of Cupid
and break them all into
tiny little pieces? It would
all depend on the day, I
guess. I just can't
understand why
relationships have to be so
self-destructive. Don't both
sides want the same thing?
If you'll permit me, I'd like
to return to talking about
my special companion.
Like you have a choice,
right?
Belief it , or not, we
first met through a
magazine ad. That's right,
a magazine ad. I tried all,
and I mean all of the other
routes available, dozens of
times before. So, I dared
to be bold and try a new
approach. And the second
she showed up at my door,
I knew she was the one for
me.
I can count on her, for
at least an hour or two
everyday, to light up for
me. This is true even on
her worst days, when her
computer specialists, doesn't
mean they are flawed. They're
different, unique, special.
Difference was once held as a
basic right, a fundamental aspect
of being human, of being
American. What ever happened
to that basic truism?
If one is different, shoot him.
If one has other beliefs, shoot
her. If one doesn't live up to
the expectations of others, be
upset and hateful. How would
you feel, since you too are
different in you own way, if
someone thought these things
of you?
Just because someone doesn't
live up to our expectations,
that's no reason for hatred. How
can one be unique, be an
individual, be her/himself when
others try to dictate what is
best?
A recent incident with my
brother showed me two sides of
that coin. The first side dealt
with how he felt about me. I
had long hair and a full beard
and he labeled me a hippie, a
bum, a communist, and a leech.
Long hair isn't the denotative
meaning of a hippie. (What is
hair anyway, but a part of a
person's wardrobe?) He assumed
I was a bum because I haven't
lived the life he felt I should.
The communist label is because
energy is really low. By
far, though, the most
important thing about her
is when I look into those
baby blues of hers, and see
nothing but limitless
possibilities for the future.
I, in response, give
purpose and meaning to
her creation. Without me
in her life, she might just
be existing only in the
most superficial way. I
show pride in her
intelligence and memory,
and make them a part of
me. To be blunt, we are
two separate entities
sharing the same soul.
Her name is L.T.
Smith-Corona. Did I say
Smith-Corona? I did,
didn't I. My god, do you
know what this means! I'm
emotionally involved with
my word processor. Jesus
it’s only a month into the
semester and I've already
lost my mind. I'm mad in
the head. I wonder if
anyone in the pschology
department has a couch that
I could lie down on. I
hope so. Because at this
moment, Edgar Allan Poe
and Dr. Faustus are in my
bedroom smiling and
discussing my future. See
you later!
me?
I’m a 'hippie' who "represents
everything that's wrong with
this country." (Sure, and all the
clean cut people represent
everything that's right?)
As for leech, that was his
assumption (and we all know
about 'assume', no?) He
assumed, since I was a hippie, a
bum and a communist, I must
be going to college on my
father's money. The payments
have been mine, and the bills
are mine.
The second side of that coin
was my initial reaction to his
outburst. I was intolerant of
him and his attitudes. While
defending myself is a right I
will not give up, I was wrong,
though only in my thoughts,
when I labeled him an irrational
whelp.
Though he said I wasn't his
brother and is now back in his
preferred home, Korea, where I
can't contact him, and though I
doubt he would accept my
words, I'd like to tell him I'm
proud of him, not for being
what I think he should be, but
for being himself.
Andrew D. Festa is a
Senior ma/oring in
English. His column is
published every other
week in The Collegian.
Page 9 v