!!!!!!!*******WORKING DRAFT*******!!!!!!!
The second weekend in August was one of those Dog Days in the midwest, hot, muggy, with oppressive heavy air. A perfect day to hide my hair. Mike and his parents picked me up on their way to the University, where G would graduate, finally honored as a Ph.d. twenty years after getting her Master’s. She must have been sweltering in the long black robe, but the smile never left her face. After the ceremony, we sought shade walking under massive oaks and maples. Doffing her cap and tassel, she pulled the gown with its blue hood over her head and took my elbow, holding me back while Mike and A talked about the on-going decline of UC’s basketball fortunes after Oscar Robertson had left for the Royals.
“Did you enjoy your time on Martha’s Vineyard? How is your mother?” She smiled warmly, expectantly.
“She’s fine; she said to say ‘hi’. I had a lot of time to think, just walking along the beach, around the island. And my little niece was there. I’m thinking more and more that’s what I want to do, something with children.”
“Well, you’re way too talented to be a teacher, I hope you know. The world needs smart women like you, to change its course, to help children grow into the people they ought to be.”
Why was she telling me this, I wondered. What did she see in me?
She went on: “Don’t ever set your sights lower than the highest rung, Janie. Don’t let anyone, ever, tell you what you can’t do.” I think she was feeling her power after finally accomplishing her goal, set three decades ago, of becoming a doctor. Someone commanding full respect, able to set a course on her own terms. I thought of Linda, not caring where she went. My mother, who had surely settled for a very comfortable life with my father. Miss Mkrtchian and Miss Foley, spinsters both, trying gamely every day to bring their charges to flower. I understood suddenly that all these women, whom I thought I looked up to, who seemed to want the best for me, might not know the heights I could achieve.
A rush of fear and wonder coursed through me. I needed to find a worthy goal, I knew, but didn’t yet know where to look.
Mike’s mother brought me back. She was saying, “…Radcliffe?”
“I’m sorry, I was…”
“I was saying, have you thought more about college? Is Radcliffe still your first choice?”
I had just sent off for application packets, and begun receiving them that week. I discovered that most schools wanted not only recommendations from teachers, but from one or more “individuals who know you personally, but not a family member.” Someone outside of the narrow group I’d been trying to impress all these years. Someone whose opinion might carry some weight, more than, say, as Rabbi or minister. Someone like…a Radcliffe alumna with a Ph.D.?