3.38 Homesick

Scott, LHHS 1966

Fall 1966 • San Jose ~ In September I started my freshman year at San Jose State, majoring in Humanities with a minor in English. I went there because Sallie was, and I suppose, because my brother had. Scott Wardlaw, a fellow high school classmate, also attended. Because our SAT scores were high, he and I were accepted into the two-year Humanities Program which covered all of one’s basic required education classes with a perspective on Western civilization. The course integrated history, literature, philosophy, religion, politics, music, and art. I especially loved it because of my trip to Europe and had just experienced everything we were studying. It also asked the questions that have long preoccupied human beings: “Who are we? Where did we come from? Where are we going?” Being clueless in my own life and pre-occupied with figuring out how I got here in the first place, I found that conversation fascinating.

Scott and I bantered and cracked jokes in the back of the classroom. I wrote notes and drew daisies on his brown book-cover. He liked my snarky humor about school and life in general. I took a shine to anyone who thought I was funny.

I lived on the second floor in Royce Hall. I loved the cafeteria, the campus, and my classes, however, college wasn’t the best time for me. Standoffish and shy, I didn’t make new friends easily, and I got stuck with this roommate who was the most unattractive girl I’d ever seen. Her elongated face was covered in pimples set off by a mouth full of braces, the whole mess topped off by a mop of stringy blonde hair. She was six-feet tall with terrible posture, huge pigeon-toed feet, and a body shaped like a gangly overripe pear. She was also super intelligent, studied hard, and had a new boyfriend within a week. Apparently she had a lot more going for her than I did; she probably went on to win a Nobel Prize, marry a scientist, have two brilliant children, and live happily ever after.

Oct 1966 • San Jose ~ A month into school, I received another letter from my mother:
Oct. 14, ‘66
Dear Cathy,
Carleen told me how homesick you were and wanted some one to write to you, I have been waiting patiently to hear from you so I could write you. Surely you have my address, or is it because you didn’t want a letter from me. Honestly, Cathy, I don’t know what has come over you, since you have grown up you have treated me just like Betty does, sometimes I feel like just bowing out from my own kids lives altogether, it hurts me very much to be so ignored. I have given you all I could but you know I don’t make much. Would you rather I just ignored you as you have me, because it that’s what you want, I will do so.

I am enclosing a clipping I cut out of the paper weeks ago to send you but not knowing your address I could not very well send it.

You will get over being homesick and begin to enjoy college soon. I remember when my sisters and I were sent to a convent boarding school. For about the first two weeks I cried every night, then I began to enjoy it and not be homesick, then my eyesight failed and that was the end of real school for me.

I heartily dislike my job here but the old lady is so dependent on me, besides she is failing fast now and maybe death will soon release both of us. I would sure be up that well known creek without a paddle if I became old and crippled like her and depending on my children to care for my financial needs. I would soon starve to death, that is why I am putting every dime I can scrounge in a savings account. I’m going to need it.

I never go anyplace except to the market and I know I am getting into a terrible rut but don’t see any way out of it right now.

Write only if you want to.
All my love, Mom

Well, she never was one to cook me chicken and dumplings.

Royce Hall, my freshman dorm

Sallie lived in a different dorm and in our second semester she got a boyfriend and joined a sorority, so I didn’t see her much. Homesick and lonely, I started sleeping a lot: ten to twelve hours a night and three to four hours a day. I finally went to the campus clinic; the doctor checked me over and suggested I take a tennis class. I don’t like sports where you have to chase a ball, especially tennis.

Cathy and Bob

Bob and Dave were both courting me and it was becoming awkward. Dave came down from Berkeley armed with a dozen red roses, and less than an hour later, Bob arrived from San Francisco with a single long-stemmed beauty. I had to make a decision, and like a joke of nature, Bob won out: Dave and I were too much alike: sensible, composed, and suppressed, plus he reminded me of my mother’s woefulness which got on my nerves. Bob and I were opposites and he fulfilled in me the things I felt lacking: he was fun and confident, didn’t care a whit what others thought, and was charmed with a devil-may-care attitude, all of which I found alluring. Maybe I should have studied science instead of humanities. Like the captured butterfly, the chemistry between us would be the pin that would impale me later.

San Jose State College

to be continued…

© 2018. Catherine Sevenau.
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