The college experience brings with it a variety of “treasures.” For some, it is a feeling of at last receiving individual freedom and of having more personal space. It is about being “independent” and about doing things for oneself.
But with these privileges also come the usual difficulties and personal forgetfulness. Sometimes these freedoms are supplemented with the responsibility of paying bills; managing self control; having what is defined as a “life”; and, on occasion, worrying about how to fill the stomach when one realizes that the refrigerator has only bread, peanut butter and jelly.
What slips the mind most carelessly in these times, however, is the idea that the reasons for which we have such freedoms is a direct result of our roots-our family. And for the most part, we seem to forget to acknowledge or thank the people who have nurtured us up to this point in the first place.
Families mean different things to different people. They may not necessarily include any biologically maternal or paternal figures, nor must they include any sort of other biological relationship. At least in my life, family is biological. I admit that I am extremely fortunate and grateful to have both my parents together, happy, healthy and well.
But with such blessings, I often cease to remember that in any situation, the people who make up my family are right behind me, though not always physically. They include those who keep me in their prayers right before they lay down to sleep every night, as well as my 12-year-old sister who so often says,”Be careful,” any time I leave the house.
I am also fortunate to, although I live on campus, have the opportunity and the means to travel home whenever necessary. For the most part, the only time I actually go home is on Friday nights, primarily because I work the following morning. And even then, the only “quality time” I spend with my family is usually Saturday afternoons.
But this week, I had a revelation. Exhausted from a weekend of journalism in San Luis Obispo, and following a Law and the Mass Media test I think I stressed about too much, I decided to make the commute home. And so at 11:30 p.m. Monday, I rang the doorbell to the house and entered the bedroom in which I have lived all of my 20 years.
My parents welcomed me wholeheartedly, and my sister, after cleaning up her things from my otherwise vacant room, waited up for me just to ask if she could sleep on my floor. She even paged me earlier in the day to ask whether I could take her to school the following morning.
I admit with regret that it is not often I actually cherish being home, primarily because I am too exhausted to think about it. Like the anticipating college student, I have believed that going home would take away part of my freedom. Yet it has done just the opposite.
It has helped me discover that I would not have such freedoms had my family not given me the opportunity to sometimes experience life on my own — with a little jump start from them, of course.
Without their constant support and love, I may not have had the chance to see my sister cuddled up under her Winnie the Pooh blanket on my carpeted floor. I may have also lost the opportunity to be educated, self-motivated and hopeful.
In the end, true fortune has nothing to do with being responsible, about having something to fill the stomach nor about receiving freedom. Life’s treasures come from accepting that families are important and knowing that it simply feels good to go home.
Araceli Esparza, a junior journalism major, is managing editor of the Campus Times. She can be reached by e-mail at esparzaa@ulv.edu.
