When we left off, I had just let young Jeff onto the fact that he has made some mistakes in the last few years. He seemed a little bummed, and I can't say I blame him. We decided to get something to eat, so I borrowed our parents car, wanting to go to Chipotle. Unfortunately, there aren't any around Hudson, Wisconsin at this time. After settling on Arby's, where they didn't have the 5 for $5.95 that I was looking for (the past sucks), we got back to talking.
Me: So, are you upset to find out how little you've actually accomplished by 22?
Him: Nah, I mean, I guess not. I don't know what I expected, really. If you're a senior, you're at least graduating this semester then, huh?
Me: Not exactly. Well, no. The soonest you could graduate is December '08, and that is what I'm shooting for.
Him: Alright, four-and-a-half years isn't so bad. You probably have a pretty tough major huh? Do I go into engineering, or a pure science?
Me: Um, fuck, well.... You started in aerospace engineering. Not everything really went as planned, though. A lot of booze, and gambling, and some other stuff kind of got in the way of that.
Him: So, what, you switched to math? Biology? Business?
Me: Well you switched to economics, at first.
Him: At first, Jesus man. So what is it now?
Me: English
Him: Oh, fuck me. Are you kidding. Goddammit man! I'm a fucking smart fucking kid, how the fuck did you mess that all up?
Me: Hey, hey, hey now. You're still smart. At some point though, you found out that writing is the easiest thing for you to do well with the least amount of effort, school-wise. So you/I/we decided that English would be the path of least resistance to a degree and we could just cut our losses and get the hell out of college.
Him: (dejected) Fucking great.
Me: I know, man, it sucks. You should be thinking grad school right now, not about struggling for a BA in English, but them's the breaks kid.
Him: (a tear in his eye) Yeah.
Me: Alright, alright. Don't get too upset. I mean, I'm only 22, things could still go up from here. You're not done yet.
Finding myself in the position of defending my life, to my young self of all people, has got me feeling a little off. I don't really have a plan of attack from here. I'm beginning to think it was a bad idea to come here. What was I thinking? Well, I have to salvage it from here.
Me: Alright, alright. Here's my promise to you. From now on, I'm going to think about you every time I decide to skip a class, or to drink that next beer when I'm already wasted. I'll keep going with this writing thing, see where that takes me. Otherwise, man, I'll put some other skills to use. I'm not worried, really, and you shouldn't be either.
I don't know what of these things I've just said I actually mean. Hey, at this point I'm just trying to sell the kid on his future, and keep him from slipping into some kind of early depression.
Him: Ok.
Me: Hey, we're smart. We're resilient, and we're pretty good with people. Plus, this is America, and you if you don't make money, you're a fuckin' douchebag.
Him: What?
Me: Oh, sorry, Departed reference. It's going to win best picture in 2007. It rocks.
Him: Good to know, I suppose.
Me: The point is, man, don't give up. I know I won't. We'll be fine.
Him: I thought so before I met you.
Me: I know, but it will all be fine, I promise.
So, there you have it. Shortly after that I hopped in the Delorean and came back. He's a tough kid, though, I think he'll be fine. As for me, I guess I just have to start believing the shit I was feeding him to keep him from weeping in public.
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