As we left campus to catch a bite of lunch, Zack stopped at a pastel green building the locals call Guacamole Memorial. It's a private dorm, the largest in the student ghetto. He glanced at his watch. "D’you mind if we turn in here first, Professor? I forgot something."
"Would you like me to wait outside?"
"No, you can come in."
All in all I wished I hadn't; faculty could hardly be more conspicuous in a place like this. Besides, it was co-ed, and as we passed girls in various stages of dress, I felt as though I were visiting a house of questionable repute. Zack noticed my uneasiness and laughed.
"After a while you get used to it, Professor S."
"I don't see how."
My eyes scanned the room. On the bed was a water gun version of an AK-47 assault rifle; next to it, a pile of comic books. On the desk perched a PlayStation console. From the ceiling hung a model of a Star Wars craft – I think it was the Millennium Falcon. On the floor, a business textbook was opened to the section on Bayesian analysis; alongside it, a copy of Horton Hears a Who was opened to the section where Horton is vindicated. A couple of limp mylar balloons were attached by laces to a pair of sour athletic shoes. Zack thrust his arm into a pile of clothes, thrashed around, and pulled out a leather wallet. "That's lucky," he said. "I was worried that the washing machine might have hurt it. Let's go."
By prearrangement, we headed for the Edge of Night. He ordered a fried egg sandwich, I called for my usual Reuben. No sooner had we given thanks than he got down to business.
"The reason I invited you to lunch, Professor Smith, is that I wanted to ask your opinion about something."
"Go ahead."
"What's wrong with me?"
I studied him across the table. "What makes you think there's something wrong with you?"
"Lots of things. For one, next semester I graduate, and I've gotta start looking for jobs."
"Do you call that bad?"
"It is if you didn't need an Ph.D."
"But, Zack, if you didn't need one —"
"Then why am I getting one? That's just it: I don't know."
"I see."
"Here's another thing. There's this girl, Julie. I think you know her."
"I've seen you with her. Nice girl."
"Well, I'm crazy in love with her. And she says she loves me too."
"Do you call that bad?"
"It is if I don't want to marry her."
"Don't you?"
"I do and I don't."
"Why?"
"That's just it: I don't know that either." He ran both hands through his hair. "I'll never find anyone like her. I can see myself growing old with her. If I don't act soon I'll lose her forever. But I keep telling myself that I can't."
"Do you feel that you're not good enough for her?"
"Of course I'm not good enough for her — nobody could be. But that's not it."
"What is it, then?"
"I don't know! I must be crazy... do you think I'm crazy?"
"I wouldn't say crazy."
"What would you say? That I can't handle responsibility?"
I pulled at my beard and considered him. "I happen to know your advisor, Zack. He has nothing but good to say about your thesis. And last year, when you ran the Speakers Program for the Student Council, I heard that you were the best chairman they'd ever had. So it isn't that you can't handle responsibility..."
He was silent.
"I think you're just afraid to grow up."
"I'm terrified to grow up," he blurted. "Lots of my friends are too. Some of them even more than me. Except they don't know it, or else they think that's normal. Why are so many people like that?"
"A better question would be 'Why are you like that?'"
"I don't know. I guess I think I'll make a mess of things."
He changed the subject.
"Were people of your age afraid of growing up?"
"Lots of people my age still haven't grown up," I said.
"Has it always been that way?"
"I'd say 'No.' Historically, some people have been afraid of growing up, but most have looked forward to it. Prolonged adolescence is an invention of modern times."
"How recent?"
"1950s or 60s, I'd say."
"Isn't that your generation?"
"Yes, we have a lot to answer for."
"What made it different from the generations that came before?"
"Lots of things."
"Like what?"
"Too many to list them all."
"Then list some of them."
I sighed. "Too much free time. Too few responsibilities. Too much disposable income. Enormous high schools in which teens imitated each other instead of grown-ups. Mass higher education for people who weren't really interested in it. Separation of the generations as families moved around. Loss of traditions. Rise of 'experts'. Decline of faith. Resulting loss of perspective. With that, an increasing inability to set distant goals for life. That's just for starters."
"What do you mean, 'just for starters'?"
"I mean there's a lot more."
"What?"
"The sexual revolution. And with it, the collapse of the ancient tacit covenant among all women. You see, once young women stopped holding out for marriage, their bargaining power was undercut. As my grandmother used to say, 'Why buy the cow if you can get the milk for free?'"
"Like most of us do."
"Right. But the next part of the story concerns you particularly."
"How do you mean?"
"The increase on divorce rates. This had all sorts of bad effects. A child idealizes his parents. If they couldn't stay married, he thinks, then how could he? He may even blame himself for the divorce. And so he expects to make a mess of things, as adults always do."
"Worse yet, a lot of divorce means that a lot of kids grow up without dads. If a boy's father deserts his mother, the very idea of fatherhood is diminished in his eyes. That's a catastrophe, and I don't just mean that he's sad about it. To a small boy, his father is more than his father — he's his vision of his future, his portrait of adult manhood. If that vision is discredited, then growing up itself is discredited."
The stricken look on Zack's face continued to deepen.
"This sense of disillusionment spreads through the —"
"Please stop, Professor."
"I'm sorry."
"No, it's okay. I just need to stop listening for a minute."
We finished our sandwiches. I asked for an espresso. Zack signalled for a refill on his soft drink. He set it down, took a long breath, then exhaled.
We looked at each other.
"So how does a guy —"
"A man, Zack. You're 28."
"I don't feel like one."
"But you are one."
"Then how does — a man — of 28 — start growing up?"
"In order to grow up, you've got to start acting like a grown-up. It's the same with every trait of character. To become courageous, you practice the actions of courageous people. To become frank and open-hearted, you practice the actions of frank and open-hearted people. Whatever you do consistently, for good or ill, you become."
His brow furrowed. "That sounds circular."
"Think about it."
For a long time Zack looked at me goggle-eyed. Then he collected himself, folded his arms, and smirked.
"So you say. But if I'm supposed to do that, then what's Julie supposed to do?"
I wasn't about to be sidetracked.
"Well, Zack," I said, "she can hold you to it."
I don't want this post to cause trouble, as I sense that not everyone will agree with it. But I was never afraid to be controvertial and I am not about to become. I didn't write this text, and I agree that some of it is overrated, but I like its central message.
How many Zacks do you know? Girls, how many guys (ops - men) like Zack have you dated... how many of them listened to sermons like this from how many Professors... and how have them turned out?
There's a lot of change in society, and as with any change, good as well as bad things come with it. To be a woman caught between the waves of this change is a tough spot to be. There's no denying that.
Also, I got an interesting perspective from a recent article on the NYT entitled To Be Married Means to Be Outnumbered. I recommend reading it.
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