Choose your own servitude

When I moved to Salina, Utah as a 5th grader, I was teased mercilessly about my “accent” (i.e. good grammar with a California-Oregonian bent) and for being the “doctor’s daughter.” We did live in one of the biggest houses in town, in the only fancy neighborhood (I know it was fancy because it had a name–Sunnybrook). My parents paid too much for the house despite the fact that the previous owner, a dentist, must have had a hard time selling.

Salina is a coal town, population 2000-odd; my dad was the only doctor for the three towns of the North Sevier region. Remember that movie October Sky? That was Salina, only not in the 50s, and without the beautiful West Virginia scenery, and with less of the drama. There are also some ranchers in Salina, or at least a yearly rodeo.

Our house was on a double lot and enclosed by a 6-foot-high cinderblock wall. As an 11-year-old, one of my Saturday chores was mowing the <1/4 acre lawn with the riding lawn mower. The gate from front to back yard wasn’t wide enough for the mower to pass, so I had to ride around the block.

During the winter, when the early morning air stank of coal burning, I had to wear moonboots as I walked to school in the snow. I remember watching girls step off the bus from the neighboring towns wearing short denim skirts and cute little moccasins.

I guess the girls in my class didn’t realize that my clothes were far from designer labels, though I think by then I had at least convinced my mom to stop sewing me dresses and culotte-and-blouse outfits (I later begged her to sew my beautiful wedding dress; I did grow up that much).

Eventually I made friends, even Best Friends Forever that lasted more than a week, and friends who took me to the rodeo and introduced me to the best jerky on the planet (made from her father’s self-hunted venison–did I mention that we got out of school every year for the first day of deer-hunting season?).

But I never forgot, and I don’t know if they ever forgot that I was the doctor’s daughter. Not least because four years later we escaped North to a small town south of Provo, Utah, where there were more doctors than stoplights, and even a homeschool cooperative that was admirable, if, understandably due to it’s very nature, filled with rather odd hippie-types.

Now my brother Brad (who, at 5 years my junior, was unfortunately too young to do the mowing) is married, graduating from BYU, and entering medical school this fall. He has choose whether to accept an Air Force scholarship or to go $200,000 into debt to pay for his education. Hmm, owe your life or, owe your life. Emerson said, “A man in debt is so far a slave.”

I’ve often wished there weren’t wars and stuff, because if it weren’t for things like that, a military life would suit me just fine. See the world, move every couple of years, see the world, move. Of course, when we left Salina at the end of 8th grade, I was heartbroken; it was as hard to leave my friends as it was to leave that small, wonderfully-reflective pond.

So Brad, good luck on that decision. I’m sure Hannah can advise you most ably. Begin as you mean to go on, I always say (i.e. ask Hannah for input, and then follow it; don’t make her wait for you to hear the same things from others before you’ll listen. Yes, I’m talking about you, Dick).

I’m more concerned about the trauma your future “doctor’s kids” are in for. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather just be an accountant?