In a few days I’m off on a driving excursion before the price of gas gets any higher. It’s nice of the media to alert us to $4 a gallon prices before summer’s end, isn’t it? Since it now takes about $45 to fill my tank, it is entirely possible that fuel costs will be higher than the cost of my temporary lodgings along the way.

When my dog Snazzy and I hit the road, we are going north to Illinois to pay a call on my sister, my nieces and my two great nephews. The last time I saw the youngest whippersnapper, he wasn’t very interesting because he was still rather young. He’s two and talking now, so he should be great fun, as will the six-year-old. I’m only staying long enough to see everyone; then it’s back on the road for a trip down memory lane when I meander to the campus of Indiana University. I haven’t been there since Thanksgiving of 1990 when a friend dragged me to see Home Alone with her two kids. Childless people should not be subjected to such things.

On that trip, it was winter and the campus, while still beautiful, and was bereft of students, which makes driving around it all the more interesting. This time it will be spring, classes will still be in session and the area should be lushly verdant. I just want to drive around and note the changes since my last visit and make sure the funds I send annually to the foundation are being used wisely.

One of the other things I want to do is visit the school of education. My degree is in journalism (and I’ll visit Ernie Pyle Hall too) through the school of education. I got a bachelor of science degree through the school of education because my mother felt I should have “something to fall back on” in case the writing thing didn’t work out. She didn’t have to twist my arm too much, because I wanted to graduate as fast as possible and to secure a bachelor of arts degree, one had to take at least two years of a foreign language. If I knew then what I know now, I would have taken the time and now be fluent in English and Spanish—especially since my first job was in San Antonio. It would have been invaluable.

Also, I thought the eight weeks of student teaching would give me an indication of whether or not I could ever be interested in the classroom as a career. I theorized I would be a far better teacher if I first worked in the field, but I wanted to have an idea of what teaching was like.

Perhaps it’s just as well I never pursued the teaching thing. Under the leave every child behind educational system we have “enjoyed” in this country for the last two decades, journalism is going the way of art and music programs and being eliminated from many curriculums, which is a tragedy and fodder for another column on another day. Kurt Vonnegut says, “If you really want to hurt your parents and don’t have the nerve to be gay, the least you can do is go into the arts.”

As I have written before, any college alumni association can find someone quicker than the CIA. No matter how many times I move, these people are among the first to have my new address and I never tell them. Once you give them some money, they are relentless.

Some years ago I got a plea from the school of education. They were building a new building and selling the ever-popular bricks with a graduate’s name, degree and graduation year on them. I remember thinking about this for a long time. The cost was only $35 I think, but I had to ponder long and hard about whether or not I wanted to part with $35. I’ve had periods of near poverty and this may have been one of them, but it was definitely after my last campus visit. I did wind up sending the money though, and I damn well want to see my brick. With cane in hand, I will hobble around until I find it. If I want to be the complete alumni ass, I’ll have an adult beverage in the other hand.

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