Dr. Seuss for Adults

“So,” says my father, “what do you want to study in college?”

I am 16 years old and we’re walking in the courtyard of the private mental hospital where my father serves as administrator. Petunias in brilliant purples and pinks bloom around us. I am spending the summer helping with clerical work.

“Psychology” is my immediate answer. I have no idea what the study of psychology involves, but I like the idea of talking to people all day.

My father pauses. Ah, I think, he is impressed with my clever choice.

“You know,” my father eventually says, “physical therapy is a good occupation for a woman.”

My turn to pause. I look around the courtyard. Am I now going crazy? Did my father just mention physical therapy when I have never indicated even the slightest interest in that noble field?

Because it is a good job for a woman!

I am a leading proponent of the Equal Rights Amendment. I sing loudly to I am Woman, Hear Me Roar. When my father is sawing firewood, I am the one who gets roped into helping him while my little brother plays in the dirt.

I storm back to my filing, muttering under my breath. Slowly, though, a picture forms. One aunt, when I said, as a child, I wanted to be a veterinarian said, “You should be a dog groomer, dear.”

Another aunt told me, “You’re cute and perky. You could work as a travel guide.”

I feel like I’m in a Dr. Seuss book. I do not want to be a physical therapist. I do not want to be a dog groomer. I do not want to be a travel guide. I do not like them, Sam I Am. I do not like what you think I am.

I enroll in psychology, but my first semester I volunteer on the university newspaper and I am hooked. I have always worshiped the written word. I am home.

I land a job at a newspaper in Colorado. I call home one day to tell my mother about an article I am publishing in a national magazine.

She will be so proud, I think as I dial her number.

She pauses. She is overwhelmed with pride, I think. “You know,” she says eventually, “your brother could have been a writer.”