“Alright Mister Payne, we’ve got you booked in the Oak Tree Suite for four nights,” says the woman on the phone. “We call it that because of the beautiful view of an ancient oak tree outside.”“Clever,” I say.
“There’s a delicious breakfast every morning, which we can pack up to go if you’ll be hiking to the summit while you’re here. Have you stayed in Idyllwild before?”
“Yes, but it’s been a little while.”
Last year, as some sort of grand cosmic punchline, I was asked to deliver a speech at a New York fundraiser to the alumnae of the boarding school in California that expelled me at age seventeen. Theresa, the Director of Alumnae Relations, had followed my writing career with interest, and had determined I would be a wacky choice to address the crowd. I figured chances like that don’t come along that often, so I just let it all hang out at the podium. I said the school was training brilliant artists who were unprepared for the world in so many ways. No one bothered to mention what a FICO rating was, in case we ever wanted to buy a house. No one mentioned we’d better make sure you have health insurance, in case you come down with a bad case of cancer at age twenty-one. But boy, could we ever talk about some Shakespeare.
The response was extraordinary. Afterward, my former classmates were shaking my hand, saying what I did was brave and unexpected. Theresa asked for a copy of the speech to share with the faculty back in California. And the headmaster of the school presented me with a diploma. That night, my pal Erica took great delight at announcing to bartenders that I’d just graduated high school. I felt a little more legitimate as well, coming back and showing my boyfriend my diploma.
He was no longer dating a high school dropout. I was Class of 2007, baby, with the paper to prove it.
I framed it above my desk.
And then, about a month ago, I got a phone call from Theresa again.
“When you said someone should be telling the students what to expect in the real world, did you mean it?”
“Of course I did.”
“Good. Then you’ll be happy to hear this...”
And that’s how I ended up being booked as a speaker for the Class of 2008 commencement exercises at Idyllwild Arts Academy. My fiancée Preppy just got a promotion, so he’s been living at his job lately, occasionally coming home to shower and sleep. There was a question about whether he’d be able to get the time away from work for the California trip.
“You’ve got to be there,” I said. “I can’t do this without you there.”
“That’s silly. You did the New York speech by yourself.”
“I had Erica in New York, and I was talking to people my own age! This is me standing in the amphitheatre in front of a bunch of kids in caps and gowns I never got to wear, trying to tell them what the world is like without terrifying them! Not to mention, I hate teenagers. I try to avoid talking to anyone between the ages of thirteen and seventeen because they give me that LOOK. I hate the LOOK.”
“What look?”
“Oh, you know the damn ‘I’m sixteen and I know everything, you’re old and know nothing’ look. I didn’t even know who Miley Fucking Cyrus was ‘til that drag queen did her at the Ruby Redd show.”
“Darlin’, these are not normal teenagers. These are freaky artist teenagers like you were. Just be real with them, and chill out.”
“But you’ll go?”
“Yes, I’ll find a way. I’ll be there.”
So it’s official. I’m off to California to shape the minds of tomorrow. Fancy that. Not bad a guy who just graduated a year ago. I begin compiling a mental list of pointers, like that guy from the “Everybody’s Free to Wear Sunscreen” song. Credit cards are not free cash. Don’t get a gym membership if you’re not going to actually go. Don’t come out to your parents on Mother’s Day. Don’t name your children after objects or U.S. states. Buy real pasta, not Ramen noodles. And most importantly, when a chance in life comes along that absolutely terrifies you, DO IT.
And then, about a month ago, I got a phone call from Theresa again.
“When you said someone should be telling the students what to expect in the real world, did you mean it?”
“Of course I did.”
“Good. Then you’ll be happy to hear this...”
And that’s how I ended up being booked as a speaker for the Class of 2008 commencement exercises at Idyllwild Arts Academy. My fiancée Preppy just got a promotion, so he’s been living at his job lately, occasionally coming home to shower and sleep. There was a question about whether he’d be able to get the time away from work for the California trip.
“You’ve got to be there,” I said. “I can’t do this without you there.”
“That’s silly. You did the New York speech by yourself.”
“I had Erica in New York, and I was talking to people my own age! This is me standing in the amphitheatre in front of a bunch of kids in caps and gowns I never got to wear, trying to tell them what the world is like without terrifying them! Not to mention, I hate teenagers. I try to avoid talking to anyone between the ages of thirteen and seventeen because they give me that LOOK. I hate the LOOK.”
“What look?”
“Oh, you know the damn ‘I’m sixteen and I know everything, you’re old and know nothing’ look. I didn’t even know who Miley Fucking Cyrus was ‘til that drag queen did her at the Ruby Redd show.”
“Darlin’, these are not normal teenagers. These are freaky artist teenagers like you were. Just be real with them, and chill out.”
“But you’ll go?”
“Yes, I’ll find a way. I’ll be there.”
So it’s official. I’m off to California to shape the minds of tomorrow. Fancy that. Not bad a guy who just graduated a year ago. I begin compiling a mental list of pointers, like that guy from the “Everybody’s Free to Wear Sunscreen” song. Credit cards are not free cash. Don’t get a gym membership if you’re not going to actually go. Don’t come out to your parents on Mother’s Day. Don’t name your children after objects or U.S. states. Buy real pasta, not Ramen noodles. And most importantly, when a chance in life comes along that absolutely terrifies you, DO IT.
