Farah says farewell

When I was a little kid, an old friend of my dad used to tell me I should eat a lot of bread crust because it would grow hair on my chest.

I've eaten a fair amount of bread crust over the span of my life, and I have indeed grown a bit of chest hair. Now, if I only knew what to eat to keep the hair on my head growing, I'd be all set.

In grade school, I used to have a friend who cursed a lot. Having been brought up never to use bad language, I asked him why he always swore. He told me that words were just words, and they didn't really mean anything.

Considering I want to find some kind of job as a writer, that doesn't bode too well for my future.

MARGARET MYERS/Daily

A Great Books TA (they called them TAs back in the olden days), giving me advice about my major, told me that even though a lot of people say you shouldn't choose a profession just for the money, he'd never heard anyone complain about having too much of it.

As I creep closer and closer to the unemployment line, an English degree soon to be in my sweaty little hands, I think to myself, If only I had been an engineer. And then I think ... nah.

At a family wedding reception, my grandfather turned to me while we sat at our table, the laughter and music of celebration surrounding us, and gave me these wise words in his broken English: "Women ... Napoleon says, women, dey are de cause of all disease in de world. All war. All tings bad, dey come from women." My grandmother sat next to him, smiling with a wide and tolerant grin.

Sedo (this is Arabic for 'grandfather'), I must say - I've gotten my hopes up many a time. I've come close, very close, to being extremely happy in a relationship with a woman. But so far in my life, as sad as it may sound, you're right.

My mom tells me all the time: "You should smile more often. You've got a beautiful smile. After all, that's how I fell in love with your father - I saw him smile across a room at a party."

Maybe she has a point. Then again, my parents are divorced.

But perhaps the best words of wisdom I've ever heard came from my dad himself. And at the time, I must admit, I was quite skeptical. My dad earned many degrees. He never did anything nearly as impractical as major in English; instead, he earned a Ph.D. in aerospace engineering, along with a D.D.S. from the Michigan Dental School.

Needless to say, he was in college for a very long time. But he didn't mind. In fact, he loved it. And so, he's told me on occasion: "My college years were the best years of my life."

I know. It sounds clichéd. But my dad doesn't spew forth clichés too often, so I took him seriously. But back in high school, I always thought to myself, How could that be true? For as long as he went to school, his education really only amounts to a small fraction of his life.

Compared to his successful job, his family, all the traveling he does now - how could going to college really match that? Could it really be that much better? Could it really be that good?

I didn't believe him. I thought there was something wrong with him. But now, as graduation looms nearer and nearer, as my senior year turns slowly but surely into my senior week, and then my senior day, and then my last senior minute, I realize one simple thing:

He was right.

And I don't want to leave!

Grad school? A double major? Maybe I can even start over fresh, and go for that engineering degree. What about the psych department - I'm sure they could use some kind of full-time human guinea pig to experiment on. Lord knows I've got enough problems for 10 or 20 decent theses!

Anything! I'll do anything to stay here! Just give me another year! Another semester, even! I swear that'll be enough. Just not right now. Not yet.

I'm not ready for the real world, unemployment or a job I can't stand anyway. I'm not ready for wearing a seedy, phony smile when I talk to people I don't like, just because I've got to "network." I'm not ready to deal with people 20 years older than I am on a regular basis - with stomachs two times bigger than my entire body, or with flabby breasts sagging down to their yellowed toenails (I'm speaking of men and women, here).

I'm not ready to wear polyester pants that I pull up too high. I'm not ready to argue with my next-door neighbor about where you can buy the cheapest garden hose (although I hear Ace Hardware is having a great sale ...). I'm not ready to resort to singles adds or singles bars or singles anything, just to meet some girl with "big bones" whose two front teeth are missing.

I want to be young, dammit! I want to be free!

I want to always be able to call home to Pops whenever I fall a little short on the rent. To worry about silly, stupid things like getting papers done or juggling my schedule so I have enough time for IM basketball. To sit on the grass in the Diag and stare at the ass of every sorority girl who walks by - especially the ones who wouldn't give me the time of day if I paid them to (this means all of them).

I want to spend all my time working at a college newspaper that pays you approximately two cents for each story you write - at least it doesn't require a resume and cover letter!

My dad was right. I want to stay here, in school, where it's safe, for the rest of my life! (Picture broken-down columnist, sobbing uncontrollably while he sucks one thumb, using the other hand to grip his blankey.)

I feel like Billy Madison when he visits his old grade school after graduating up to high school - and I can only offer the same advice to you youngsters who still have some time left: "Stay here! For as long as you can! Never leave! Never leave!"

(Now picture broken-down columnist hyperventilating, checking his pulse ...)

OK. All right. I've got to settle down. I have to graduate. After all, there's nothing I can do about it, right? I never got around to applying to grad school. I've already got 20 more credits than I need. There's nothing left to be done but (gulp) leave.

I suppose I should be grateful or something like that. I suppose I should be happy that college turned out so well.

Sure, it wasn't always perfect - I never had much luck rooming blind with anyone. My first roommate was a pretty good guy, but we didn't have much in common. OK - anything in common. My second roommate also seemed like a pretty good guy - until he broke into a room down the hall and made off with a couple credit cards. Ahh, dorm life!

And so I never found a girlfriend in college, but that should really come as no surprise. (Just what is it about genital warts that's such a turnoff these days?)

But overall, things were pretty good.

During the summers, I got to swim, bowl, play miniature golf and take long bike rides with friends, exploring all over Ann Arbor.

I've stayed up all night, eaten breakfast at the Fleetwood Diner while the sun was coming up, and then gone to the CCRB to play racquetball after a two-hour nap.

I drove across the country to watch our football team win the national championship for the first time in an eternity.

I covered a great bunch of guys on the hockey team as they shocked the world - and myself - by winning the NCAA championship after they couldn't even make it out of the second round of the CCHA Tournament.

I never found a girlfriend. Whoops, that was a bad thing. I think.

I've spent whole days basking in the sunlight at the Arb, resting by the river, and listening to the water of the Huron rushing over the rocks. (Now how's that for alliteration?)

In the beginning of my junior year, I made the best decision of my life when I decided to try writing for the Daily. Not only has it given me the chance to write a column, but I've made great friends whom I'll hopefully have for the rest of my life.

With all these great experiences, maybe one of these days I'll have some words of wisdom to pass on to my son (assuming I can find a woman stupid enough to marry me).

I've already tried to plant some of the seeds of my wisdom this year in my column. A brief (and incomplete) recap:

Greasy-spoon diners are good; bathrooms are good; janitors are good; fear is good; Mr. Bitches are bad; marriage at an early age is bad; flatulence is good; women are good - to look at; bike rides are good; Jerry Springer is good; dancing is bad; food is love.

And finally, obviously, rambling is good - even a lost art (which I perhaps have not entirely found).

So maybe, now that I've got something to pass on to the next generation, now that I've got some wisdom - if ever so trite - to share, maybe now that I've got hair on my chest and a worthless English degree in my pocket ...

Maybe now is the time to leave college.

Nah. I still want to stay.

I'd like to thank all the people who have either e-mailed me in response to one of my columns, as well as the few people who have actually stopped me on the street to give me a compliment (yes, it has happened. I'm just as shocked as you are). All your support and input has meant a great deal to me, and helped me break the funk of a bad day on many occasions.

- This is Chris Farah's final Weekend, etc. column. E-mail him at cjfarah@umich.edu.

04-16-98