Like any senior’s, my past year has been filled with a lot of college-related things: Applications, acceptances, rejections, visits. I thought my family’s craziness would make the process much more chaotic. Turns out, it was kind of nice having a few nutjobs around while I wrote and crossed out and rewrote and crossed out again. I didn’t have to worry about being judged, since people who wear crew socks with sandals really don’t have the right to judge anyone.
Only recently have I realized how helpful my family, strange as it is, has been. It takes a certain amount of self-confidence to be seen in public with people who parade around singing “We are the Champions” while wearing fluorescent orange Snuggies. Call it whatever you want — dignity, pride, a massive ego — but spending time with my family has instilled a sense of I-don’t-care-if-I-look-like-an-idiot within me.
Consider, for example, conversations I held with other seniors earlier this year.
Senior: I’m worried about not getting into a good college.
Me: You’ll do fine wherever you go. My parents both went to state colleges and now have me as a child, so they obviously succeeded in life.
Senior: What the — wait, that actually makes sense. You’re also very narcissistic, by the way.
Me: If you scramble the letters in “narcissistic,” it sort of becomes “Carissa.”
Anyway, after the application frenzy, we embarked on various college road trips in the spring. One of these colleges was U.C. San Diego, where we decided to visit my older brother. Apparently, he’s much more embarrassed by our family than I am. When we arrived on campus and marched up to his dorm room, there wasn’t a single person in sight.
“Where is everyone?” my sister demanded. “Where are all your friends?”
My brother explained that he had hidden all of them. They weren’t to step foot outside, he said, until he sent out an all-clear text confirming that his destructive, unpredictable family was well out of the vicinity.
Now, most people would probably be offended by this, but my family found it entirely hilarious. With free run of the nearly empty school, we spent the next few hours inspecting the solar-powered recycling bins, searching for talking eucalyptus trees and leaping over railings in front of Geisel Library.
Over the next several weeks, the final decision eventually came down to two: Berkeley and UCLA. My sister, however, strongly disapproved of both. In her mind, enrolling at Cal would make me a burger-hating, hallucinogen-smoking tree sitter while UCLA would entail me becoming a hardened criminal. My father was slightly more open-minded.
“I don’t want to tell you which school to choose,” he informed me. “I don’t believe in parents saying their children should go to a certain college.”
“Thanks,” I replied, impressed by his reasonableness.
“Berkeley is closer to home,” he said. “Berkeley is good.”
“I thought you were going to let me choose.”
“I am,” he said. “I’m just being helpful. Berkeley. You get to decide, of course. Berkeley.”
The next few days consisted of him saying the word “Berkeley” as often as possible to plant the idea into my mind. I suppose it didn’t work, though, because I eventually decided on UCLA. My father, mother and brother all accepted this choice quite readily; only my sullen sister remained unsatisfied. As a remedy to this, I allowed her to compile a list of celebrities who live in Los Angeles and promised to look for them. She came up with not only names but also instructions for me. Here are a few:
Brad Pitt (sell his autograph)
Arnold Schwarzenegger (see if his handshake breaks your bones)
Shakira (imitate her accent)
Now for a confession: No one in my family knows I’ve been writing about them for the past seven issues. They’re completely unaware that their antics have been broadcast to the entire school, and they’re probably wondering why parents of MVHS students often congratulate them for being the quirkily entertaining stars of some sort of newspaper article.
The real reason I never revealed this column to them? My family is, without a doubt, at its best when completely uninhibited. Self-consciousness would do nothing but suppress them. And yes, I have to admit that their insanity is strangely endearing.
What a family, right? I can only hope that reading about us has made you feel better about you and yours. Remember, though, that the people you sometimes find so embarrassing and annoying and exasperating and awful just might be the ones you’ll end up missing like crazy.
I know I will.
