The college boy
“Watch the college boy”, “look at the school boys head on him”, “our little scholar” “and sure he is only 25”
Those were some of the more memorable comments I have salvaged from brief discussions with the auld fella regarding the ole college situation. Having a father who knew nothing of colleges except that his bosses went to one, meant that me and my school boys head on me had an uphill battle to convince him I’m not a waster. On one hand my father would tell me how travellers would be better off if they got a better education. Then again he would have a seizure if he saw me writing down onto a copy book while I could be out doing some HORSH WORK in the garden. I remember when I told him that I’m starting college and I am hoping to follow it through until I get a bachelors degree in four years. The look on his face and the way he clenched his chest should have told me he didn’t get exactly what I said. “A bachelor in four years, sure jaysus Christ it’s bad enough your one now, but you have to go and learn how to be one”. I’m sure one day the auld fella will look back and think how I made a good decision to go back to college.
Moving out of the house and away from the parents, sure isn’t that every lads dream. That would be true; however, if you have a fine set of parents like mine, you soon learn that no matter where you’re living, they will know more about what goes on at your house parties than half the people that were actually there. This being my first year in college I have a few things to get used to, one being, having beans for all three of my meals in the day. The way the government has gone lately sure I’d be lucky to find a tin of beans in the supermarket, what with every student in Galway making pre bookings. I never knew how having a loyalty key for every low cost supermarket makes you feel like a v.i.p member. This year especially for students it’s hard. The grant has been reduced, and in my case abolished, destroyed, taken and absolutely tore from my very fragile hands. Saying that, the good old government have told me that their not all that bad towards people in my case. They tell me that I can work part time on the back to education allowance and not have my payment affected. That’s awfully nice of them, sure it can’t be that hard to find a part time job for 20 hours a week during a recession, can it? Politics! Poly- meaning many, and tics- meaning blood sucking parasites. Of course I’m joking here; sure we all know how politics are great.
College for me should mean, getting qualified, and helping other travellers in my situation in the future realise their potential. Nice sentiment, however, it’s hard to tell travellers to get into college when nearly every student in the country is finding it hard to get by. Now, saying that, if I had a choice, I would certainly choose to get better qualified, and learn as much as I can, because one day I hope to see a traveller within the walls of Leinster house, someone who is not there under the careful gaze of security.
Coming to college I knew that there would be some drastic changes in my life. One of the things I didn’t know I would have to change is my taste in music. Apparently, my taste of music isn’t cool enough for the academic heads in college. So I decided I would try to listen to some of what they consider cool, well by Jesus Christ, it sounded like a crow getting attacked by a drunken cat. I think I will stick to my Philomena Begley. So I have a few years left, I’ll be finished my degree course by the time I’m 30 years of age. The oldest school boy in the family, the little scholar, the college boy, or just the educated one, the one ready to become equally employable.
Education is like a headache, hard to cope with and difficult to overcome, but makes the after effect so much better. Or something like that......
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