Joe Harten, not yet Under the Table

The morning of my first day of school I decided I hated the color green. At that point in my life – 5 years old, on the brink of kindergarten – green was my favorite color, and I had a closet full of little green sweaters, bright green T-shirts, even a stack of green pants. But I refused to wear anything green. Blue was my new favorite color.

My mother didn’t panic. She ran upstairs to my brothers’ room and grabbed some blue corduroys, which were in style a fashion cycle ago, and a blue Izod collared shirt. I was ready to go. So there I was, ready for the bus, all decked out in oversized 7- and 9-year-olds’ clothing. Crisis avoided, thanks to my mom.

My mom has been saving my neck since I can remember. My mom taught me how to lie. My mom taught me when to be nice and when to be a jerk. My mom taught me how to get my way and when to give in because it just isn’t worth it. My mom taught me to be trustworthy, and my mom taught me to be honest.

My mom has been the single most influential person in my life, and I hate it when I forget that.

My mother thrives on authority. She loves to plan other people’s lives. She is an instructor by nature. A former French teacher and current mother-emeritus, my mom has been telling people what to do for all 22 of my years and probably a few more, too. It’s kind of nice to know that someone else cares enough about the day-to-day operations of my life to give them that much thought, but sometimes it’s nice to figure it out for myself.

Because in my four years of college she has gotten significantly less healthy, these days my mom needs me a lot more than I need her. It’s a pretty tough role reversal. She still wants to instruct my every move, but everything is a lot more important now. I find myself thinking about her more now than ever. Whether she had a good day or not. Whether my brother stopped by to see her today. Whether my dad had to work late and couldn’t spend time with her.

But that’s probably a fraction of the time she thinks about me. How my presentation went. How much fun I had at the Dip Ball. How worried I am about graduating. How much sleep I have gotten, and how over-extended I am at school.

College has taught me tons of lessons, and I am coming away a different person. Four years ago, I would not have written this. I would have written about all the great friends I’ve made and all the fun times I’ve had. And that’s probably what most people will be expecting. But my life is not really a joke. The truth is, there is a real-life drama behind all the snide remarks and insensitive comments. This is what I am tackling, and it’s the hardest thing I have ever done.

I have made a lot of friends in my life. Some are true friends, and others have burned me pretty badly. But I think my mother raised a pretty good person, someone who other people trust and care for and someone who cares for others. Not everyone has the benefit of the Marilyn Harten Socialization Program, and not everyone holds the same values I do. I think I have tried to find in others what I know my mom made sure I have in me.

When I was a sophomore in high school, baseball was my number one priority. I worked hard to become the starting catcher on the varsity baseball team, and I never wanted to miss a minute on the field. In the middle of the season I got the flu during class. My fever was so high that I was shaking at my desk in Algebra class. I didn’t want to miss the game that day, but I knew I was in rough shape. I went to see my mom, who was a tutor at my school. She took one look at me and asked if anyone else could catch that day. We brought my gear to another player and left for home together. She missed work that day, and I missed a game.

When I was sick, my mother left work and all I could think about was baseball. I know times have changed because now all I can think about is her.

Joe Harten was viewpoint editor, editorial page editor and web editor for The Hoya.