There was a lot of tension in my house after I informed my parents I would be majoring in English. I had always been told I could do whatever I wanted, SHOOT FOR THE STARS REBECCA THEY EXIST ONLY FOR YOU blah blah blah. At the ripe and tender age of six, I knew I wanted to be a journalist while other girls wanted to be dazzling blonde princesses in looming towers (I'm sorry, castles sound dank. In the non-sexual dank kind of way). I wanted to write. I may not have been old enough to hold a pencil correctly or properly read the Bob books (weren't those just the best? *warm fuzzies*), but I sure as hell knew that the written word was my thang. Not boys in tights named Charming.
I began my collegiate career as most freshman do: confused. I was signing up for whatever classes were clustered in the same building so that I could immediately go back to my dorm room and sleep. I wound up in a British Lit class for this very reason. I mean, there was a Panda Express next door. It didn't get much better. Joke was on me because it actually did get better. My professor was every liberal arts major's dream: she didn't wear a bra, showed up looking like she had been crouched over a desk all night writing 70 pages of her memoir, loved Virginia Woolf and rode a Huffy bike around campus. She was pretty rad. More importantly, she instilled in me the value of an education. We delved into texts and explored the concept of literature as it's own professor.
After a few minor slip-ups (including nursing, business school HA HA and communications), I found myself standing at the door of the liberal arts building on campus. Dun dun dun. Oddly, I felt at ease. It was a natural progression, a big switch from the Unknown, Slightly Confused Hobos majors over on the Lost Side of campus (directions included on the campus map, located conveniently next to McDonald's and the Counseling Center). I felt ecstatic. I knew that I had made the right decision. This was my homeland. My place. My people. More *warm fuzzies* floated around.
Mom and Dad were a tad indignant at first. It was half battle of wills, half "I dunno, she's your daughter, you tell her!". We reached a compromise - I could major in English. It would be referred to as my "passion" degree. But I had to find an alternative, something to back me up in case all went wry. So I went for the business minor as my "practical" degree (i'm starting to see the irony in this as I type). The business minor was quickly dropped for my secondary teaching certification program because, lezzbehonest, what even is business? Plus, becoming a professor and canceling class all the time to bring inexplicable joy to hungover college students sounded way more entertaining.
Anyways. I digress. My point is that I'VE HEARD IT ALL PEOPLE. I've been on every side of every major and every argument in regards to who belongs where and who is utterly useless. And it's not that I left the biomedical sciences field because it was difficult, but because it wasn't me. Science and math are not my God-given talents. And that's a-okay. If we are being real, and I feel that we can be, O great people of the Internet, then we have to face the facts: we can all be counted as useless in one way or another. Is it not to be argued that the true math braniacs don't need schooling anyways? Thomas Edison didn't even make it to junior high. If we are truly gifted in certain areas, then why do we need schooling to begin?
DOWN WITH THE INSTITUTION!
Jk. I know that's wrong. And slightly fascist.
My point is, we attend universities to further our knowledge. I have to take classes as prerequisites in all subject areas before I can graduate. You could say they are smart over at those universities; they know you need to be well-versed in knowledge before catapulting you into the real world with scary bosses and bad paper coffee cups. But we are still allowed the freedom to focus on honing our skills and sharpening our tools. If we didn't have liberal arts majors, then where would all the teachers and editors and screenwriters and international developers and Starbucks baristas (jokes, jokes) be? Not around, I can tell you that.
So please. Let's not call to revolution the idea that liberal arts needs to die a slow and gory death on the battlefield of education. It's really not necessary, and you know, kind of rude.
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