Bertie Mahoney/The Mossy Log
Many Lewis & Clark students are preparing to head home to celebrate Thanksgiving. Congratulations to those of you with family within 500 miles and money to travel three weeks before the semester ends anyway! For the rest of ya, kindly RSVP to my holdover potluck in the Platt basement. BYO stuffing from a box.
Those who are going home have all sorts of family traditions to look forward to: threatening divorce over mashed potatoes, digging up trauma over canned cranberry sauce, wishes for death over green bean casserole and so much more! But the battle we as liberal arts students must anticipate most cannot be escaped by passing the buck (or the butter dish).
The first thing out of your relatives’ mouths is the question that has plagued you all semester: “What’s your major again?” Worry not, young’uns, as The Backdoor has cooked up a foolproof guide to answering every question about your environmental studies major with a double-minor in Hispanic studies and English with a concentration in creative writing on the creative nonfiction track (or whatever other bullshit you have managed to sweet-talk the registrar into).
“So, what is your major?”
This is your first test. In many cases, the truth will be far too left-leaning for your poor Republican uncle, and you will never live it down if you are the cause of his third stroke. Keep your answer broad and appeasing.
For one example, environmental science, studies or whatever else can just become geology. A few social sciences like psychology, philosophy and rhetoric and media studies are all close enough to biology. Sociology and anthropology, classics, art history and their liberalized ilk all fall under history now, and all language studies can easily become international affairs.
Any visual and performing arts majors are a bust; instead, think back to whatever Numbers course you barely passed and wow the crowd with made-up data science skills and technical terms you hear econ major friends muttering in their sleep. When in doubt, something just tech-bro enough to pass off your cutesy sweater from the bins as Silicon Valley quarter-zip chic always does the trick.
“What classes do they even offer for that?”
Most courses can fly under the radar for this question on titles alone. Intro courses are always a good call: if they start to suspect you of taking “useless” classes or participating in the shudder-worthy “critical race theory,” you can always claim that you were just curious and will go back to molecular biology and computational physics next semester once you round out your general education requirements.
Some classes, though, are just too liberally artistic for the layman to understand, and must be avoided at all costs. This list includes, but is not limited to: Art & Ecology, any Music Ensemble, Roman Women, Radical Film, Sacred Space, Social Change, Reproductive Justice, The Art of Tea and the dreaded Fundamentals of Movement. The man who both helped raise me and takes out large loans each semester for me to go to this silly school said it best:
“You’ve been moving since the day you were born, why the hell do you need to take a class about it?”
“How will you ever get a real job?”
Oof. A heavy hitter. Unfortunately, your family has neither the time nor the patience to listen to you soliloquize on the imminent downfall of Western capitalistic civilization and the role that universities play in perpetuating the hungry beast of entry-level desk jobs. Positions that are becoming increasingly competitive and imminently obsolete as AI and remote work leave about as many job opportunities as there are dinner rolls left on the table at this point (none). Instead, stick to the classics. Maybe the U.S. military has need for young people well-versed in the complexities of Gender Theory and Praxis. Or, maybe advertising has always been your secret calling. White lies and white collar go hand in hand, people.
“And how much money are we paying for this?”
There is no correct answer to this question. For one, the amount of interest accrued on eight semesters’ worth of loans can only be guessed at once you finish paying them off in 2137, and on the other hand, any number above maybe $20 will send your 90-year-old grandmother into cardiac arrest in the other room of the house her family bought for that same amount of money a gajillion years ago. Now is a great time to heavily top off those wine glasses and dive into a heartfelt speech about how grateful you are for the stuffing your mother made that is salty enough to dehydrate the Pacific.
“Do you at least have good sports at that ‘school’?”
For once in LC’s maybe-acceptable athletic career, you can sort of say, “yes!” While none of us are headed for the 2028 Olympics, the football team has won, like, at least a handful of games this semester. Plus, there was that one sophomore who hit a homer at a Portland Pickles game and got signed to play for the rest of the season. Just steer clear from any mention of homoerotic rugby practices or either of our genderqueer ultimate frisbee teams and you are golden.
“How can you stand living in a liberal hellscape?”
Finally, someone thought to ask! If you have managed to make it this far, congratulations; we hope that your shining presentation of a theatre biology major and gender studies data science minor are going swimmingly. Breaking the facade now, over apple pie and ice cream, would put all of your fine work to waste. But… the spectacle of perceived perfection to appease familial expectations is what Thanksgiving is all about, right? Now that you think about it, a Socratic appreciation roundtable discussion about Aunt Carol’s fourth failing marriage and your sister’s inevitable flee to communal living in rural France would provide everyone with intellectual stimulus the likes of which your speech and debate coach could only dream. Hold strong, soldier! Do not do it! — Oh, well. There is always next year to deradicalize.
Happy Thanksgiving, newly-minted STEM majors, and may the odds be ever in your favor.
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