The Whole Earth Festival

It was April 24th 1986, I sat on a formica covered kitchen high stool, like the one we used at my grandparents' house at the farm in Fairfield, California, when someone was getting a haircut or  a home perm. I was sitting in the middle of the UC Davis campus quad, cumin and frying oil permeated the  wafts of breeze coming  from the falafel truck and mixed with the smell of fresh cut grass and the dust raised by the many Birkinstocked feet as folks shuffled through the various stands offering patchouli and other essential oils, ceramic mugs, votive holders, clever butter pots, windchimes, unisex 100% organic cotton overall garments, rainbow kites and windsocks. I was in the section of the astrologists, the rune and palm readers, tarot card readers, I was seated in the hard backed, high rise chair while a woman who looked much like a mousy  librarian peered into my eyes with a small penlight,  referred to a laminated carboard chart then examined my eyes again. The chart had diagrams of eyes divided into sections like pie wedges and the position and shape of random spots in the pigmentation of the iris revealed the past, present and future of the inquirer.

I had already visited the man reading runes in a tent. After I had shaken the cloth pouch filled with etched stones, I drew them out one by one as he instructed. As I plucked each stone from the pouch I placed them in his palm and he arranged them in the appropriate divining pattern on the ground in front of him and as he did he  became more and more excited.
" Are you going on a trip soon?" he asked. "Yes,  I'll be going to Italy for a study program abroad."  I  told him. "This is a fantastic spread ! I would love to have this spread. This combination here means that you have found your life path." The rune reader stared down at the stones enthralled and seemed to be in awe of this apparently fate altering turn my life was about to take. He seemes almost self absorbed as he asked if I had any further questions as he kept his eyes fixed on the spread of stones before him.  I obviously had not felt the monumental power of this reading and self consciously said I couldn't think of anything, but thank you and left the tent.

I had been searching for maybe a more palpable answer. Would I find a job? Where should I go to find one? What would I do with my fresh BS in Environmental Design?  Where was the big X that marked the spot to begin my path to a successful career? Obviously, this information was not to be found with the rune reader so when I saw the sign for the iridologist  I thought I should have another go at it. I was graduating (finally) from university and  needed some help finding  direction. I was the first person in my family to do so. I had alwas done well at school as a child and had the misfortune of being labelled a "gifted child" at the tender age of 3.  I had taught myself to read, or at least my parents' habit of reading to me everynight before sleeping, usually Dr. Seuss books had helped me learn. The label of  "gifted"  was a great source of pride to my parents, especially my mom. It became for me one of the biggest burdens I had to carry throughout my childhood. In my mother's mind a gifted child was born to become a doctor,  a dentist, some sort of scientist or at the very least someone bound to make a mark in this world.  I had done very well in school through high school. I applied to and was accepted to Brown and UC Berkeley, but I was too frightened to go away as far as Rhode Island (not to mention the expense)  and it  felt too familiar and cliché to grow up in San Francisco and go to school in Berkeley; so I threw a curve ball at my parents and went to UC Davis.

At the time I was under the mistaken impression that one looked at the catalog of classes and would find classes that would lead to a set path or vocation. Follow the path and you will have success. When I realized that pre-Med and pre-Dent were not going to work for me I was in a tailspin until I latched onto Design and the last bits of my self confidence. Now my university career was ending and I was floundering for my next step.

 So there I was, perched on the chair in the middle of the quad as this slender,  woman in her late 30's? early 40's? peered into my eyes for  some answers. Her ordinary brown hair had a few silvery strands and was pulled back into a bun, her grayish eyes carefully observing me from behind her wireframed glasses. "You have issues with your mother." Very astute I thought to myself, how many 20 year olds don't have issues with their mother. Then I reflected on the angry phone conversations, terrible screaming matches at times which were not probably the way most women interacted with their mothers but unfortunately the only way I seemed to be able to communicate with mine. I would feel bad when just the ringing of the phone would make my blood pressure rise as I imagined it might be her. Conversations would start calmly enough, my mother would chat about the latest family news or gossip, then they would escalate as they became a clash of wills. My mother first subtly then not so subtly insinuating what I needed to do and offer instructions to make my life spectacular (in her mind), first starting with Aunt so and so says, or Uncle so and so's son is working in, you should look into ...
I realize now that she was frantically grasping at snippets of information to try and give me direction to succeed in a world she knew nothing about. Advice which trickled down to her through her network of friends, relatives and acquaintances with children who had preceded me to college. The epitome of Chinese American success at the time was to become a doctor, a lawyer, maybe an engineer- most important was there had to be a good job attached which afforded  a showcase home to be discussed and not so hushed conversations about the salaries earned and at the very least bragging rights to how good your child was treating you. Large anniversary parties, treating parents to trips or cruises were the rewards for good parenting. From the bright star of hope my mother had garnered from the word "gifted" I had resulted thusfar to be quite a disappointment. After the shocking wake up call of a C in Chemistry 1A, I found my aspiration (and my mother's dream for me) to become a dentist shattered and my world shaken up. I was a little fish in a big pond and lost. Luckily, I'd found my way to the campus counselling center and found the courage to drive another nail in the coffin of my mother when I announced a few times that I was taking a planned educational leave from school to work a while and decide what my next moves were. She suffered as silently as she could, but braved through it (though she couldn't resist sleuthing around and actually contacted my psychologist at the counselling center).

 "You are about to embark on a new adventure that will bring you much success. I see that you'll be working on computers and teaching languages" the iridologist continued. I resigned myself to the idea that I had just thrown away 20 bucks. My Computer Science 1A experience had been so dismal I walked away from the class and teaching languages, well the thought had never crossed my mind.

And so, 28 years ago my path to me began. Amid the drums of the Hare Krishna, and hippy throwback wannabes, the smoke of incense, odor of pot, magic brownie vendors, unaware, I had found the X that marked the spot of the beginning of the journey to my new life. A life where I found myself programming computers, replacing parts of computers, designing accellerated language courses and yes, teaching English. My study vacation to Italy started that May of 1986 and hasn't ended yet. Among other things I was able to throw a large birthday party for my parents a few summers ago and they do proudly refer friends and family to my bed and breakfast, so maybe I am on the right path.