A Carlin Home Companion: Growing Up with George by Kelly Carlin

"In January 1989 at the age of twenty-five, and despite the fact that my panic attacks were still in full swing, I finally began school at UCLA. I was excited to fill myself up and move toward a real future. After seven years with Andrew, who had no interest in learning about anything because he felt he already knew it all, being in an environment that invited my curiosity, independent thinking, and creativity was like drinking at an oasis. I could actually dare to ask myself, What do I want to make of this one precious life? My dad loved that I was in school, not just because I'd be the first Carlin ever to graduate from college, but because he got to hear about everything that I was learning in classes like Astronomy, Oceanography, and Anthropology. He even intimated that he was a bit envious of my chance to soak in so much about the world. He wished he could join me. It was so nice to be able to share my life with my dad again. Because I'd been out of school for seven years, I was required to take a Remedial English class my first semester back. One day the instructor, a cool thirty-something guy, brought in what he called the perfect essay that reflected the "compare and contrast" style of writing that we would be expected to use in our future studies. He put a boom box on the desk, pressed PLAY, and my dad's voice came out of the speakers: "I'd like to talk a little bit about baseball and football. Starting with baseball; baseball is different from any other sport in a lot of different little ways. For instance, in most sports, you score points or you score goals. In baseball, you score runs." I guess Dad made it to class after all. I swelled with excitement. After class I told the instructor who I was. He nearly fell off his chair. For a flash I felt that old flood of "specialness" that I used to feel backstage with my dad, but mostly I felt a rush of pride for the force my dad had become in the culture. He'd been doing comedy for almost thirty years, and he'd made a real mark. I could feel my own aspiration rise within me. I, too, wanted to make a dent. But before I could make that dent, first I needed to make it to class. My anxiety and panic made getting to class a bit like an obstacle course. I feared walking up the big hill in the middle of campus because it raised my heart rate, and that always triggered a panic attack for me. My solution was to go into Ackerman Union (a huge building that housed the bookstore, auditorium, and food court), take the elevator to the third floor, and walk through the coffee shop. This would situate me nicely three-quarters up the hill. On the outside I looked like any other student making my way through the building, but on the inside I was a secret agent searching for the earliest sign of racing heart, tingly hands, and spaced-out head. Once I'd get to class, I'd casually put my finger on my neck, checking my pulse every five minutes, making sure my heart was still beating. I have no doubt this is what an insane person looks like..."

— A Carlin Home Companion: Growing Up with George by Kelly Carlin
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