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Some Thoughts on General Education and Father's Day
Diane J. Leos, Penn State University
A strange thought process began on the most recent Father's Day while I was thinking of my own dad, and it somehow occurred to me that he would have been a strong supporter of the General Education concept. General Education, a component (forty-five credits) of each Penn State degree, ensures that all students in all majors take a minimum number of credits in each of the following areas: writing/speaking, quantification, health and/or physical activities, natural sciences, arts, humanities, and social/behavioral sciences.
A general practitioner who opened a practice in a rural central Pennsylvania town in 1956—simply because that is where he believed he was most needed—my father served patients from three different counties. Appointments were unheard of. People came to the office during the day and camped out to be seen on a first-come, first-served basis until the waiting room emptied. Nights were seldom uninterrupted by at least one urgent phone call that meant “Doc” would throw on some clothes, grab his squatty black bag, and drive off into the mountainous farmland to tend to yet another medical emergency.
 Full hours of freedom to do whatever he wanted might have been fleeting, but Dad made the most of them. I remember well his smile of complete satisfaction as he sat with his eyes closed in his battered leather chair (the one my parents had purchased at a garage sale as newlyweds, and the same one my mother so desperately wanted to replace) and listened intently to either classical music or jazz, which he loved equally. Poetry, both the reading (particularly anything by John Donne, Dylan Thomas, or Theodore Roethke) and the writing of it, was another great passion.
Dad enjoyed arguing theology with friends who were priests, ministers, and rabbis, and he could often be found reading philosophy or accounts of lurid crimes and subsequent legal cases, or sometimes financial statements for companies he was considering adding to an investment portfolio. He also seemed driven to take up a hobby-of-the-moment (golf, archery, fencing, bird watching, fly fishing). Some of these hobbies lasted a weekend or two, and others lasted at least several months before the appeal faded and yet another weekend sport flashed its bright lights and called his name.
With all these wide-ranging interests—and add to these the latest surgical techniques, Civil War history, current world events, and surmising how people become the individuals they are—Dad would have viewed the General Education requirements as a wonderful way to explore completely unknown areas or to add more substance to subjects he already knew something about. No one is perfect, and of course my father wasn't either. In re-reading this, I see I make him out to be something rather extraordinary. But you know what? Although perfect he may not have been, extraordinary he truly was.
I can also add a well-seasoned sense of humor to my list of accolades. For example, I remember his deep, delighted laughter during an incident that occurred one misty summer night in 1968 when I was in my early teens. He had noticed an open copy of The Hound of the Baskervilles facedown on the hall table and guessed I must have left it there just before going out into the twilight for a short walk in the woodsy area near our home.
Opening the front door and putting his hands to his mouth, he made a loud “AHHH-OOHH” baying sound, simulating the killer hounds from the book. As he had suspected would happen, within minutes I came racing back, jumping up over the front steps and flying into the house.
 Father's Day and General Education requirements ... although my dad died thirty-four years ago—just two months after we had such fun with Sherlock Holmes—during his short lifetime he continuously expanded his world through a constant quest to gain additional knowledge in more and more disciplines. If he had had the chance to talk to my daughter, his granddaughter, who is now selecting her own General Education courses, I know he could have helped her view this selection process as the true opportunity it is meant to be.
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Diane J. Leos is senior undergraduate studies adviser in the Division of Undergraduate Studies at the Pennsylvania State University. She can be reached at djl3@psu.edu or 814-865-7576.
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The Muse is a section of The Mentor devoted to poetry, short fiction pieces, art work, cartoons, and other forms of creative expression.
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Published in The Mentor on August 8, 2002, by Penn State's Division of Undergraduate Studies
Available online at www.psu.edu/dus/mentor/
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