In my office I have several framed prints on the walls, each of which I contributed to the so-called decor around here. One is Poplars by Claude Monet (1891). Another is "Self-Portrait as an American," a print of a collage on linen with oils, the original artwork for which was created by a young man I knew in college as David. As I recall, the prints were sold as a fund-raising effort for one of the student groups on campus with which he and I were affiliated at the time. He was a good friend of one of my housemates, so I saw him fairly often, and after seeing the print (and later, the original art) I complimented him on both. They were and are spectacular, in my truly humble opinion. He was kind enough to offer to autograph my print, an offer which I happily accepted.

When I moved into my first post-college apartment, I had a number of prints framed, this among them. It now hangs on the wall directly opposite my desk, behind my guest chairs. There are two reasons for its placement there. One, I can look at it regularly. Two, the students and parents with whom I regularly meet are not likely to see it.

I know. You're wondering why I wouldn't want my "clients" to see it. I am not embarrassed by it, nor is it obscene or offensive in any way. It is, however, a rather powerful, angry, somewhat disturbing piece. It also has the name of my undergraduate college (which is not the institution at which I am currently employed) printed across the top in bold letters. It doesn't seem right to essentially advertise my alma mater in my office when a big part of my job is making sure people like and stay at this institution.

No one has ever told me that I can't have this print on my wall, although there may be some who question it being there -- even though it is out of plain sight. I loved my college experience. I don't believe that I could ever have been happy as an undergrad at the college where I now work, although it is a fine school. Many families automatically assume that every staff member of a school is an alumna or alumnus of the institution but, of course, many of us are not. Many, like myself, have other family ties to the school, such as a parent, sibling, or other relative who attended. Sometimes I am asked if I attended this school and, of course, I say honestly, no, I didn't. I often will say, honestly, that my father and some other relatives did. Sometimes they will then ask where I went, so I tell them. Sometimes they will then ask if I liked it there or if I think it's "better" than this school. (Sometimes the child has also been accepted at the other school.) I always answer more or less like this: Yes, I liked it a lot. It was the right place for me, although it is not the right place for everyone. The same goes for this school.

You (or your child/sibling/niece) must decide which is the right place for you (or your family member). If you or your child is looking at colleges or making some other important decision, please don't look to anyone else to tell you what choice to make, especially not some random college administrator who probably has some vested interest (myself excluded, of course) in encouraging you to come to the school where she works.

David Bethuel Jamieson made his own decisions and created his own beautiful, shocking, talented, gentle, angry world in his very short young life. The artwork on my wall reminds me of that and him regularly. David died of AIDS in 1992, his 29th year. May he rest in peace.