ESC: Expected Student Contribution

This uncertain reciprocity struck a chord with me. I started to wonder, as a freshman who can still feel the ghosts of cheaper educational options, in what sense I “owe” my parents for the opportunity to be here. (And despite Princeton’s superb financial aid, I’m not the only one. It’s just hard to beat the price of many public universities or merit-based scholarships.) Am I obligated to grab a post-grad job that pays well — avoiding, say, teaching? Must I pursue an opportunity that only a Princeton or peer platform could get me, like finance? Should I spend my summer doing something ritzier than scooping ice cream or lifeguarding in my hometown?

In short: In what sense do I owe my parents for the unique opportunity they’ve provided me?

This problem is confounded by the fact that Princeton students come from a variety of family backgrounds and financial circumstances. For some students, Princeton was the cheapest option; for others, it was the most expensive. Some parents happily cover their students’ bills and credit card expenses, while many others pay or work to cover at least part of the way. And the varying amounts we all pay in tuition, from $0 to $55,000, mean different things to different families. Thus, in the way that none of us owes Princeton our $5 or $50,000 in Annual Giving, we don’t owe our parents in any apparent or official way. There is no one right answer to the question of reciprocating our parents’ financial help.

And yet, as the reaction to Emily Rutherford’s column demonstrates, something feels wrong about not giving back.

A friend of mine at UNC-Chapel Hill receives no financial support from his parents. When his summer job didn’t earn him enough to cover the bill — which varies year to year with his financial aid package as his father changes jobs — his parents gave him a $5,000 bank loan. In some ways, I envy the way this reduces his responsibility to his parents: He simply pays back the loan with interest. But for those of us who aren’t legally required to fulfill our literal debt to our parents, the line is blurrier, vaulting over financial matters and into what Greenblatt dubbed — but failed to define — as “metaphysical support.”

The problem is that I’m not quite sure what that means or how it should manifest itself in my daily life. For now, it means that when my mom leaves me a voicemail, I actually call her back — a first for me — and fill her in without constantly checking the time. It means that I scour Amazon and Labyrinth and Textbook Exchange to make my bill that much smaller. It means that I fill my afternoons with readings and lectures — even those on subjects I know little about, like “King Lear” — to soak in as many uniquely Princetonian opportunities as possible. But it also means that I carry something like guilt with me to my classes, to the third floor of Firestone and to the Street. Like most of my fellow Tigers — and the many other students across the nation struggling with the cost of college — I am determined to wring out of Princeton all its opportunities: to get grades that will continue to open doors for me, to apply for a smattering of competitive summer programs and internships and, some days, just to keep my head above water.

To make it all worth it, whatever that means.

At this point, I suppose gratitude is the name of the game. In four years, however, “metaphysical support” may come to mean something more substantive than returning a phone call. I don’t know what that something is. But until I figure it out, I’m willing to cut costs where I can, work that much harder in my classes and say thank you every once in a while.